Hear, hear!

I took my son (not the grunting one) for a hearing test at the local hospital today. Of course, this meant dragging all three kids along with me. A couple of years ago, a visit like this would have caused teeth-clenching levels of stress, but courtesy of the electronic stun-guns known as Nintendo DS consoles, it all went very smoothly. Instead of them running around the crowded waiting room, or chewing on the grimy one-armed dolly from the toy basket, they had to be roused back into consciousness when my son’s name was called.
Before I had kids I had hardly ever stepped inside a hospital. After three pregnancies, involving excessive levels of medical poking and prodding, I have now got to the stage where every time I see someone in a white coat, I take my knickers off (always causes a bit of a stir at the butcher’s shop).
Anyway, with underwear intact, I explained to the nice doctor that we were here because my son’s teacher had expressed a small concern about his hearing, so I thought we had better get it checked. When he asked if I personally thought my son couldn’t hear properly, I had to restrain my initial response about ‘selective male hearing’, since I doubt he would have been impressed. Instead, I mumbled something about it being impossible to tell in our house, since everyone shouted all the time – he wasn’t impressed with that either.
Thankfully, my son’s hearing turned out to be fine after all, so I am popping the cork off a Marques de Monistrol Rosé Cava (£6.49 Ocado) by way of celebration. Its not at all bad for a cheap fizz, and its pink too! I will make a note to tell his teacher next term that there definitely isn’t anything wrong with his hearing – obviously she just isn’t shouting loudly enough.