The Plague

My children have been hit with sickness again. I've diagnosed it as viral tonsillitis. We're waiting for the lab results (which should have come today) to rule out strep throat completely. Cute Girl is going on a week of sore throat; Handsome Face is behind by a few days.

My boy is great. You can't even tell that he's sick other than the fact that he constantly clamors for all of the sick bed treats. I asked him this morning if his throat hurt and he replied, "My throat not hurt. My throat fine." I love that kid.

Cute Girl is completely different. While most of the time she is content to just quietly lay on some flat surface, she also refuses any of the home treatments that would help her. She's just miserable. Her tonsils are so swollen and covered in grossness that I can't even see the back of her throat. I had to call my paramedic father at eleven at night just to make sure her airway wouldn't close. I wasn't going to sleep otherwise. That girl won't drink anything, won't eat anything, won't take her Tylenol, and just generally tries to thwart me.

I can't wait for this to be over. I'm sick of listening to PBS cartoons all day long and being quarantined to my house. I will be overjoyed to put away all of the thermometers, sippy cups, essential oils, Tylenol bottles, flashlights, and tongue depressors that litter my house. I can't wait until all of the lemonade, Kool-Aid, root beer, popsicles, and ice cream (that are supposed to be enticing Cute Girl but are really just making Handsome Face a glutton) are gone.