We went to the doctor today because my children have canker sores in their mouths and, yes, I am one of those mothers who thinks that canker sores are inevitably strep throat or something even worse. Did I ever tell you about the time we spent five hours in emergency because I was positive that Leo had flesh eating disease? As it turns out, he had a scratch.

Russell is not at all co operative with doctors. His big brother is a pro, as long as there are no needles involved. He sticks out his tongue, says aaaah with aplomb, and sits perfectly still for the thermometer and the ear and eye explorations. He knows exactly where to find the Spiderman stickers. Russell is almost completely the opposite. It's not that he screams or cries or protests in any way. He just closes his mouth as tightly as he can. Our doctor couldn't even get her tongue depressor past his bottom lip. He lets his body go completely limp and he averts his eyes. It's the classic ostrich pose. "If I can't see her, she can't see me."

I worry that he's afraid of doctors, somehow permanently scarred because of that broken collarbone and all those x-rays and hospital visits. He stops speaking as soon as he enters the doctor's building. Really, I'm surprised that our doctor believes me when I insist that he is speaking in sentences because he gives her no evidence at all.

Today, while ineffectually examining him, our doctor noticed that he has a bruise on his forehead. "How did you hurt your head?" She asked him.

"He bumped it." said Leo. At the doctor, Leo speaks for Russell.

"How did he bump it?" asked the doctor.

"He fell and hit it on something that was lying on our floor. There are a lot of things lying on our floor."

Thanks Leo. The doctor may, at least, be reassured that I do not beat Russell but now she thinks our house is a disaster. Geesh, what's with five year olds giving away all my dirty little secrets?

It's true though, our house is a bit of a disaster right now. I'm so paranoid about having things to fill these summer days that I've developed a bit of a clutter problem. It's so bad that Kurtis is afraid to throw away any of the empty cereal boxes or old ice cream containers in case they've been earmarked for our burgeoning "guy" city or the fleet of rocket ships that lines our computer table. We're being consumed by cardboard. Someone may have to call that Hoarders show and arrange an intervention.

My mother has a theory that she made us all 'gifted' by letting her house be really messy and basically ignoring us for most of our lives. The theory is that she provided all of the raw fodder for us to develop our minds and then left us alone so that we could get to it. I don't know about the 'gifted' part but I do know that I am now unable to recognize a mess when it surrounds me. It just looks like home to me.

So my children grow up in a mess. It's who I am and where I come from. I can't protect them from it. I don't feel the need. I'll be happy if I can just protect them from flesh eating disease.