Sadly, Prince is not of the same ilk.  He had more issues when a small child with the dentist — something about throwing up on the dentist seems to be in the story.  Recently he had to get some work done and literally came home sheet white and went to bed to recover.  I don’t think I got the depths of his fears until he walked in from that time.  Secretly, I’ve promised myself he will never drive himself to the dentist again.

Anyway, I’m convinced that my lack of fear and his complete fear are totally rooted in our childhood experiences.  I went to a pediatric dentist with a standing rule that no child ever was to know that shots were involved in dentistry. Prince went to an adult dentist who tended to give him too much gas and causing projectile vomiting.  As anyone can see, our earliest memories are SLIGHTLY different.

So, when it came to the time to begin to take Duke to have his teeth looked at; being the woman that I am, I raised my hand and said “Don’t worry, I’ll be in charge of this, I do NOT want any of *THAT* fear from you to rub off.” Prince, wisely, saw this as two fewer times to set foot into a dental office a year and agreed quickly.  The first few visits I took Duke to my dentist in Snarkville.   First, I REALLY liked him; he was good with kids (and their moms) and he had a special hygienist for kids (Sadly, she longed for kids of her own and never had any.  She poured the love of children out on every child that walked in the door — and the kids responded.)  Duke went there a few times and it was all good.

Then we moved and I feared what the next dentist would be like.  When I searched my insurance, I found that here there is a pediatric dentist in town.  Woot!!  I made an appointment and secretly wish she’d see me.  They are super patient with all the kids (even the scared ones); but they pour on the love to those who are interested in what is going on and are sweet to them.  Duke is bright and figured this out quickly and is the model of perfection from the moment of walking in the door.

This morning, we went for our second ever appointment there.  In the process of counting his teeth, one hygienist says to the other, “Teeth O and P are a little loose.” and then we moved on and chatted about 1,000 other things for 15 to 20 minutes.  The doctor walked in and chatted with Duke and me.  Duke says about 30 minutes after the counting began, “I’m ready to loose my teeth, but just two are loose. O &P.” The dentist looked up to confirm with the hygienist that he was right, that those two teeth were in fact the SLIGHTLY loose ones.  Um, yes.  Wow.  Impressed the heck out of the whole room.  The dentist explained how they letter the teeth and where it begins and ends to Duke.  Duke is mesmerized.  We all have a moment — for a second, I’m thinking about dental school by age 10, for my apparently toothy prodigy.  Then, my bright eyed, sharp as a tack son, bats his baby blues at the dentist and asks (oh, so innocently):

“Do you think I could have TWO prizes, since I knew what letter teeth were loose?”

Dental School is out — Master Negotiator School is in!!!

(Mostly about stuff I’ve never dealt with before — like school supplies. And how can I make a teacher LOVE me — because it is all about me, right?)

Anyway, my friend, who is kind, gave me her cell phone number in case I freaked out had more questions.

So, I was telling Queen Mum how much better this made me feel and Mum asks, “Why does she think you’ll freak out?”  And I respond, “She’s met me.”  (Good thing, she’s met me and still seems to like me and my neuroses.)

But I didn’t have to call.  Today, when we went to see the school — I met the principle who said all the right things.  They shared all the right information.  And the best part, at no time was there an assuption that you ought to KNOW this stuff.

Thus, I raise my glass to my friends who ‘get’ me; to a school that ‘gets’ Duke (and me); and to a highly successful year.

She told me this story probably weeks after I met her, when Duke was just 2.  I know the day will come with a hug and kiss goodbye will be the worst thing I can do to him — up there with packing liver for lunch, I am sure.  But at the time I thought that was held for middle school and not early grade school.  So, of course I instantly took her words as cause for worry for how soon I’d be shunned from my son’s hugs and kisses.

Today, I took my newly minted six year old to the doctor for (ahem, I have something in my eye) a ‘physical’ — a school phyiscal.  You know, they call these visits Well-Baby (up to about 2 years old) then Well-Child (2 to 5 years old) visits until they start school….then we jump to ‘physicals.’  I have no idea when he is going to have an ‘annual check-up’ but frankly I think I’m not allowed in the room for that one.

The good news is that he is fine and healthy and growing.  There is no bad news, except I think I might be facing paying for med school since my son could not stop asking the doctor and the nurses about all their instruments, what they do, why they measure this or that.  He blew them away with his fascination.

Anyway, he is at summer camp this week and I had to take him late because of the doctor’s office.  I’d talked to the camp before and found out where they were going to be.  They weren’t there of course and I had to find his group.  He gets there and one of the girls asks him to join her team and he runs off.  I hand over the swim bag and the lunch and go to walk off.

Duke turns and chases after me.  He jumps into my arms and says, “I didn’t get my hug and kiss.”  “Buddy, I thought you didn’t need one, since you’d run off without it when we got here.  I’m sorry.”  “I can’t do this without a hug and a kiss.” Yup, I melted.

Maybe I have another year (two?) before it embarrasses the other children when I hug and kiss him.  But for now, my son still needs the power of a hug and a kiss to get through tough days at camp.

Happy Love Thursday.

As with every year that has rolled past, I marvel at the boy and ultimately the man he is growing into.  I remember fondly explaining to him about age three that there were somethings that he couldn’t do anymore because that was for babies (i.e. diapers) and since he was a big boy he needed to step up his game.  Today, I’ve begun to talk to him about not about being a big boy, but about being a young man. (And for the record, young men have table manners that don’t include me seeing your knees.)

Every so often, I turn around and catch this glimpse of my young man.  The one who is helpful and kind.  The one who is sorting out his world on his own.  The one who confidently asks our neighbors to come out and play.  I see the early beginnings of a young man who reasons out why we can or can’t do things, instead of accepting them on face value (um, this is HARD on his mommy and requires the application of wine and hot baths to recover from).  I see a child who realized for the first time that he had things that others didn’t and WANTED to share.

I remember when he was a baby, and I was exhausted, how people would tell me that this time flies.  Honestly, I didn’t believe them.  A day is still 24 hours and frankly we have a lot to do.  But I look back on these six years and think about how far we’ve come.  I think how much I’ve grown up as a person and as a mom.  I see Prince swell with pride when he looks at his son.  I see the joy in both their faces as father shares some piece of geeky goodness with his son.  (The day that Duke asked to watched Star Trek went into the baby book, I think.) I watch my son as he learns something new and the pride he has once he has mastered it.  He is so like his mom and so like his dad — there are times I see each of us in him so clearly.  Yet he is totally and completely his own person — so different from both of us.

He crawled into my lap yesterday morning and he was more knees and elbows and a whole lot less squish than ever before.  I just held on tight to my growing little man and he hugged me.  Finally, he sat back and said, “Mama, tomorrow I’m going to be six.” “Yes, Buddy, you are.  Are you ready to be six?” “Oh, yes, I think six will be a good year for me.  Then I’ll be seven.”  “Can we just enjoy being six and not think about seven yet — I don’t think Mama can handle it.” “Oh, sure, Mama, when you are ready — we will talk about seven.  For right now, I’m going to be six.”

See what I mean — that boy is wise.  Wise beyond his years.

As most know, the Queen Mum lives too far away from Snarkville.  So, we video chat often to keep in touch and it is wonderful, except for that part that she’s drinking wine at 2pm my time and I’m wondering if it would be ok to join her.  Anyway.

So, for her birthday, Duke asked if we could get cupcakes and have a party.  It took about 2 seconds for all parties to agree.  So, we bought cupcakes in Snarkville and cupcakes were purchased in Far, Far, Away From Snarkville.  Then we met online.  Well the joy didn’t end there — it seems that the Queen Aunt joined us too online and there was a video party full of cupcakes, candles, and songs.  I’m pretty sure it was the best long distance birthday possible.

But, I have to tell you that my son picked out the cupcakes here in Snarkville.  He picked out “2 bite cupcakes.”  They were little and cute and he wanted those.  Ok, no problem.  We had our party and I put them away and didn’t think about them again, until I came home from knitting last night.  Prince declares — “You can not call it a cupcake if it takes you longer to peel the wrapper off than it does to eat it.”

Maybe we will have to do Cross Country Cupcakes again — this time with REAL cupcakes.