I trucked my circus to the pediatrician Monday because the Boy came home from camp with swimmer’s ear, but with his newly added sinus congestion I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a full-blown ear infection.

The tables in the exam rooms have the top that you sit on, then a bottom shelf that books are on, but where my non-ill children lay to read.  On this visit to the pediatrician’s office, the girls were on the bottom shelf reading and Eli was sitting on top.  And he was getting bored, which is immediately threat level orange.

Potty language was already abounding, along with bodily functions.  I was calmly reminding them that this was not appropriate behavior, and please stop.

Then.

The Boy got down from the table, bent over, and farted directly into the girls’ faces.  (This is the part in telling the story where Chad loses it in doubled-over laughter.)  I took two deep breaths in an attempt to lower my blood pressure, and started to whisper yell because the walls of those exam rooms are paper thin.

“That is not appropriate behavior anywhere, certainly not at the doctor’s office.  Sit on the table.  Stop farting.  Stop burping.  And ACT LIKE YOU HAVE A MOTHER WHO PUTS TIME AND EFFORT INTO RAISING YOU WITH MANNERS.”

Then I immediately went back into “everything’s fine here” mode in case the doctor were to walk in at that moment.

And school starts in 19 days.

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