It is school physical time! Whoopee! Yahoo! Okay, the enthusiasm is forced and false. Yesterday, I accompanied our second oldest son to his sports physical and I can't do justice to his obvious excitement. Let's put it this way, if he'd run into a zombie on the way to the clinic, the zombie would've said "Hey, lighten up." To his credit, he did make the effort to shower and brush his teeth. He even put on clean socks...such is his respect for the medical profession. He's doing fine...gained an appropriate amount of weight and grew a decent number of inches. I could have told them that, just based on our grocery bills. There are evenings when we actually catch him wearing a snorkle and working his way through the pantry, fridge and freezer. I did ask the doctor to check to see if his legs were hollow, as he must be putting the food somewhere. We have gotten to the point where we don't ask him or his older brother to help bring the groceries in from the car since the purchases tend to disappear before even reaching the cupboard...bags and all. (We often wondered why they insisted on paper not plastic at the store until they said that, while the plastic had a "nice bouquet and fruity after-taste," the paper bags are more filling.) Speaking of grocery shopping, the boys are not allowed even in the stores anymore. They learned, from their grandpa, the art and science of "grazing" while walking through the supermarket. His "Free Samples" radar is finely tuned and, every now and then, he grabs a grape or two. He does it with style and grace...the Cary Grant of the produce aisle. The big boys have taken this subtle behavior to extremes...a broasted chicken here...a "Happy 85th Birthday, Myron" cake there. After they'd visit, the store looked like there had been a pre-ice storm run on the place.

In any case, the boy is in good health. His eyesight is great...his hearing, selective.

From infant to toddler to pre-school, it feels like you are at the doctor's office more than home, at times. Immunizations are a big reason for some of those visits. No matter how fun the scene painted on the examination room wall may be, the needles still hurt. Of all four kids, our daughter never screamed or, even, teared up due to shots for two possible reasons. One, she didn't want to give her brothers the satisfaction and, two, females are tougher than males. (See, dear, I have learned something over the years.) I knew the boys were growing up and shifting their priorities, when they made a point of not making a sound at inoculation time because the nurse was cute. So, you've got all the well-visits on the calendar to which you add the inevitable sick-visits and, pretty soon, you're including your doctor on birthday and Christmas card lists and asking him or her to co-sign on your second mortgage. With a first child, you tend to run to the doctor at the first sniffle. By number four, while still vigilant, you are less likely to over-play the situation. Kind of like, if a first child attempts to eat a Cheerio off the floor, you knock it from his hand and begin the de-tox procedure which may very well include a call to poison control. When number four comes along, you are actually encouraging him to fight with the dog over spilled food both to "build his immunity" and avoid getting out the mop.

When kids start school they become Petri dishes carrying backpacks. They bring home everything and share it. I don't want to get too graphic here but there were periods of time when all four kids were sick at once and the house was like a cruise ship after a buffet of bad shrimp. The Haz-Mat team showed up on several occasions just because of the odor and brownish haze that had formed on the outside of the place. As unpleasant as it could be to walk from room to room and hear what sounded like auditions for a remake of The Exorcist- it was far better to have them all sick simultaneously, than get into the games of germ tag that kept us knee deep in used tissues and stumbling through a seemingly permanent cloud of Lysol for weeks on end.

With four kids, having all the regular kid/health situations and a few not-so-regular...we were at the offices so often, my wife had a mini-fridge installed and brought her own TV remote for the waiting room. The staff drew the line when she tried to put up different wall-paper. I found the waiting room somewhat nostalgic and comforting because of the presence of Highlights Magazine which seemed about the same as it was when I was a kid. As a slightly strange child, I always thought it would be interesting if Goofus would jump onto the Timbertones (that family made of sticks) page and start taunting them with his Zippo lighter. You just knew Goofus had a lighter. Goofus would be about to shove one Timbertone into a pencil sharpener, when Gallant would appear and save the day.

Yesterday's visit was a little different than the early days. First of all, our son drove himself to the doctor. Secondly, he politely asked me to stay in the waiting room rather than sit in for the actual exam. (I was happy to oblige as there is something disturbing and a little intimidating about your son having more hair on his legs than you do. Also, I have made it a special mission, once my children hit puberty, to never see them wearing anything less than long pants, three shirts and a top-coat. It makes trips to the beach uncomfortable but that's the way it goes. By the way, the feeling is mutual.) The third difference in this trip from little kid appointments, was that our son insisted on paying the doctor bill with his own money. Okay, that one is a lie. I'm still a little delusional from revisiting my "Terror in Timbertone Town" scenario. As a matter of fact, I don't think I paid the bill either. I asked them to send it to Gallant....since he thinks he's such hot stuff!