The Eye Exam

Things were going along quite smoothly last week. At least as smoothly as we can hope for, which granted is not all that smoothly for most people. But still, for me, the kids were in a pretty stable place. Until Wednesday afternoon. That’s when everything kind of fell apart.

Wednesday was the day I hauled the kids to Dr. T’s office for their dreaded eye examinations. As is typical, I was subjected to the expected verbal harassment. Not from Dr. T of course. From my kids.

“Please Mom! Don’t make me have to get the eyedrops! I can see fine, I don’t need my eyes checked! We were just here a year ago! Why do we need to come back again? No eyedrops! Tell her no eyedrops! The eyedrops will ruin my entire day! If you loved me, you wouldn’t make me get the eyedrops!” And my personal favorite: “But Mom, why would they install a pretty giant water fountain in the center of the parking lot if they didn’t intend for kids to play in it?”

Like a good mother, I listened patiently and sympathetically to their ranting and raving — with absolutely no intention whatsoever of releasing them from the inevitable. You’d think they’d get tired of the futile effort year after year. I guess you need to give them some credit for persistence . . . and optimism.

In any event, they were called to the examination room, one by one. Eye charts, various examination equipment, and of course, the dreaded assault by evil eye drops.

Finally, the verdict from Judge T: the time has come for Emily and Jacob to get glasses.

One simple statement; four very different reactions.

8-year-old Emily was thrilled. Almost beside herself with joy. She has wanted glasses for years. Ever since Natalie got her glasses two years ago, Emily has been eyeing those wire frames with envy. Ever the fashionista, she looks at glasses as yet another accessory in her ever-expanding arsenal.

10-year-old Jacob was irate. Dr. T may as well have sentenced him to a life at the very bottom of the coolness chain. Glasses are nerdy, hideous and stupid. They will ruin his life. There’s not a ninja in history who has ever worn glasses. He will not like them and he will not wear them. “Plus,” Jacob pleaded, “I don’t even need to see. I can manage fine without seeing.” Now that’s a winning argument if I ever heard one.

10-year-old Natalie, who like I mentioned, has worn glasses for two years, was irritated and annoyed. Apparently, glasses are the one thing that made her unique among our enormous slew of nearly-identical children. With three out of the four wearing glasses, Natalie will no longer be her own special person. She will be a clone in a sea of boring clones. The only viable solution to this dilemma is for me to agree to buy her the contacts she has been coveting for the past six months.

I understand Natalie’s desire for contacts, I do. I also understand her current ability to take care of things. In the past two years, she has broken her glasses 11 times. So often that I finally purchased a second pair so she’d always have a back-up while one pair is in the shop. To put it in perspective for those lucky spectacle-free folks, I’ve had glasses for 32 years and have never once broken a pair. They’re not as fragile as they look.

Plus, Natalie freaks out when I put Neosporin on her skin. So I’m a little doubtful that she’s going to find it easy to put a piece of plastic on her eyeball. Maybe in a couple of years we’ll revisit the contacts issue.

“So you’re saying that I’m going to have glasses and braces AT THE SAME TIME!” she shouts accusingly. Well, yes, that would be about right.

“Do you even know what that’s going to do to my social status? Do you even care?”

“Well, not as much as what having crooked teeth and stumbling around in a fog would do to her social status,” my friend Louise points out when I describe Natalie’s reaction. That’s what I like about Louise. Always practical.

Which leads us to 5-year-old Miles. Because you know Miles is going to have some kind of reaction to the fact that his three older siblings will be wearing eyeglasses. You know that even though his vision in 20/20, at least for now, he’s not going to let an opportunity to contribute to the chaos pass him by. As expected, Miles did not disappoint.

He looked at his siblings, looked at Dr. T and then looked at me. And in a strong, clear, confident voice, he demanded that I let him get laser eye surgery. If I’m spending money on everyone else for eyeglasses, the least I can do is spend some money to enable him to shoot laser beams out of his eyes. Because, you know, ALL good ninjas shoot laser beams out of their eyes.