Wednesday, November 9, 2011

And This Is Why It’s Important To Put Things Away


I think my children believe magical fairies follow them around and put things away for them. There is nothing else that can explain the backpacks dropped at the front door, the how-many-days-in-a-row-did-you-wear-these socks on my pillow, and the toothbrush that I found in the refrigerator this afternoon. How long has that been there? And, is that crunchy toothpaste?


Lefty is definitely my worst culprit of this. He stashes things that are trash in his desk drawer, things that go in his desk are actually hidden inside his underwear drawer, and – to make it all balance out -- his underpants are in the trash. Which, actually, is probably not such a bad idea. The point is, he’s so completely one of those kids who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached, so I’m really grateful for all those tendons and skin and everything. After all, I made that boy from scratch.


So it shouldn’t have surprised me at all when we went to his annual pediatric appointment, and on our way out the door, he couldn’t find his shoes…or his pants. [Editor’s Note: Please don’t ask. Suffice to say that boy has a strong aversion to clothing.] I should have known that was only the beginning.


Forty minutes later, he’s standing in his boxers in the little room covered with bunnies and duckies, Lefty is glaring at me for subjecting him to all this indignity. He sorta maybe doesn't love this time of year. Thankfully, it was almost over. Or so we thought.


Eyes? Check. Ears? Check. Spine all straight? Yep. Heartbeat? Good. Lungs? Screamworthy. Drop the trousers and do the quick check….Hello?


Let me say here that doctors should never furrow their brows NOR look confused. Ours was doing both. Then he pulled out Lefty’s chart and flipped a couple of pages.


Doctor: “Odd. He had two testicles at his last appointment.”Excuse me? Whuck? What do you mean *HAD* two.


Me: “Dude? Where’s your ball?”

Lefty: “I don’t know…”

Me: “Where’s your ball, dude? What did you do with it?”

Lefty: [pause] “Uhh, nothing…”

Me: “Where was it the last time you checked?”

Lefty: “It was right here!”

Me: “And, where did you put it when you were done playing with it?”

Lefty: [pointing down] “I. LEFT. IT. RIGHT. HERE!”


Another thing doctors shouldn’t do: Tell a freaking out mom that “maybe we can just coax it down…” No and no-er. In my nightmares, I’m either having random conversations with a ball on a window ledge that’s threatening to jump, or I’m using the word “knead” – either way, ewwww.


So, what are we left with?
  • Option One: We can leave it alone and hope that it decides to abandon its vacation in his abdomen and return back to his little home with Righty.

  • Option Two: Apparently, there’s a surgery that can fix this, put that little rogue ball back in its place, and – just for good measure, and to make every man on earth squirm – stitch it in place. That’ll remind it to not run away from home ever, ever again.
  • Option Three: Get used to the fact that Lefty is now calling himself a Half-Sack and the Uniballer and just embrace the fact that Lefty is now more a Righty.
Now we’ve gotten all protective of The Ball That Stayed, and are basically making Lefty wear a cup everywhere he goes. On his last day of baseball, he was the catcher, and we were all cringing with every errant pitch. McLovin took to yelling out to Lefty on the field.


“Hey! Catcher! Protect your nut!” And then raised one finger really slowly.


The other day, Lefty came running to me after school yelling that he had found his baseball cap that he had lost on the second day of school. It had just turned up, as if by magic. I said, maybe if he had put it away, he wouldn’t have lost it at all. He said, maybe if he hadn’t lost it, he wouldn’t have been so happy about finding it.


Lefty: “Just think how happy we’ll be when we find my ball.”

Me: “Maybe you shouldn’t have lost it.”

Lefty: “Maybe it’s not lost.”

Me: “So, where is it then?”
Lefty: “Somewhere really safe and secret and I can’t tell you.”
Me: “Seriously? Is your ball Dick Cheney?”


Now he refers to his missing nut as the former vice president. Which he thinks is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. I should have known. After all, I made that boy from scratch. Ball and all.


(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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