Wednesday, August 11, 2010

The Annual Pediatric Check Up

I picked the IHPs up from camp the other day and had snacks and drinks in the car for them. Which, of course, made them immediately suspicious.  Mostly because I'm that mom that's all "seriously, we're seven minutes from the house and you can have a snack when you get home, you can't be that hungry, will you please be quiet for the love of Maude!!"

So Lefty, being the observant, inquiring, sometimes too nosy kid, noticed we were going in the opposite direction of the house. And when we turned down the next street, he knew there was only one place we go in that direction. How did I know? Because he's a clever sort.

"Mommy, I think maybe I'm not feeling so well and maybe have a heddick (it's a headache, but I love love love the way he says it) and I think I don't want my snack and want to go home and take a rest."

And me, being the kind, soft spoken, sympathetic sort, said something like, yeah yeah you'll be fine...and then told him to shut it because the other two hadn't figured it out yet. They were too busy singing along to the Cha Cha Shuffle.

Sadly for them, McDonalds AND Dunkin' Donuts are right next to our pediatrician's office. So McGee and Happy bound out of the car singing the praises of Donut Holes and Lefty is lurking back, glaring at me.

Let me quickly describe the mass of this kid. He's not the kind that you have to buy Husky clothes for, but if he sets his mind to not move, I'd be more successful hoisting up a 40-gallon mesh bag of mashed potatoes & gravy over my head than I would picking this kid up.

We walked past the "Happy Meal Store" as Happy calls it, and then the Dunkin Donuts. And then McGee stopped. She glared at me, and then looked over at Lefty like why didn't you tell me?

He was indignant. "You're eleven." That's all he said. Then stomped past her into the doctor's office.

Our pediatrician is awesome, but she must get so tired of seeing my lovely children skulk past her like they're Snoopy-as-a-Vulture. Of course, she stabs them with ain't like she's got a bowlful of donut holes in her office or anything.

Some of our finer moments:
  • Happy refused to do the eye exam. It consisted of three pictures - a house, an apple and an umbrella. He crossed his arms and frowned at all of us as we pleaded to just name one thing. The closest we got to any sort of response was when I pointed at an umbrella and asked "Is this a house?" and he stared at me and then asked "Is it an apple?" and he glared harder...and then "Is it an umbrella?" and he sorta paused and then pursed his lips and looked away. We're all assuming he can see just fine.
  • McGee, apparently, is going to be tall. Like Bianca, my sister tall. She got all victorious and looked at me like she was already towering over me and said "AHA!" Then I reminded her that she'll be too big to ever wear my shoes.
  • the doctor is measuring him. Height. Weight. They don't do head size anymore because that's only for babies, and, there's probably not a tape measure big one point, after I commented on the cranial magnificence that is his head, she said, "maybe one day he'll create his own gravitational pull" then circled tongue depressors around him like they were in orbit. She's. So. Awesome.
  • McGee insisted on separate rooms. One for the boys; one for her. Of course they were six thousand miles from each other and I'm zipping back and forth like some deranged dog tied up to the clothesline on a long leash. I swear to Maude they only hollered for me once I was completely across the office...
  • Happy threw his socks into the trash. It was out of protest or something. I have no idea. And they were good, clean, matching socks with the thick bottoms, not the crappy pairs that get passed down and lose their mate in the dryer and you eventually are just like whatever, kid, just put on something.
  • They needed blood samples from the boys. Yeah, that was fun. Because my Tuesdays aren't complete until I try to explain to my kids that "this nice man over here needs a little bit of your blood" and they look at him like he's a Cullen, and then we spend the next 20 minutes wrestling them onto an examination table. I made promises of toys and gifts that would make Santa look like some cheap bastard in a bad velvet suit. He doesn't need to come to my house this year. I just bought everything.
As if that weren't enough, there were shots. A LOT of shots. McGee was outraged. "What?! I have to get a shot just because I'm going into the sixth grade?" And lobbied for me to tell them she was going into the seventh, hence, didn't need the shot. I had to counter with the fact that, if she were going into seventh grade, she would have had the shot last year, and since she hadn't, they'd give it to her anyway.

And then she insisted on talking to Lefty so he could render a verdict. Again, how does he get the robe? Since when did I relinquish the Judge role?

Fortunately, he ruled in my favor. She tried to protest, but he said he was done and had to go to the bathroom. Which makes me wonder if a judge ever stops court because he has to it possible to ask for a bathroom break by objecting? Obviously, for all the mystery that surrounds my weird job, it's now assured that I'm no attorney.

[Editor's Note: Actually, I have a good friend who is one.  She's even in the prosecutor's office, which, when I first found out, I was like "I HAVE to become friends with her, so she can be my own personal Jack McCoy." Problem is, she hates Law & Order. Whuck?! She says it's not even close to the way a real courtroom works. I was all "Duh. That's why it's awesome...and it would be super helpful if you'd fake it for me." - Kate]

The boys were positively giddy that their big sister was getting shots. They would have laughed and pointed, but they were ten million miles away in another room. So, they busied themselves with playing with every. damn. thing. in the exam room. Tongue depressors, those ridiculously oversized Q-tips (what are those for, anyway?) the stethoscopes...the ear thing-y and the eye thing-y. They had a gun battle with those. Turns out, you're better armed with the eye one. It has a *laser* on it.

Then Nurse Ratched walked in with shots for them. I'm not sure what face Chuck Norris makes right before he roundhouse kicks someone, but it was probably like the one Lefty made. She actually paused. It took some thinking before he agreed to relinquish his weapon. The Roundhouse Face, he kept.

We did go to McDonalds, and to Dunkin Donuts AND to the toy store. They're all still vulture-y at me. Lefty says the only way to even things out is when they get to go with me when I have my appointment.

I'm pretty sure that. is. never. going. to. happen. Even though the speculum would make a cool gun. Even though it doesn't have a laser on it.  Oh, that's gross, isn't it?

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

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