Watching: The season premiere of Sports Night, which I taped last night and the third episode of The West Wing. A real Aaron Sorkin-kinda day. I was glad to see Robert Guillaume of Sports Night back after his stroke, and I liked the way his problems in recuperating were written into the show.

The West Wing just gets better and better. This episode was by far the best yet, well written and well acted, especially by Martin Sheen as the President and John Spencer as his chief of staff.

Listening: Telemann, Six Sonates en Trios, a CD recorded by a local baroque group, Le Triomphe de l'Amour.

Blood Test

This morning I had to take the twins for a blood test as part of their annual checkups. When I told them about it, Stephen immediately declared, "I don't want to!" but Matthew was surprisingly composed. "I'll go first!" he boasted.

In the car, however, I said something to Stephen about the needle, and Matthew immediately changed his tune. "Oh, it's going to hurt!" he cried. "I'm not going to go first!"

I suppose I could have lied and told him it wouldn't hurt a bit. I once had a nurse yell at me because she heard me tell Daniel that a vaccination would hurt a bit. "Don't tell him that!" she snapped at me.

All very well for her. She could lie to her patients and tell them it wouldn't hurt: afterward she wouldn't have to deal with the loss of trust her lie engendered. I told her I'd rather tell my sons the truth.

"It'll hurt a little, like a pinch, but it will be over soon," I told them. "It's not so bad. I have blood tests all the time."

Of course, I started to rethink my honesty policy on the drive to the lab. Matthew wailed all the way there. Whenever his sobs started to subside, he'd remind himself, "It's going to huuuuurrrrt!" and start up again.

We signed in and then sat in the waiting area. Matthew insisted on being held, but Stephen's curiosity about the waiting room had overcome his fear, and he walked around exploring.

Another patient arrived and sat near us, an older woman who seemed charmed by the twins. She could see I was occupied with comforting Matthew so she asked Stephen if he wanted to read a magazine with her, to which he exclaimed, "Yeah!" and plunked himself down in the seat next to hers.

Together they leafed through an issue of National Geographic, pointing out pictures of fish and wolves and volcanoes. When Stephen told her he was going to have a blood test, she told him not to worry, that she gets them all the time.

Then she leaned over to me and, indicating one of the lab technicians, whispered, "See that lady in blue? She always hurts me when she draws blood." Just then the lady in blue called for Stephen and Matthew.

Swell.

Stephen agreed to go first. I sat in a chair with him on my lap, hugging him so that his right arm was held down by my right arm. Another lab tech held his left arm out, while the phlebotomist prepared the needle. I tried to distract him with the pictures of Mickey Mouse and other Disney characters on the wall, but his gaze was riveted to the needle. He began whimpering at first and then cried out when the needle was inserted. "It's OK, honey, it's almost over," I reassured him.

I couldn't bear to watch as the blood entered the tiny tube attached to the needle and filled the small vial. I can't even watch when it is my own blood being removed for my twice-yearly thyroid check; the fact that it was my son's blood was somehow even worse.

But, as I promised Stephen, it was soon over. He smiled he received his Garfield band-aid, and asked, "Did I do good, Mama?"

"You sure did, honey," I answered.

"It's not too bad, Matthew," Stephen reassured his brother.

Matthew surprised me by not crying too much, at least, no more than Stephen. Soon it was over and we are on our way out. Thank heavens that is over for another year.

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