Pestilence

I'm sick. It sucks. Hence, my writing today will probably be terse, tangential and a bit angry. Continue at your own risk.

My kids got me sick. All three were ill earlier this week. While it is never fun to have three sick kids, I did find it to be an interesting study in gender psychology. The girls were slowed down a bit - not as loud, not as mobile and a little whinier. The boy, on the other hand appeared on death's very door. He attached himself to me whenever I wasn't moving with the subtlety of a Nerf sucker dart. He insisted on thoroughly discussing each of his symptoms to be sure that none were the early stages of a horrible demise, and insisted on medication. Immediately.

When The Husband delivered him the bottle, he studied it carefully, asked what he weighed, and confirmed his dose with me. Two teaspoons every four hours. He, like magic, appeared in the kitchen every four hours after that for two days. On the nose. Without fail. The girls declined the medicine. Apparently grape-flavored medicine is "nasty" and not worth the promised relief.

Before I was struck with the pestilence myself, I was sharing with a coworker and she laughed. "Well, what did you expect? He's a boy. And they don't grow out of that crap - it just gets worse. How's your husband feeling?"

Great. I'd better go take some medicine or something. I'm going to need to get better fast.