Quick and Simple |

Our afternoons and evenings are quite busy. Like most parents with school-aged kids, this time of the day is packed with all sorts of activities – sports, piano, errands, and the occasional trip to the church office for one thing or another. Recently, when pulling up to my husband’s office, our little two-year old yelled, “We’re home!” Poor, little confused pastor’s kid.

But on this particular day, we had the freedom to go right home after school – except for quick and simple detour to the doctor’s office for flu shots.

I planned for this quick and simple diversion, but if my blog is familiar at all, there is a consistent pattern in my life: my simple plans are never simple. In fact, I think I jinx my plans with bold attempts to be quick and simple. And really, honestly, the words “quick” and “three children” should simply not be understood together, but for some reason, I continue to think I can defy the forces of nature.

I have met several young families through the years that have a certain grace about them – a poise that I have never understood. We just don’t do things simply. And, quite frankly, grace, folks, is not the Polski’s forte.

Just the other day, for example, we were at a luncheon with our three children. The luncheon went “smoothly,” aside from my son falling in a fountain.

And so it goes. It’s probably time I accept my reality – in this season of life, most activities just won’t go as smoothly as planned….including trips to the doctor’s office.

We were only five minutes late for our appointment. For me, this is usually a foreshadowing of nothing but good things to come. I was assuming we’d be in and out for the vaccines, which would be a good thing because of my intense dislike of the doctor’s office.

My hatred is not due to the typical waiting and usual inconvenience that typically comes with doctor’s offices. No, it’s low on my list of places because it is, in my humble opinion, a “germ fest.” It’s a, “come on in and breathe in every little kid’s illness in one small room,” kind of a place. Kids are crying, snotting, coughing, and sneezing. It’s my personal hell.

So, I was anxious to get out of the germ infested waiting room so we could get back to the germ infested patient room, breathe in our virus, so as to not get the virus, and get out of there – quick and simple.

While in the waiting room, I told Ella and Jrod to sit in a chair and not move. Next, I directed lily: “Lily, don’t touch the fish tank in the middle of the room. It’s gross. Just stand here by momma.” The receptionist handed me three papers to fill out – one for each child. When I sat down to look at the papers, Jrod laughed and said, “Mom, look! Lily’s kissing the tank.”

If you know me, it’s of no surprise that I literally gagged. The tank was covered in little hand prints and smears from children who, like my own daughter, have showed love to the fish in their own unique way.

So, I picked her up and decided to hold her for the remainder of our time in the waiting room. And just like that, my child was transformed before my eyes. It was the alter ego of my youngest that I’ve grown accustomed to. The one that comes from the darkest places….

I could no longer contain my toddler, who at the time could pass for a rabid monkey.

I felt a sense of freedom as I set her flailing body down. Unfortunately, this did not help. She began rolling around on the floor crying out. The older two sat in the chair cracking up – they find Lily’s tantrums more entertaining than Tom and Jerry. I’m glad someone does, because to everyone else in the room, I was once again “that” mom. I was the one whose child was out of control. I was the one who caused the semi-quiet waiting room to become, in an instant, a place of panic and stress.

She finally found a permanent position and began merely whimpering with her face planted into the middle of waiting room floor.

I gagged again.

I really didn’t think I could handle one more minute, so I went to the receptionist desk and with my “phone voice” (as my kids call it) I said very peacefully, “Is it almost our turn?”

The receptionist looked at her list and explained that she was waiting on my paper work. Paper work. I was supposed to fill out the paper work. How is it that all these other mom’s finished their paper work, for goodness sake? And why, for that matter, was no one else’s daughter lying face first in the middle of the waiting room?

Once the paper work was filled it out, I handed it back, mustered up all the self control left in me, and I sat. I waited as patiently as possible while watching my daughter suck up the fumes on the waiting room floor. She was no longer crying, so I decided to leave the human lump where it was. Ella offered to get her, and for once, I denied Ella the right to be a better parent than me.

Finally, we were called back. I picked up lily and told all three of them this would be really quick…and simple.

Once back in the room, the nurse asked which child would go first. My brave Ella offered and sniffed up the mist as quick as could be.

Jrod was next. After seeing how easy it was for Ella, he was brave as well. He sat in the chair, sniffed up, and….sneezed. Good grief. She tilted his head back and finished him up – only a slight complication, nothing to get worked up about.

It was Lily’s turn. As soon as the nurse picked her up, she looked concerned, and surprisingly, it wasn’t because of Lily’s alter ego. My daughter was being suspiciously calm.

“Does she have a fever?”

I wasn’t trying to act confused – I literally was. I didn’t think she had a fever. I’m a mom, for heaven’s sake. I can feel a fever. No, Lily did not have a fever.

The nurse didn’t believe me. Out came the thermometer which read 102.

I decided it was totally inappropriate to say, “I knew that,” so I relented to the hard truth – I had no idea my daughter had a fever.

The nurse continued on with a series of questions:

“How long has she had the fever?” I didn’t know.

“Has she been eating well?” I wasn’t sure how to answer this question. My youngest refuses everything, and I mean everything, good for her. If it has color, it goes on the floor. So I relented to my nervous humor: “Well, if Mac and cheese and ice cream means eating well, she’s doing fine!” I’m pretty sure she wasn’t amused.

“Has she had any cold symptoms?” None that I had noticed. But then I began second guessing myself – did she have a runny nose? Did she seem stuffed up? Had I heard her coughing? I quickly changed my answer and told the nurse that maybe she did have a little cold, but then I thought again and couldn’t recall anything. I went back to my original answer. The nurse just looked at me.

“Has she been acting more irritable than normal?” I laughed.

For fear that the nurse would think my daughter was not in capable hands, I explained that perhaps we’d seen her alter ego a little more than normal, but I hadn’t noticed any other abnormal symptoms. I was immediately amused, and somewhat disturbed, at the fact that I did not consider it “abnormal” that only moments before my daughter lay in a heap with her face planted down on the waiting room floor.

Lily could not get the vaccine, due to the fever, but at the urging of the nurse, we went back to re-check in so that she could be looked over.

And there we were, one hour later, back in the waiting room…waiting.

It was then that I began bribing – anyone who sat still and did not complain would get a lollypop. This worked for like five minutes.

Finally, we were back in the patient’s room, again. All four of us sat down in the small room, and very quickly, all four of us began going crazy.

I told the kids we’d play twenty questions. Jrod began. “How do babies come out of mom’s tummies?” Not that kind of twenty questions, son.

I changed the game to I spy – all in an attempt to not cry. Jrod and Ella eventually came up with their own game of that they entitled “swap the stickers.” Somehow my children swiped a grand total of twelve stickers after their flu vaccine. I decided this was not the best time to chastise them for their greed. We’d do that in the car on the way home…if we ever made it home.

Finally, another nurse graced us with her presence. She asked me the same questions as the previous nurse, and I had the same answers. The nurse then suggested that the two older kids go and sit in the empty room next door while she examined Lily.

Once thoroughly examined, Lily and I were finally released. I wanted to shower with Lysol, but instead I went to gather the other two. As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was wrong. They were sitting in the chairs and quietly giggling. I decided not to ask, so I walked over and grabbed Jrod’s hand. It was then that I learned what the giggling was about. “Mom, don’t step there! Jrod peed his pants!”

Wow. I mean, it was truly unbelievable, especially since the bathroom was right next door. I have to give him credit, though, I told him not to move – and move he did not.

I finally handed Lily over to Ella and began grabbing several paper towels, hoping that no one would come in the room. As I wiped up, I kept envisioning Lily’s face on the waiting room floor. Gross. I couldn’t help but gag.

We finally made it to the car. I sat in the front seat and stared at the clock on the dashboard. Our quick detour lasted an hour and forty-five minutes and left me with three cranky children, a very tired and grossed out mom, a pair of soiled pants, and a fever.

Next time we have an empty afternoon, I do believe we will “simply” go home.