Time for Your Checkup...

If you have littles in your life under the age of five you just sang the title of this entry: "Time for Your Checkup..." to the irritating little Doc McStuffins cartoon theme song. 

Well, today, it was "time for our checkup"... and while I sit and contemplate the last hour and a half of my life, I'm cracking open a Summer Shandy. Don't judge.

Scheduling both wellness checkups (2.5 years - yah, I'm a little late, oopsies, and 15 months, also late, but just fashionably) at the same time was not by choice...but the summer days have started to get away from me, just as they do around July 15th or so, every year.

I went into today with good intentions, although anticipating the fucking chaos that was to become of my morning.  I was armed and prepared (to bribe): with cake pops... and copious bulleted-point notes on each child so the nurse, the doc, and I had to do as little talking as possible.

Why? Because trying to get two kids under 3 examined at the same time is like trying to have a meaningful life-altering conversation in the middle of a moshpit at a death metal concert. On a 100 degree day. With wet, humid mudpies flinging left and right past you- the remnants from a steady rain.

Once we got through the semantics...the percentages and growth curves...blah blah blah and the "tisk, tisk" that Mads still takes a bottle and that J still takes a "blue" (pacifier) and that potty training took a hiatus (don't judge)-- the pandemonium began.

Jimmy proceeded to open every cabinet, drawer, garbage and cubby just to slam each one in a sequential order (See what happens when you move to a toddler bed? You give up naps and quality sleep and become an overtired little person). For some odd reason his ears weren't working today when he must not have heard me say "Knock it off!" seventy-two times.

Maddy, not to be outdone, began screeching "smooshy" (which is what we say when we put sanitizer on our hands - again, don't judge) as she pointed to the soap dispenser. No stopping this episode until I helped her wash her hands. Water everywhere and who knew she didn't care for brown paper towels?

J rolled endlessly on the germy floor (build that immunity, buddy!) only to settle under the chairs to try to go poop. 

J wanted water. 

M wanted water; well, not her water but her brother's. From a cup. She doesn't know how. Proved me wrong. Again. She grabbed it, raised it one-handed (I'll show you, Mom) to her lips, took a giant gulp (daintily), then spit it all over the floor. Par for the course.

All this while J shouted on repeat: "Toyota: Let's Go Places" in various spokesperson-tones. Sometimes emphasis on "Go"... othertimes emphasis on "Places..." Clever.

And this was all just while the nurse was still trying to measure head circumferences. 

Once the doc came in, forget it. You may as well have let loose a hundred hungry sharks in shallow water loaded with plump, tan, oblivious vacationers. 

J's turn first. All played out well for the most part until she got to checking in his pants. "Watch out for the Golden Eggs and Beanstalk," he warned.. followed up with the gem: "My wang!". In the meantime, Mads, vehemently displeased she didn't have the doc's full attention, began to cry the silent "Oh shit, what's-she-gonna-do-next?" cry, which was merely a segue into full-blown bloody murder screams accompanied by an almost-needing-a-paper-bag hyperventilation act. For no reason. Then she began the reaching. For J's Beanstalk. Such a scene the doc had to avert her eyes.

Once J was done he was held at bay by the promise of the cake pop in the car while we waited "just a few minutes longer" for Mads' turn. Although "at bay" at this point meant sitting on the floor behind the doc while she was reviewing notes on the computer from the wheeley-doctor's stool. "SSSSSHHHH" puffs of air filled the infrequent milliseconds-long silence as the depression of the lever which controls the stool's height is at the hands of a 2.5++year old madman. Doc sank down about 6 inches -- but didn't mind. She has two under three of her own. Thank God. Any other doc would've suggested I attend a parenting course. Or that I go on meds.

As for Mads, status quo bill of health, yay! ...until the two shots, at least. 

Speaking of shots, I may go pour one right about now. Yah, that sounds about right. I won't be saying "Let's Go Places" tonight... staying put with another beer and a cake pop sounds like just what the doctor ordered.

Another Candle

This week, I will light another candle on my imaginary birthday cake. Errr.

My birthday was always a special "holiday" each summer that would serve as an excuse for a boy/girl party, a swimming extravaganza, a Wah-pa-ghetti's pizza and a card containing X amount of dollar bills from Ma, marking my age in singles.

Ma always had a knack for making my birthday special. She would remind me I was her "miracle baby," for whom she had hoped for years and years. It didn't occur to me until my mid-teens that my birthday was as much of a day of importance for my Ma as it was for me. After she took me to get my license on that 16th birthday morn, I made my first trip, alone, driving, in a car, ha ha, to the flower shop, to pick up some flowers for the woman who never told me how many hours of labor she endured or of the heartbreak some of my childhood illnesses caused her. 

I have brought her flowers every year, on my birthday, since.  Only these days, I deliver them to what my son lovingly refers to as the "Flower Park". 

...

So many wonderful memories have been made on the day of my "glorious birf"...

• 1984 - Ma put sparklers in our Cubs themed birthday cake (Deb and I used to have a combined family party).

• 1985 - Dad picked up 20 burgers from McDonalds and we celebrated on the deck of the old house on Waverly with Gramma and Grampa and AJ. I had never seen so many burgers* at one time and I found it to be hilarious. (*Please note that at our wedding, we upped the midnight snack order to 500 cheeseburgers!)

• 1987- Grampa showed up with a boy Cabbage Patch Doll which was dressed like he was in the Navy. 

• 1990 - Pool Party with all of my TMS peeps, which Ma still made enjoyable even though it was cold and rainy. This is the beginning of the warm blankets...those of you who were a part of this know what I'm referring to.

• 1993 - Got my driver's license and went to pick up Meg and Jen that night... I realized I had never driven in the dark before and I didn't know how to turn the headlights on. Oopsie.

• 1998 - Turning 21 with fifteen "gooeys" and a keg at my parents' house to share in the celebration.

• 2005 - The Cubs game with Tiffany, Heather, Jules and Rob... the day we all got lost and I found a bottle of mustard in my purse. Hmmm.

• 2006- Howl at the Moon. Fish Bowl Drinks. No Bueno.

• 2009 - Continuing the flower ritual, meeting Ma in her "smoking corner" in the garage, and showing off the shiny, new, sparkling engagement ring I had received about a half hour earlier. I called my Dad to tell him he was now the Father of the Bride, but I had to tell my Ma in person what was to come. It's a memory that I can close my eyes and feel and will always be one of my all-time favorite moments.

• 2010 - Celebrating the day while in Aruba on our honeymoon.

• 2013 - The second birthday without my Ma. Spent the day in the hospital and learned I was expecting Maddy. The day ended by telling my Dad he was to expect another miracle grandchild while we were dining on a gourmet dinner of Jersey Mike's Subs.  I think he thought I was kidding. Happy tears that day for our Happy Accident.

...

A birthday celebration is hardly a celebration after you've lost the woman who brought you into this world. I just want to hug her and thank her with the words I would repeat every July 16th: "Thank you for having me; I have a great life. I love you." I'll just have to write it on a balloon and send it straight up to Heaven.

Big Jim and Dad and the babies and aunts and friends try hard to make it a day still to celebrate, even though they know how heavy my heart can be. I DO have a great life, and I'm happy to be adding this candle. Its glow reflects all the joyous moments that have occurred on this particular day and every day in-between; none of which are ever to be forgotten. As I move further to the right on the imaginary timeline in my mind's eye which marks the moments of my life, I find happiness and comfort in those surrounding me as I open my birthday card and count the X amount of dollar bills, marking my age in singles. 
With love from Dad.