Home > Journal > Not that there's anything wrong with doing it like a mans Not that there's anything wrong with doing it like a mans Date Created: Oct 16, 2007, 04:21 PM Today is back to reality. Last week, Will took the whole week off from work. I really anticipated us getting a tad sick of each other or us getting in each other's way, but that didn't happen. Today I miss him miss him miss him. We took the boys to and from school together. We cleaned out the garage. We went fishing. He drove me to my tennis match and stayed and watched. I read almost a whole book. It was wonderful. Two parents at home full time with three kids--now THAT works! Too bad someone has to work. Or I should say too bad someone has to work for money. Anyway, it really was great. Luckily I won my tennis match this morning, so I'm not thinking about missing him. And I do have to admit the boys are napping right now and it is really really quiet. I do miss him, but my own company isn't so bad either. I didn't write one word of anything while he was home. Funny, because with all of his help I had plenty of time. But even writing this blog is sort of a solitary business. And if I'm not feeling just a little weepy and lonely what's the point of writing anyway? A couple of weeks ago we took the guys to the doctor for their 4-year check-up. The boys were actually excited. They love their doctor. Will and I were hemming and hawing the whole time because we knew there were four shots each waiting for them at the end. Apparently four is a milestone of sorts because the boys had to do hearing and eye chart tests which they'd never done before. George went first on the eye chart. It has pictures of flags, sailboats, stars, moons, stuff like that. George is the one guy whose vision we haven't been worried about. When they were born, John and James both had retinopathy of prematurity which is normal for preemies. James had to have surgery and wears glasses. John's case was milder, but they told us at the time to be sure to have his eyes examined when he turned four or five. George had no problems. Well the nurse stands up at the chart and I stand back with George, holding a plastic thing over one eye. First the nurse points to a big zero. "A tire," George says. Okay, not bad. Then she points to a sailboat. A BIG one. In his high-pitched where's-my-blue-blankie voice he says, "I don't know what that is." I do a polite ha-ha and then give George a polite squeeze on his shoulder. "Georgie, you know what that is." The nurse points to a half moon. "I don't know what that is." I give my teeth a polite clench and say, "George...." "I don't know," he says." I know he knows what is on that damn chart! And Lord strike me down now if I am overlooking the fact that the poor child can't see. But how does it look for a parent to feed answers to a four-year-old who SUPPOSEDLY is too young for any sort of guile or trickery? "I know he can see it," I say. The nurse gives me a polite smile as if to say, "Right. We've seen your kind around here before." So then we move on to the hearing test. The nurse puts the headphones on George and I give him a not-so-polite smile that says, Come on, George, do what the nice nurse says. The nurse tells him what to do, raise the hand of the side you hear. And even though I know George of all people can do this, I think it's a touch complicated if not for four-year-olds in general than at least my semi-dense four-year-olds. Really what I'm thinking to myself in horror is, All the other four-year-olds can do this? They must all be girls. Anyway, the nurse pushes a button and George just grins. "Do you hear anything?" "No," he says. The nurse turns the button way up. "Do you hear anything?" "No." The nurse takes off the headphones and tries it herself. "It's working," she says. She puts them back on George. "Now he should hear this." He shakes his head. "Did you hear anything, George?" she asks. "No. Yes. I heard somethin'." "Which ear did it come from?" "This one," he says without pointing to either ear. Then he catches on and raises a hand. "I heard it in this one. No, this one." He alternates raising his hands like he's doing some exercise. In my mind I am the Man with the Yellow Hat, "GEORGE!" The only part George fully participated in was the urine sample. "Yay! I've never T-T'd in a cup before!" And he almost filled the thing up. John was pretty cooperative except that Mr. Don't Forget The Doctors Said To Get My Eyes Checked scored 20-20 vision on his chart test. My theory is that the John that can't stand to lose or perform anything less than perfect used all of his might to send superpowers to his eyes so he could ace the test. While George on the other hand hopes you think he can't see so you'll never really know how much he can. James did well during the visit except that he would not lie down on the table so the doctor could feel his tummy. It is so annoying. Will gave polite promises/warnings of milkshake rewards/bribes. But King James will lie prone to no man! Finally the doctor was finished with his part and it was time for the nurse and I to perform the dirty work. Will waited in the waiting room with two of the guys while I held George for shots. Two in each arm. I can stand the wriggling. I can stand the pain they must feel. I can stand the strong-arm techniques of the no-nonsense nurse. What I can't stand is the look of pure shock on their faces as the first needle pierces their skin. You did this to me? You hate me this much? You would hurt your own child this way? You knew all along we would have shots and you never told me? How can you do this to me? How can there be a God in a world that hurts like this? How could you lie to me? How could you? How could you? How could you? No need to describe each boys' reaction in detail. George went first because I knew he'd be the LEAST distraught by the time we got back to the waiting room so wouldn't scare the others. James was medium. With John the no-nonsense nurse summed it by saying, "You really saved the worst for last, hunh, Mom?" And I did. That way Will could have us all paid up, stickers picked out, and by the time John was finished we could all just whisk ourselves out of the office leaving John's primal screams in our wake. And that's what we did. In the car on the way to Sonic for comfort food George played with the little toy parachuter the nurse gave him for being so brave, John whimpered and confirmed that he would be able to get grilled cheese, fries, AND ice cream, and James mumbled a scathing diatribe complete with furrowed brow and emphatic head-shaking: "Shots are bad. Going to the doctor is not good. Dr. Davis is not good. That was not a nice nurse. I don't want to go back there. Shots are bad. Shots are not good. I do not like the doctor. Going to the doctor is not fun." Later that day my friend Jessica and her twin baby girls brought over ice cream sandwiches from Carvel, preventing me from drinking myself silly and keeping the boys' mouths full enough that they couldn't offer any more comments about the shots. That was a couple of weeks ago, but I've noticed the experience has resurfaced subconsciously every now and then. When James plays astronauts now, he calls himself, "Needle Armstrong," instead of the more docile "Neil." In other less docile news, George is excited about being Super Peacock for Halloween and lest you old reactionary traditionalists out there worry about George ending up as a dancer in Vegas one day (not that there's anything wrong with that), he has given me more details about this wily super-hero. "Underneath his feathers," he says, "he has sharp pointy points!" So you see, he is still the hyper-violent macho man you want him to be. I have taken advantage of the super-hero angle by releasing myself of the resourcefulness necessary for making a magnificent fan-shaped tail of feathers by instead making a cape with feathers attached. Much easier. I am going to skip the sharp pointy points, however. It was the thought that counted there. Also, I suggested a mask like Zorro's, not that there's anything wrong with everyone recognizing that's my kid in the turquoise peacock costume. Apparently George has really been aggressive lately about garnering the top blog stories by doing really weird things, because here are a couple more. The first story is I think a show of true brilliance. The second is I think a story of true male depravity. We were all in the car the other day and I guess being the only female in the house has started to corrupt my own standards of good taste, because we were being very silly and talking about poop. Literally. When the boys poop on the potty they get a Rolo. After a day of hanging out with "da guys" I throw out, "What if you pooped a Rolo!" John said, "That would be gross!" James said, "If you pooped a Rolo and then you ate it, you would get sick!" George said with straight face and a bone-dry tone, "If you poop a Rolo, do you get a poop? That's a jote." The second story also has to do with poop, would you believe. George called for Will the other day from the upstairs bathroom. Will went up and instantly called down to me. "You gotta come see this." George was standing in front of the potty with his pants down. A huge turd lay on the floor right behind him. George hadn't had a poop accident in months. "George! What happened?" "I had to poop AND T-T. At the same time." "WHAT!?" "That's how I do it!" "Next time sit on the potty!" "I do it like a mans, standing up." Hopefully that's the end of his multitasking. That varmint is always looking for the easiest quickest way to do everything so as to not take him away from his time playing with his animals. "Mize pets," he calls them. His posse currently includes Stripesey, Turtle, Beaver, Badger, Foxy, and Cow. John has fallen back in love with his little doll that has his name on it, his birthday, and birth weight and length. We've always called the doll Baby John. John still calls him this, but now says Baby John is a "grill" (girl). I don't know what this says about John. Is it possible he already likes the idea of cuddling up at night with a lady-friend? I think he's been reading too many fairy tales lately. And for the first time in our family history I heard these words from James when I walked outside and Will and the boys were sitting around the table on the deck: "No goils allowed! Just boys." It actually hurt my feelings for a minute, and then I said, "Ooooo, hurt me," and went inside and enjoyed the briar patch they'd thrown me into. Not too much else going on right now besides the increasing testosterone. John seeks out anyone who seems like a "tough guy"--to him, at least. Yesterday he ran up to a little boy riding his bike past our house with his mother. "What's your name?" the boy asked in a gruff voice. "John!" John said back in a gruff voice. The two chased each other, one via training wheels one via bare feet while the mother and I chatted. She mentioned setting up a playdate for the guys, but said, "Maybe one or two of them. I'd hate to leave one out, but..." Now, of course I don't expect anyone to invite triplet boys over. But, lady, you don't come right out and say that. I'm sorry, but it would absolutely break George and James' heart if only John got to go over to this kid's house to play. I don't know what I'll do if it comes up again with her. Probably just suck it up and invite her child to come over to our house instead. I told Will about it and he said to add it to the list of dumb things people say when confronted with triplets. And like I said, I totally understand and don't expect someone to invite them over, but let's face it, inviting just one at this age isn't really an option either. John asked me a question the other day that totally caught me off guard and was a reminder to me that sometimes the boys catch on to more than I give them credit for. The boys were born in July, but they were supposed to be born in October. Since they were actually born in July, they could technically have been in the 4-year-old preschool class. But since they were supposed to have still been three when the school year started and because they are boys we put them in the three-year-old class instead. My greatest fear was putting them in the fours only to get to second grade and one of them be completely ready to move on and one or two of them completely needing to repeat a grade. How heartbreaking would that be? This way, I figured they would have an extra year to get their act together. So the other day John asked me, "Why are we in Miss Mollie's class if we're four?" How to explain! I said, "I'm sure there are other people in the class who are four." "No." He shook his head. "Don't you like Miss Mollie and Miss Leigh?" "Yeah." "Well, we thought you'd want to be in that class with them and next year be in the fours." "Hmmm," he said. Then I said something like, "Uh, I have to go to the bathroom." Not the last uncomfortable conversation, I'm sure, but I was surprised how soon this one came and how unprepared I was. It seemed like the issue was really bothering him, but I didn't have anything comforting to say about it. When are you supposed to be honest and when are you supposed to fool them with warm fuzzies? How do you know what knowledge they are ready for and what on the other hand would scare them? I tried to start a conversation the other day about not talking to strangers, but I failed miserably. I've been trying to GET them to talk to people when I introduce them since they could talk. They didn't even understand what I meant by the word "stranger". Just blank stares. Oh well, I promise to try on that front again, but in the meantime I comfort myself with the thought that no kidnapper in their right mind wants three and if even one of the grandmothers takes one of them without the others the ones left behind scream and carry on because they don't want to be left out. So I am sure I would hear the screaming and yelling at the kidnapper, "Me too! Me too! I wanna go!" Okay, so that's not a joking matter. Forgive me. But hey, there are a FEW advantages to having triplet boys and having a triple-dose of noise, stink, and energy as a kidnapper deterrent is one I'm quite thankful for. Speaking of those things, I better go. One man's deterrent is another woman's calling.

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