They hotly deny it.  “Nobody says that!”  We tell them they’re wrong, and cite which teenage clerks at which local shops say “theenks” when we hand over our money.  They remain deniers.

But then the Olympics started, and one of the commercials for McDonald’s shows a little boy being handed a bag of “food” from his father, which his mother hovers anxiously behind, hoping for credit. The kid looks past his dad and says “Theenks Mom.”   For now, let’s ignore everything that is wrong about this commercial, and focus on the kid’s pronunciation.

This one child is clearly saying theenks, which our boys admit, but they swear he is the one and only such kid to do so in the entire nation.  Now, when the commercial starts, Hugh mutes it instantly, so I won’t crow and say “See?  See?  I told you so!”  Or worse, chortle to myself.

Like many others, we have clustered around the glowing TV to watch the amazing antics and athleticism from Vancouver for the past 10 days or so.  Everyone agrees that the sibling ice dancing teams are disturbing – even shudderific.  I tried to justify why there are so many such teams.  “Probably all of their moms said ‘I”m only driving back and forth to the rink one time each day!  You have to take lessons at the same time!’”  Inevitably, these kids got pushed into ice dancing together.  The overabundance of cowboy costumes this year is another question.

For quite a while, Hugh and I thought the snowboarders were actually wearing jeans, before figuring out that they are snowpants in a convincing denim color.  I like Ralph Lauren’s designs, from the cute knit caps of the opening ceremonies to the madras jackets of the boarders.

The biathlon is always fascinating.  We worry, while watching, that one of the lagging-behind athletes will snap and start shooting those ahead of him.  Chris wants to lobby the Olympics Committee for an urban biathlon, with people running from behind parked cars to corner stores, shooting as they go.

The downhill ski events are full of thrills, chills, and spills.  Hugh has been skiing a lot this winter, so to him, it’s actually relevant.  He watches closely and can tell us which Canadian mountain has snow, which does not, which skiier has anxiety or asthma, which one is close to his mom, which one is alienated from his family.  The only questions he still needs to research are blood types for each athlete, and why Korea ever got into short track in the first place.  One day, our middle child will be the perfect ESPN chat show host.

Even Ian has gotten interested in the Olympics, although we suspect it’s because of the gorgeous Norwegian girl he spotted in the opening ceremonies.  Lately he’s been rooting mostly for Norway, and is hoping to learn the language.

I’m looking forward to another week of the Olympics.  Unique among televised events, it is truly interesting to everyone in the house almost all of the time.  So for that, I must say a big THEENKS to the ancient Greeks and to their modern spokesman, Dick Button.

This past week the world let out a collective gasp as Michael Phelps got caught smoking pot.  I yawned and wondered how that bong held up under the lung capacity of an Olympic caliber athlete.  And where was the lovely Mrs. Phelps during this wave of media attention?  It would have been perfect timing to showcase the Chico’s Spring collection.

Please forgive me as I am not condoning or making fun of drug use here.  (Just say No kids.)  But how anyone could be shocked at these Phelps developments is beyond me. Like everyone else, I rooted for him and celebrated his unprecedented victories in Beijing this past summer.  But all the while in the back of my mind, I’m thinking that this guy is a bit of a freak – and a man made one at that.

Phelps has excelled at swimming at the expense of maturity.  This man has no childhood, no opportunities to make mistakes, and no choices.  If you were never given choices, how can society expect you to choose correctly?

The other day I was talking to the brothers about why Dave and I let them eat junk food (cookies, candy, etc).  I explained that it is important that they are allowed to make choices between two options.  If they are never exposed to the lesser choice, they would probably be more likely to want it.  Note:  We are not going to expose them to illegal bad options ever.  But Phelps has been raised without any choices and now at the age of 23, he has lots of them, and apparently is going a little hog wild, not unlike a normal teenager would do.

Team Phelps created a super athlete, but also an incomplete human being.  And now the Olympic Committee has temporarily banned the automaton they had a heavy hand in making.

Phelps deserves a break, not for the Olympic champion that he is, but for the grown-up that he isn’t.

Here’s one for the mothers and fathers of daughters. Being somewhat bedridden for the last few days, I have watched an unprecedented number of hours of Olympic coverage, staying up until ungodly hours to watch the girl’s women’s gymnastics competition. Even if I wasn’t recovering from surgery, I would have burned the midnight oil. Because for 15 years of my life, I was a competitive gymnast. I was never near Olympic caliber, but the sport truly defined me as a person. It still does.

University of Pennsylvania 1988

So if you have one of those high energy daughters for whom you are considering Ritalin, try gymnastics first. If she excels and loves it, commit yourself to supporting her. Here’s why:

Intelligence - I remember my first team coach telling me when I was 9 years old that you will never meet a “dumb gymnast”. And in my experience, she was correct. Your brain works in so many ways when you are flinging yourself through the air. Stop thinking and you start wiping out. You get smart fast.

Commitment - If you start early with an appreciation for perfection, it will never leave you. This sense of commitment got me into college, helped me land my first job, start a career, raise a family, earn a black belt in karate … and prevents me from delegating even the tiniest of tasks to anyone else on a regular basis. (seriously – its mostly a good thing)

Friendships – Serious gymnastics is not unlike a secret club with very few members. When you meet another gymnast, even years after you have retired, you share a bond and probably a few knee surgeries. And those who you share a gym with become your closest friends. Ask any gymnast from the 1980s to perform the Class III compulsory floor routine for you. We will all remember it to the last pointed toe. And will probably perform it for you. Its freaky.

Self-esteem – Granted, I was somewhat of a show-off in the first place, but if you can do a standing back flip at birthday parties you wind up being kinda special.

But a few things you should know:

It only gets harder – After the age of, uh… 12, gymnastics begins to get exponentially more difficult. Yes, your body changes and most humans do not remain under five feet tall forever. But more importantly, you begin to get wise to the fact that “I could really kill myself doing this trick.” Fear is your worst enemy.

Your kid can’t do much else – Girls who do gymnastics and basketball and lacrosse are gymnast posers. There is no gymnastics “season” – it’s all the time. As a child I was not allowed (by the coaches) to do any other sport – especially skiing. They didn’t want us getting hurt on the slopes – they preferred it happened in the gym. Musical instruments were okay as long as it didn’t interfere with practice. And whatever you do — puhlease, no dual major in cheer leading.

Don’t be the Gym Mom or Dad - The whole world might think its sweet that Nastia Liukin’s father is her coach but I think it’s creepy. And I call bulls-t on anyone who claims that he is the “coach” in the gym and the “dad” at home. Whether you are Olympic material or just starting out, you need your parents to be there for you and tell you that you are great when you screw up. That is your only job aside from carpools to the gym and working the snack bar at the meets.

And one last thing. Despite years of training and countless hours in the gym, I still have no clue as to 85 percent of what Bela Karoly is saying to Bob Costas. Do not ever hand your child over to a man who gets that excited about anything. As my kids would say, “that’s just wrong.”