The first day of middle school, the triplets were asked to stand up and tell a little about themselves. My daughter got up there: “My name is Carly Fox. I’m a triplet. I hate being a triplet.” She was heading back to her seat when she turned around. “Oh, and I also hate my last name.”
Way to go on the positive self-talk, Carly. I looked up the number for the school psychologist and added it to my phone contacts so I’d know it when it came up.
Maybe I should have been one of those mothers who verbally assaults their kid by yelling:”Good Job!” every three seconds from birth through masters degree.
I told Carly– I guess I can still call her “Carly”. She didn’t publicly denounce her first name. Maybe she just ran out of time. She does give me wrinkled nose face when I mention that my first name choice for her was “Samantha” but apparently Samantha Fox was a porno star and so daddy voted it down. (Funny how none of the women I tell that to ever heard of her but all the men smile knowingly like I just sent them down some smut-filled memory lane.)
So, I told Carly to feel free to revert “Fox” back to my husband’s original family name: “Fuchs”. And being from New York, I had no trouble giving her several specific examples of how that could go terribly awry at every middle school in the nation.
I also enumerated for her several of my girlfriends with whom I’d grown up, who lamented their last names for years and then married into far worse ones. (I don’t dare get into them here. They might be reading. And you know who you are.)
As for the triplet thing, I told her that we hadn’t really entertained the thought of reducing the number of embryos, and that now it was kind of late: The cut-off to make that decision was third grade.
While I dislike what she said up there for twenty-two or three reasons, I totally understand. When triplets attend a new camp or school or anything, it’s different than one child. When you introduce triplets, it’s like the circus side show has come to town. Everybody’s staring and trying not to look shocked.
It’s funny how students and campers seem to get over the novelty and forget all about it a lot faster than teachers and counselors. The girls don’t look thaaat much alike: They have different colored eyes and one wears glasses. And not only don’t they dress alike, you can tell just by looking at them that they’re whole dressing methodology couldn’t be more different: One tries on six different outfits in her room, running into the bathroom each time to look in the bathroom mirror, then runs downstairs to get the whole effect in the full-length mirror. She’s practicing for the track team, without even knowing it. The other daughter puts on a t-shirt and leggings at night and calls it pajamas. Then in the morning: “Hayley! It’s time to get up and get dressed! She rolls over in bed, eyes still closed: “I am dressed!”
And yet at least one teacher will ask all year: “Are you Carly or are you Hayley?” But okay. Teachers have a lot of kids to remember. Much worse, the last thing tweens want every time they’re coming down the hallway is to be announced:
“Here come the Fox triplets!” like they’re one big kid.
Then- and this is where her hatred for our last name comes into play- one teacher last year used to yell out:
“What does the Fox say?!” Yeah it was hilarious the first, second, thirty-fourth, fifty-second… okay it was never hilarious.
They also get: “Who let the Foxes out? Who? Whooo?!”
I keep trying to remind the kids that these people mean no harm. Still, as mother of this skulk of Foxes, I’m always tempted to get nose to nose with the wiseacre and say: “Who let the idiot out? Who? Whooo?”
Thanks a lot for stopping by. I hope you were able to add a few laughs to your day. If you’d like more laughs at my/your kids’ expense, please sign onto my monthly newsletter and/or check-out my eBook, specifically for parents at this time of year. Available on all Amazons– Now available at the Kindle Library too.
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