The Check-Up
By Wendy Wheatley I'm a good mother. I know I'm a good mother. I'm not perfect, I lose my temper and sometimes throw my children out the window (just joking...), but I still know that my 3 little girls love their mommy very much and I love them more than anything that's ever crossed this earth. But why do I feel as if the prying eyes of the world frown upon my parenting competence? I'll be the first to tell you that my 3 children have their moments (that middle one has more than her share - make sure you don't turn your back on her for a second!), but there are times where I'm just anticipating the CPS (Child Protective Services) truck to come screaming into my driveway. But why do I worry what other people grumble? I know I have well-behaved children and I'm a proficient parent that takes pride in my children - usually. I took my 4 year old and 2 year old to the doctor yesterday to do a double-whammy yearly check-up. My 4 year old (Skye) loves the doctor and begs to go get a check-up whenever possible. The 2 year old (Parke - yes, I know, my children are unexpectedly named after scenery), is still apprehensive about the doctor, but she's little and I can still hold her down (heh, heh, heh). So this should be a slam dunk, right? Wrong. There's a missing element - Skye is going to get her booster shots (groans from the peanut gallery). Skye is also very, very prissy and we must buy band-aids by the truckful for this hypochondriac. Everything is one big oowie. I take my scenery children to the doctor and Parke is immediately horrified of the scale. She won't go anywhere near it. I completely sympathize with the poor child - I also shriek in terror when confronted with a scale. It's a natural progression of womanhood. After a rigorous stream of tests, both girls pass with flying colors. The doctor has won their trust and is their confidant. Whew! That was easy. We're all done. Just a few booster shots and we're out of there, partners! There was a screaming halt of silence that collasped upon the room. Both children stared wide-eyed in horror at - no, not the doctor - noooo, that's their main man, now - but at me, their mother - as if in how could I possibly subject them to this unspeakable torture that loomed immediately ahead?! And as if to make it worse, the subject of optional chicken pox immunizations surfaces. It seemed the suitable situation. There's an impending sobfest quickly approaching. Might as well get 'em all in at once. My children stared in pure horror at this woman they once called Mommy, become the Wicked Witch of the West. Yehee hee hee heeeee!! I'll get you, my pretty!! And your little sister, too!!! Their mother had become the enemy. Children screeched in terror and scattered for a hiding place. I quickly snatched up the little one we call Parke and held her firmly to my chest while the nurse injected a quick and almost painless shot to the arm. Blood-curling screams echoed in the hallways. The older and wiser child immediately adhered herself under the chairs and curled up in a ball with her arms over her head in classic-style tornado drill fashion. She was determined to evade the cataclysm of the needle. She was determined to go down fighting. And fighting she did. The nurse watched in absolute disbelief at the battle of physical and mental wills that errupted between the Wicked Witch of the West and the oldest of the scenery children. Suddenly, I possessed the power of 6th sense. Blaring like a bullhorn in my mind, I could painstakingly make out, Tsk, tsk, tsk. Why doesn't she just make that bratty child of hers mind? I was going down quickly. The engine was on fire. Smoke was in the cockpit. Mayday!! Mayday!! Can't anyone help me? Then suddenly like a beacon in the night - Use the Force, Wendy. Use the Force. There was clarity. I summoned every breath of the Force possible and swiftly lifted the child we call Skye from beneath the chairs, onto my lap and popped her little biceps with the booster shots. Mission accomplished. Good work men. Let's fly home. But there were no medals waiting for me at the Galactic Base. Only sour children nursing sore arms and bitter attitudes. Their mother was a traitor, a turn-coat. And as for CPS - I don't think I'll have to worry about them for awhile. No one in their right minds would be capable of mustering the strength necessary to drag them away.
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The Check-Up - From Mom's Point of ViewWednesday, 28 January 2009 The Check-Up By Wendy Wheatley I'm a good mother. I know I'm a good mother. I'm not perfect, I lose my temper and sometimes throw my...
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