Two days ago lad came home from kindy proudly showing me the hole in his foot where it had been punctured by a rusty nail. It was fairly black but quite small. I cast my mind back to the first few months of his life and registered the memory of a nurse in London jabbing his podgy thigh with a tetnus jab. Satisfied, I pushed the rusty nail incident from my mind and got on with far more pressing matters like locating the twin who had separated herself from the turd filled nappy in the hallway.
Yesterday afternoon lad came to me sobbing and limping saying he couldn't put his foot down because his 'nail stab' hurt too much so this morning I found myself at 8.15am at the doctors' surgery with all three children. Within 3 minutes I was in danger of needing an appointment myself. While I tried to stop twin2 from manically smashing her fists on the fish tank in the waiting room, twin1 was calmly emptying the drinking water fountain onto the carpet. If an airport customs officer had been watching, my frantically darting eyes, inability to stand still and sweaty brow would have been enough to have him usher me to a cubicle and conduct a full body cavity search.
I always find the receptionists, doctors and nurses to be extremely forgiving of young children in our doctors' surgery but as we sat waiting in the nurses' station for a tetnus jab having visited the doctor, I started to cringe with apologetic embarrassment for the patients being treated. The screams of 'I don't like it' from twin1, questions from lad 'what is a jumbo jet made out of? what is the Internet?' and Picasso-like additions to the walls by twin2 were enough to worsen any patient's complaint.
At 9.05am I dropped the three of them off at kindy and wondered if they'd swap lad's antibiotics prescription for a bucket of valium.