(I didn't come off so) Well Visit

I took the kids to the pediatrician today for their annual check-ups. These appointments play out the same way each year: first the vision test; then the hearing test; a quick hop onto the scale for the weigh-in; back down and heels against the wall for a height check; wait another ten minutes for the doctor; and then brace for the agonizing attempts by the doctor to establish a dialogue with my children.

My kids are chatty. Like, super chatty. Like, don't-ever-try-to-watch-a-game-show-with-them-because-you-won't-hear-any-answers-or-questions chatty.

They bombard us with questions-- technical, theoretical, and, yes, even rhetorical. They talk each other into fits of rage and fits of giggles. They talk to themselves, inventing fantasy worlds and fantasy shoot-outs. Good grief, they even talk in their sleep (oddly, mostly about food).

But guess where they say nary a word? Yup. Must be something about that exam table, because once their little behinds hit that crinkly paper their lips practically seal.

Today the doctor (who, granted, walks the line between warm and off-putting) hit them with some doozies. My six-year-old was up first. She got through her grade in school and favorite color but then he shut her right up with "What games do you like to play with your friends at school?"

[blink. blink.]

"If your best friend came over for a playdate, what would you play?"

[picture Cindy Brady frozen, transfixed by the "On Air" light on that TV quiz show she was on]

"How do Mommy and Daddy show you they love you?" (What the????? Kind of a creepy question, no?)

Teeny little voice: "They kiss me."

Bolstered, he followed up with "And how do Mommy and Daddy show you they are mad?" (Wait, what???? Definitely creepy, man.)

Looooooooong pause. And then, clear as a bell, "They spank me."

WE HAVE NEVER SPANKED HER. EVER. Listen, I'm not perfect. I'll yell. I'll hold a grudge. I'll give the silent treatment. But I'm just not a spanker. Neither is my husband.

The one bright side to being slandered? It forced my son to speak to the doctor --- in my defense. He practically jumped to his feet to contradict his sister. "Mommy never spanks us, she just takes away the wii."

"I see.... So, how much wii are you playing?" Ruh-roh.

Hey, now! Let's get back to who can be the quietest!

So Special

My daughter found out about an on-line creative writing course and decided to sign up. It's a "gifted" program so first we had to release her academic records, then we had to set up a time for her to take a mini-SAT test at a local testing center.

The test time we were given was right at lunch time and it was a fair drive to get there, so we packed lunch for her to eat in the car. Naturally, in spite of wearing her jacket, by the time we arrived her white t-shirt was covered in food. "Who's gifted?", I teased.

Ducking down in the car I removed my undershirt (and so had to wear wool next to my skin -ITCHY) and had her put it on over her soiled one. Perfect. We went in to sign the paperwork and get ready for the test. While I confirmed her details, she filled a cup at the water fountain, took a swig and spilled all down her/my clean t-shirt.

She looked at me with a big, beautiful grin and quipped, "Who's gifted?!" And just like that, we weren't nervous about the test anymore.

Collect Calls

I'm no anthropologist, but there's got to be something primal about collecting stuff.

Whether intended or not, we all have collections-- it might be shoes, cars, jeans, art, tea cups, snowglobes or tsotchkes. Some people pursue their collections (picking up a magnet in each city they visit, say), others have collections thrust upon them (I saw this frog and thought of you since you have so many frog things...).

My weakness is toys. Toy makers are no dummies. They know that the real money is to be made not from the one-time toy purchase but from the repeat customer, the collector. So Snoopy gets a wardrobe. And Matchbox manufactures every make and model. And Hello Kitty-- is there anything you can't get these days with Hello Kitty on it? I wish I could go back in time with a trunk of today's Hello Kitty loot and make my seven-year-old-self's day.

Back when my son was into Thomas the Tank Engine, he played with the wooden trains all the time. And we collected them. I say we because I think I was just as into adding new trains as he was. What collection would be complete without Daisy? Or Spencer? Or Diesel 10? But, man, there was always another overpriced train being released. When I realized that they were using the TV show to introduce this endless parade of new trains my cynicism (finally) took over. Fortunately, at around that time, my son's interests moved on. (Baseball and football cards have yet to draw me in)

My daughter has about 20 active collections. Littlest Pet Shops. Boos. Webkinz. Pandas.

For her birthday last year we gave her one of those Charm-It charm bracelets. I figured it would appeal to her on many levels: jewelry, adorable miniatures, collecting things.... But I think I was just projecting. The other day I was at the toy store and was checking out the spindle of charms. (They always have new ones and some are ridiculously awesome.) And, lo and behold, there it was! Finally! A panda charm. I think I actually squealed. The intersection of two collections? Priceless. Right? Right?

I called my daughter over, figuring she'd go nuts. Eh. Not so much. She used her store credit on (yet another) stuffed animal.

Phone Home

The other day I took the kids into the city on the train. The permit to park at the train station only covers one car, so, to minimize the hassles, the kids and I joined my husband and the rest of the commuters traveling on the 7:23.

Of course, actually catching the 7:23 is not without hassles. In the frenzy of waking up two extremely sound sleepers and getting them (and me) washed up, dressed, and out the door-- while also making sure that the dog went out to do her business and that I had something with me for each of the kids to eat, drink and do while on the train-- I forgot a few things. Like to put on any makeup. Or my watch. Or to grab my blackberry.

If I didn't already know that I am dependent on my phone, consider that lesson learned. I can't tell you how many times I reached for my phone before remembering I didn't have it. Not having my watch only compounded the problem-- I came thisclose to having to ask a stranger for the time.

On only one other occasion can I remember feeling the same way: when we lost power in our house. "I can't use the stove... I'll just use the microwave. Oh, wait.... That won't work.... The toaster! Oh, wait..." And then later, "The TV doesn't work but we have stuff on Tivo. Oh, wait...."

As the kids sat on the train home, happily reading their books, I again regretted having planned to return a backlog of emails over bringing my book. And then, an epiphany: I'll play Word Mole to pass the time! Oh, wait....

My next thought? I am too stupid to live! (Extra credit if you know who I'm quoting.)

Private Practice

My husband has taken the kids on a couple of overnight ski trips recently and I have been left alone for the first time in 10 years. I am not good when left alone: I take liberties. Remember that Saturday Night Live spoof of the movie "Ghost"? Sam's ghost comes back to visit Molly who, because she believes she is alone, is wondering around the apartment in dirty sweats, farting and picking her nose.

OK, I'm not THAT bad, but standards are definitely slipping. Tonight I ate a nutritionally suspect dinner. At 5:45. In front of the TV. Wearing my pajamas. I planned to watch a dreadful chick flick until I remembered I don't like chick flicks, so I watched "The Social Network" instead. Still, my husband didn't want to see it (it doesn't involve either the mafia or Clint Eastwood)so it's a victory. It was actually pretty good.

These experiences have given me a fairly accurate insight into what my life might look like if I were single. Not sure I would appreciate this lack of structure on a long-term basis. So now I'm going to go to bed early and tomorrow I'll get up late. Then, I guess I'll get my festively-plump self to the gym. Before I'm tempted to buy a cat.

Unfit to Print

My printer broke. It's one of those things I don't appreciate as much as, say, my Blackberry, because I don't use it daily but not having it was a royal pain in the you-know-what. Whether by accident or divine meddling (paranoid, much?) I suddenly needed to print lots of things.

After a full week of trying to fix it myself, getting cross, driving up to the nearest Kinko's and waiting in line for a computer at the local library I decided to bite the bullet and call the helpline at Dell.

"My printer says it has a paper jam but I can't see any kind of blockage."
"Did you lift up the lid where the ink cartridges go, Ma'am."
("Duh! And by the way, you need to not call me Ma'am.")/ "Yes"
Did you look in the back where the paper feeds in?"
"No ... oh, there's a Nerf dart in there, wedged under one of the rollers!"
" .... OK then?"
"OK."

Bloody kids.

The Eyes Have It

The cupcakes that I made for my daughter's birthday today call to mind: a) Geico's "Somebody's Watching Me" commercials; b) those old-school Sesame Street "yip yip yip" aliens; or c) the 18 crazy, over-sugared kindergarteners that I left in my wake.

I hope her teacher forgives me.

Well spotted!

This is the blog I was going to write:

'Since I turned the big 4-0 I have suffered from adult acne. Not too bad - essentially a red, itchy Fu Manchu demi-moustache - but irritating in more ways than one. I guess that if I had to pick a time to get acne I'd choose now as opposed to the teen years but it's never a fun affliction. The really weird thing is that it's only on the right side of my face. What's up with that?! I am forced, in everyday conversations and especially in photographs, to do a Shannon Dougherty and only display one side of my face.'

Then I woke up the next day with acne on the left side of my face as well. Serves me right for complaining.

Nostalgia

Dana Carvey hosted Saturday Night Live this weekend. I don't know if SNL was better back when Dana Carvey was on or if I just watched it more regularly but I was actually happy seeing Wayne, Garth, and the Church Lady again.

Unfortunately, not all walks down memory lane are as welcome: I find myself living inside one skit from that era every Monday afternoon (my own personal Groundhog Day) and it's like Chinese water torture.

The original bit had Chris Farley nervously interviewing or chatting with a celebrity and all of Farley's lines would begin with "Remember that time..." Like to Paul McCartney: "Remember that time you were in the Beatles? That was cool." Or to Bruce Willis: "Remember that time in Die Hard when you jumped from a building? That was cool."

In my life, it's a little girl that I carpool to and from dance class. "Remember when I climbed over the seat? That was funny." (Yes, I remember, it just happened five minutes ago.) And then, invariably, on the way home: "Remember before when I climbed over the seat? That was funny." And-- I'm not exaggerating-- it happens every week. We are always forced to reminisce about events THAT JUST TOOK PLACE. Or things that happened during last week's drive. Things that, really, weren't particularly memorable even at the time they occured.

Hey! Remember that time we played who can be the quietest both ways? That was cool.

Aye Chihuahua!!!

Feeding into the celebration of mediocrity, Minx's kindergarten teacher brought up the subject of half-birthdays at school and sent around an email suggesting that parents of summer babies could bring in a special snack on that day. In case you didn't get the message, there followed a list of upcoming half-birthdays in the class. Bugger.

So, despite having a Mother Hubbard pantry (from the winter storms and mismanagement - not necessarily in that order), I scraped together some ingredients and made 24 cupcakes. In the shape of Chihuahuas.

Oh, and by the way, to those kids who complained that the nose was a Raisinet instead of a Jellybean: you will not be invited to the REAL birthday.