I have been doing some end of summer cleaning around my house.
I use the term "cleaning" loosely.
Basically, I am perusing my home of things I forgot I had and might currently have use for.
Hello, my name is Heidi, and I am a hoarder.
But, that is another story altogether. And believe me, I will get to it.
Back to the "cleaning". I stumbled across some old pictures of the boys. Mainly, the pictures when my smallest was super tiny. Which is why we called him Tiny T. He is my third child, and you would think there would be no pictures of him. But, I knew he would be my final expedition in childbirth, so my OCD kicked in, and I snapped away til he was temporarily blinded by the flashes.
My middle son, otherwise known as the Bull, for reasons I will also go into at a later date, was so proud he had a baby in the house.
He loved Tiny T and was what you could call "obsessed" with him. He knew everything about the baby. And he thought the baby was his. Which was fine by me, as everyone can always use an extra sitter.
At Tiny T's six month check up, the Bull was four years old and his vocabulary was rich. He was a quiet, shy kid but if he had to speak, he was able to carry on a conversation with any adult.
I said "If he HAD to speak".
Most people never forced the Bull to talk to them, instead saying he was cute and moving on to ooh and aah over the baby. Most words the Bull had were with his family.
But he knew words. He knew alot of words. And I was never so proud to be his mother as I was when I heard him put those words to use at the baby's doctor visit.
The visit started routinely, with all three of us (big A was in school) patiently selecting our seats in the "Well Visit" waiting room.
Sidebar: Have you ever noticed that the "Sick Visit" waiting room at all doctor's offices have way better toys? And your kids always want to play over there even though every disease is waiting on each and every toy. Just hoping some "well" child will come over and lick them so they can pass the sickness on to everyone he touches?
Just a thought.
So, we sat down, watched the fish in the aqarium, and waited for our names to be called. I readied myself for the booster shots that would ensure a lovely crying-filled afternoon in my already chaotic household.
The nurse called us back and we tearfully left the sick-licked toys and entered into our 2nd waiting room, chock full of more sick toys, chairs and a patient table.
The nurse took all the vitals, wrote some stuff in our folder, and asked that we wait for the doctor for the exam.
Once she left, the Bull and I read a book, maybe two and looked at all the pictures on the walls. He described every dinosaur in detail, as he knew all their names. It always amazed me the technical information he could retain. Finally, the doctor came in.
Our doctor was great, super patient and female. The boys always thought that was funny. Especially when she had to check "everything". And the Bull was at the perfect age to notice "everything".
Our doctor, only having girls, loved appointments with my boys. Or at least she seemed to. That would all change on this day. With the Bull. And his vocabulary. That same vocabulary that I had worked so hard to encourage. Yeah, that one.
The doctor did her exam and it came time to check "everything" on the baby. Checking for hernias on a baby boy is a necessary part of any well doctor visit. The Bull was familiar with this part of the exam, having gone through it himself.
But, he was still four and some things are just funny to a four year old. Like hernia checking by a female doctor. So, he, in all his infinite wisdom, decided to make a declaration.
"That's his weiner!" he boasted. Just in case, in the four years of college, four years of medical school, and four years of residency, the doctor had somehow missed this medical term.
The doctor looked at my boy, then looked at me. The horror on my face must have prompted the doctor to ask her next question. This was her one mistake. One I am positive she regretted as soon as it left her lips.
"That's an odd name. What else could you call it?"
Really? That's the question you are going to ask him? The "weiner" kid? I mean, honestly. If he is going to call it "weiner" then one could assume he had been toying with other names.
And in his true-to-form self, showing that he had a daunting grasp of the english language and even better knowledge of synonyms, blurted out:
Well, I best not say what he blurted out. But let's say that it is a true nickname for the name "Richard".
And that was his answer.
Plain and simple.
And I hung my head for the rest of the check up, heard nothing of the baby's statistics, how he grew, how advanced he was for his age. I heard nothing, but the nickname for Richard. Resounding in my head.
Where did I go wrong?
Then, after the appointment, driving home with the Bull and Tiny T in the backseat of the car, playing and thinking nothing of the visit, I came to a resolution. A moral of the story, if you will:
Never ask a child a question you do not want to hear the answer to.
And that includes asking for synonyms.
Trust me. Their thesaurus is much more detailed than ours.
Either that, or don't make an anatomical term a synonym for a vintage man's name.
Take your pick.
