The work is still piled high but I missed you and,well, there has been quite a bit going on in my neck of the woods.
That said, I'll keep it brief because sadly not one of my co-workers understands the meaning of a closed door.
Now then, a couple of weeks back I'd taken the twins to their five year check up. They were a bit "up in arms" about being there because I'd forewarned them about the one shot that they would need. But they were generally ok during the multitude of tests, poking and proding from the office staff.
Until it came to the vision test. For my son.
He claimed he couldn't see the bottom line. A couple of things ran through my head at the moment the nurse asked him again if he could read the last line. 1) He's over this damn doctors appointment and wants desperately to leave and thus has put you on ignore
or 2) He hasn't mastered every single alphabet letter visually and may not recognize what you're showing him.
So I chose not to worry about it too much at that point. When the physician came in I mentioned both of these things and he simply said "perhaps, but I'd like to have him seen by a pediatric optometrist to be on the safe side".
Again, it didn't occur to me to worry as I hadn't had any other indications that my son B, couldn't see well.
But I made an appointment with a pediatric optometrist for the following week. And after spending about 2 hours with the incredibly skilled and patient staff at the optometrist's office I was told he would indeed need glasses as he has astigmatism .
Dammit, I thought, out of all the things I wanted to pass down to my child that certainly wasn't one of them.
I almost teared up when she gave me the verdict, now mind you I was particularly hormonal that day, but it still saddened me that my little baby would have to get glasses at age 5. In fact it more then saddened me.
What I couldn't figure out was why. I mean it was only glasses for freaks sake. Hell, I've had some kind of corrective lens since the age of 14 and it's not the worst thing in the world.
But for some reason even as we tried on frames and B sported the cutest little Adidas specs, I was still inwardly upset while outwardly trying to make picking glasses the most exciting thing ever.
Just what was my problem?
And then it occured to me, I'm worried about my son being teased. I would do anything not to have him subjected to that type of cruelty.
So I thought and I thought, about just what I could do to make this situation right. I mean, as his mom and his protector I had to do something.
And then... Eureka, I got it !!!
I shall teach my son to fight back with his words.
Here's how, I envision it going in my mind:
Punk Kid: Hey, four eyes
My sweet son, B: Are you talking to me ?
Punk Kid: yeah you, nice glasses, dork
My sweet son, B: I know you're trying to get to me but I like my glasses. They are helping me see clearly.
However, now that I can see everything, I'm seeing for the first time how ass ugly you really are...(walks away and flips him the bird)
What too much ?