Monday is not going so well, as Monday’s tend to do. I was prepared for many appointments this week, but not prepared to present ten pictures to my daughter’s preschool teacher in honor of her being star of the week.
“Don’t worry about it,” said her teacher.
Sure. All year my daughter has watched each child in the class have a special week that is all about them, and when, finally, it is her turn, I forget all about it. But I won’t worry about it at all. We’ll just chalk this up to that hands off parenting I was talking about the other day. But, I will, by God (and Target) have those ten pictures to her teacher, tomorrow, along with that book I’ll be reading to the class. Really, how did I miss all these memos?
From slacker mom, to sort of slacker mom, I was then off to take my middle child to his well visit, today (only two months late). It was a marginally successful visit in that he’s growing, and is, overall, generally healthy, except that he failed his eye exam, miserably. So badly, that as he was taking the test, I had to restrain myself from shouting “Can’t you see it’s an F not an R?” But then, I realized, he cannot. So, we’ll be seeing the eye doctor next week, too.
He also failed the well dressed kid test, though, thankfully, the doctor and nurse spared me this obvious observation. Not only was he in semi-unclean sweatpants (ok, we fished them out of the laundry this morning, but in my defense there were clean pants in his drawer, just not ones made out of polyester), but he had mismatched, ill-fitting socks on, underwear inside out, and a full layer of clothes, under his clothes, for which I have no explanation. I tried my best not to say anything but the underwear on inside out warranted a “For God’s sake, at least turn your underwear the right way or she’s going to think there is something wrong with you.”
This hands off parenting is going swell, I tell you, however, in case there was any doubt, it does not apply to laundry. It turns out if you ignore it, it still won’t wash itself. Lesson learned.
Appearances aside, I find these well visits can be quite amusing.
Doctor: Does he like vegetables?
Me: No. There is not one vegetable he will eat without being forced.
Son: That’s not true, I like carrots.
Me: He doesn’t. (Remember this?)
Doctor: Have you tried salads? Kids like salads.
Me: (In my head) Really, which kids? (Aloud) Yes.
Doctor: What about raw vegetables? With dip? Kids love dip.
Me: (In my head, again, but this time with way more sarcasm) Carrots and ranch dressing? Well, why hadn’t I thought about that? No, really doctor, I have three kids and have not yet thought about cutting a carrot and serving it with a side of dressing. What a novel idea! You really are a genius! (Aloud) Yes.
That was the end of that conversation. I guess she was all out of good ideas, i.e., broccoli with cheese, ants on a log, star-shaped potatoes. Whatever.
She was almost as good as the doctor in the practice my daughter sees, who, when I asked if she knew the height and weight requirements for a booster, told me I should not move her, and then immediately confessed that she moved her kids to a booster when they were that age because they wouldn’t stop badgering her. I can’t help but wonder what other wonderful advice she doesn’t follow, two servings of dairy? Flu shots? Bike helmet?
I’ll tell you, these doctors are a hoot!