Doctor, Doctor

Sam had his 4-year check up today and it went OK. I didn't spend all week prepping him, consoling him, lying to him about his upcoming doctor's visit; I just mentioned casually last night that we would go to school late because we were going to see Dr. Susan first thing in the morning.

He started to sense something this morning and spent about 30 minutes whining and fretting about going. I conducted a fake examination of him, in hopes it would calm him down. But every few minutes he would say under his breath "But I don't WANT to go to the doctor."

I don't know how it happens that when you seem to have plenty of time - in this morning's example, we were all dressed, ready and waiting a full hour before we needed to leave - but the last 15 minutes is spent rushing and running and trying to make it out the door. In any case, 9:45 we're at the doctor.

For the most part he did great. He has 20/20 vision (despite his genetic disposition to near blindness). He's right on for height and weight. Ears, eyes, teeth all look great. No worries about dyslexia (yes, I've been worrying) or dandruff (that too) or bedwetting.

I know now how difficult it can be to get a 4-year-old to pee in a cup, not once but twice because you drop the nicely filled cup into the toilet.

But, just about the time that I'm telling the doctor how proud I am of Sam and his behavior as a big brother, he and Jake get into it. I mean really get into it. Pulling and pushing. Sam yelling "You are NOT my friend." Jake yelling "BRRYAAAA. TAAADOOOO."

At this point I felt like I was the one having the examination. I heard this low whisper, like a commentator during a golf tournament: "Alright folks. She has a difficult play ahead of her here. Let's see if she'll blame the older child, thereby creating self-esteem issues and resentment toward the baby. Or, if she'll take the easier route and blame the small, defenseless child who can't verbally retort."

Thankfully, Dr. Susan stepped in, distracting everyone with tongue depressors and even though tears were still streaming down cheeks, no one was screaming anymore.

Not until the three shots, that is.

Poor Sam, his defenses were down and then soon, too, were his pants. And he got three shots in his little white skinny chicken leg.

Two suckers, one Scooby Doo sticker and $444 later, we were on our way out.

"You were right," Sam said cooly. "That wasn't bad at all!"

Speak for yourself, Noodle.

I Swear

I have written in a few days. I catch myself prompting Sam into 'blog worthy' conversations because, day to day, not a lot is going on. That said, I think that is when you miss important things, when things fall through the cracks, when you look back and realize that Sam is basically a kid, that Jake runs all the time, that we, for all intents and purposes, have adopted another cat, and that we are almost through January 2006.

Yes, just when I think Sam is all grown up - he did after all tell me he was ready to move out and get his own wife - he'll say something incredibly sweet and wacky, like my feet smell like lemons or ask if he has to leave the family when he grows up. Nope, sorry kid, family is forever!

I have to appreciate his sense of humor and retort. We were cleaning up toys over the weekend when I commented on how sad I was that we didn't keep better track of the thousands of dollars of Thomas engines we purchased over the past two years. "Well," he said nonchalantly, "I don't know what to tell you." Or when I commented about my bad decision to get the morning's paper in my sock feet and he told me "Maybe you should try SHOES next time."

Lately he likes to say "Damn it" - when he drops his fork, when he falls off his bike, when you've promised to read two stories but he's begging for a third and you say no.

Last night I asked him where he's heard it. "From you and Dad" he said as he pointed with one hand and shoveled mac and cheese into his mouth with the other. I offered a compromise. "I tell you what. Next time you feel like saying it, or the next time Daddy and I feel like saying it, let's say something really silly, like 'beans and weenies' or 'by the hammer of Thor' or my personal favorite, 'sweet cracker sandwich.'" I tell him it's just not a nice thing to say (like stupid or shut up, he asks).

Personally, I don't care if he curses. I think it will pass and with him, I know if we make a big deal out of it, so we'll he. But I am fearful it will come up at an inopportune time, specifically his school evaluations this weekend and next. I can just see it: "Hello Sam. My name is Miss So-and-So. Would you like to play centers with some new friends?"

"Damn it, I want to play home living!"

How DOES She Do It?

One of my favorite laundry tricks is to put something that needs de-wrinkling or fluffing in the dryer with a clean, wet towel and a dryer sheet. It may not be clean, but it'll smell Downy fresh.

This morning I wanted to freshen a skirt I needed for work and wash Sam's Woo, a casualty of a late-night bathroom incident, which he needed for school.

Since I only had about 30 minutes, I actually put his Woo, urine and all, into the dryer with my spotty skirt and the requisite dryer sheet. Thirty minutes later, voila, 'clean' skirt, dry Woo, everybody's happy.

Endangered Species

I have never understood the rationale or passion behind hunting. I once worked with a patient man who loved, appreciated and protected nature, and he explained a lot of things to me. But, I just simply don't understand why someone would derive pleasure out of shooting a beautiful, powerful, wild creature.

There is a story on cnn.com today about the debate over whether to open areas of the northwest to grizzly hunting. Apparently their numbers have increased enough in the past 30 years to warrant thinning out their populations. (There are only 600 of them, but apparently that is too many.)

Wyoming's trophy game coordinator said thousands of hunters are expected to apply for licenses to hunt grizzlies when Wyoming offers a season, which could happen as early as next year. Dick Hadlock, an Idaho hunter, was quoted as saying, "I'd love to shoot one." I think it is appropriate his name is Dick.

(And another thing - as I reread this entry I notice how ridiculous these numbers are. 600 bears, 'thousands' of hunters. Those don't sound like great odds.)

Anecdotes

Ducky

At bedtime Friday we realized we had misplaced Ducky, one of Sam's loveys. I assumed it was in the car, but when it wasn't I sort of panicked. I knew it wasn't in the house because I distinctly remember the chaos with which we entered the house. And we came empty handed. My fear was that it was lying in the Tetco parking lot where I stopped for gas and a bathroom break for Sam five hours earlier.

It was one of those gas stations with a McDonald's attached. Even though Sam had already snacked on 'square cereals' and granola, the walk through McDonald's made visions of chicken nuggets dance in his head (or more likely, visions of a Happy Meal toy), and he proceeded to lay in the parking lot of Tetco wailing something like "I HUNGEEEEE. AAAAHHHH!" I immediately fell into that 'don't make me yell at you in public' mode and managed to get him in the car. Now, hours later, I'm afraid that in the melee Ducky somehow fell out of the car and is now in the hands of someone else, someone who won't appreciate and love Ducky like we do.

After about 20 minutes of online searching I found the gas station's phone number (yes, I tried the operator. She didn't have the listing.) But the attendant couldn't understand me. "Do you have a lost and found?"

"A credit card?" he asked.

"No, I've lost a stuffed animal. Did anyone turn in a stuffed animal, a yellow duck?"

"A credit card was returned to the lady."

What? Nevermind.

I fretted about that duck all weekend long. Only once did Sam say weepily, "I've lost it forever."

Fast forward to this morning. I was secretly hoping it was still in his cubby at school and that we'd simply forgotten it on Friday. It wasn't. So I stopped at the front desk and asked if anybody found a yellow stuffed duck. There he was. Grungy little Ducky.

I think I was happier than Sam.

Practice What You Preach

The Batman bike Sam got for Christmas has a Batman phone. Sam has started calling Batman on the phone regularly. The conversations sound quite real. I suppose Batman is Sam's imaginary friend, to some extent. Jake would love to get his hands on that phone. It may be wrong but I let him play with it when Sam isn't around or napping. But this morning, on the way to Jake's doctor appointment, Sam was using the Batman phone and Jake wanted it ... bad. I tried to mediate by giving Jake my phone, assuming he couldn't do much harm. (He did manage to call Bryon.)

The point of the story is that after the doctor's appointment, as we are driving to school, I realized I had no idea where my cell phone was. When we stopped at school I rummaged through my purses (yes, I brought two today), my lunch, the diaper bag. Nothing. I asked Sam. "Have you seen my cell phone? I can't find it."

And he actually told me. "It's not my phone. It's your responsibility."

Introducing Felix

Three Christmases ago, Bryon went into the kitchen for coffee and found a black cat sitting in the middle of the floor. Long story short, I started feeding him, he adopted us, we adopted him and he has been with us ever since. After tossing around many quirky cat names (Mojo and Goby were front runners for some reason) we settled on Chairman Meow. I thought it was funny but the cat has a wail like a crying baby so it seemed fitting. Officially, the cat goes by Blackcat.

This year one day around Christmas I kept hearing a quiet 'mew mew' around our house. I thought maybe our other cat was locked in a closet but both cats were accounted for. I finally traced the noise to ... you guessed it, a stray black cat. A small, timid beautiful long-haired black kitten. I fed it. (Apparently many of the neighbors were feeding it.) One day our neighbor asked if we'd seen the cat. It had bitten her and she wanted to keep an eye on it. Again, long story short, the cat is still around. Sam's friend Delta named it Felicity, but we found out recently that Felicity is Felix. Although it loves being brushed and following the kids around the yards and alley, it doesn't want to be held. I don't know who of us will adopt Felix (I'm fairly sure someone will) but I believe Felix has adopted us.

Back In the Saddle

I haven't checked in in a while. Suffering from those post-holiday blues, I suppose. We had a great holiday, enjoyed Christmas and were lucky to have many 70 and even 80-degree days. One of these days I'll post some pictures to prove it.

So, just like we never left, here we are back. The kids have adjusted much better than I have. They've even reached some milestones. Jake is walking all the time now. Like a little drunk, bow-legged man he plods around the house in circles, sometimes pivoting on one foot with this look on his face like "Look at what I can DO!"

And for the past 8 nights - yes, we are counting - Sam has gone to sleep on his own, in his own bed. This may not sound like much but it is for us. As a toddler Sam's been a good sleeper - once he's asleep and in his own bed. But for a variety of reasons over the past few months, we got into the bad habit of either letting Sam fall asleep in our bed ("the big bed") and carrying him to his bed around 11:30, or Bryon would sit next to Sam's bed reading until he fell asleep, or I would sleep in Sam's bed until Sam was asleep, then carry myself to the big bed at 11:30.

So one night 8 nights ago, for a reason I've forgotten, I convinced Sam to get into his own bed with Woo and Ducky and let me leave the room with the promise I would check in every 5 minutes. I sealed the deal by agreeing to leave my new pink robe on the bed with him. And so it has gone. Every night since we head upstairs at 8:30, read one chapter of "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" in the big chair, get into bed with the aforementioned accoutrements, say a prayer, kiss goodnight, de-robe and leave the room. Some nights it is easier than others, but on most nights he doesn't even stay awake past the first check in.

I'm very proud of him and amazed at the time it frees up for me, but it's a bittersweet success.