You know what they say. If one round of antibiotics is good, then a doctor’s visit on a Sunday afternoon and a second action plan in fourteen days, involving Keflex this time, is even better.
Enzo spent the weekend with us, because his mother skipped town to do some Christmas shopping in Bigger Town, and his dad was preparing a seven-course meal at the golf club for an event. I was a bit envious that Enzo’s mama is already on top of her holiday gift buying, but not at all upset that I was missing the 5th course of buffalo ravioli.
Because buffalo ravioli? Give me a moment to even adjust to the thought of that. I’ll just say that I’m sure that it turned out beautifully, because Enzo’s dad only cooks BEAUTIFUL. I have no room to talk, because the only ravioli I can even judge dishes by is the one made by Chef Boyardee.
No matter. Enzo was with us all weekend, until 8:00 last night, when the boy plum went down. He had been fine all day Saturday. A little tired, perhaps, because he and Enzo didn’t see fit to close their eyes and give in to the sleep on Friday night, but fine, nonetheless. The boys did what normal 6th grade boys do. They wrestled on our family room floor. They had a pillow fight until one of the orange pillows died and went to be with Jesus, leaving all of its gutted stuffing behind on the floor. They stole my iPhone charger to rev up the batteries in their iPods. They went to a movie. They watched a movie at home. They watched reality television shows on folks who hunt the Big Foot and pawn brokers. They ran outside. They climbed a tree. They jumped out of the tree. They climbed and jumped twenty-four additional times. It was a junior high boy’s dream weekend, minus the part where they actually fly to Lego Land and then explode bottles of Diet Coke with Mentos candies. And then at 6:00 last night, while Hubs was grilling steaks and I was busy mashing the potatoes and cooking the Brussels sprouts like Betty Crocker, the boy announced, “I don’t think I’m hungry; my head hurts.” That comment sends a mother’s radar receivers up high, like no other comment manages to do.
Okay. Maybe that’s not entirely true, because the comment of, “Oh, nothing. Well, nothing… really,” when I have hollered outside and asked, “What are y’all doing?” sends my radar antennae up immediately. The headache and the I THINK I’LL JUST PASS ON STEAK, BUT THANK YOU plays second card to the OH, NOTHING ace.
By 8:00, the boy was puking and running a fever of 102.3.
Welcome back, Strep Throat.
So that’s how things have gone this weekend.
One of the parents in this household got up with the baby at 6:00 this morning. The other parent slept in until 10:17.
Ten o’clock. Plus seventeen minutes more.
Not that anyone was counting.
Well, sort of they WERE COUNTING.
So really that’s all I have for y’all tonight. Our weekend was unglamorous, because that’s how we live. I wore my pajamas until noon today, when I took the boy to see his pediatrician, and then I made him chicken noodle soup out of a can. And I held his forehead while he threw up. And I cleaned the slop up. And I changed two poopie diapers.
I had time to do it all, because I got up at 6:00 this morning.
What I can give you tonight, though, are a few shots of Thing 2 that I took over the weekend. Thing 2 is completely mobile, and he’s mobile with speed. He crawls faster than some NASCAR racers drive.
And he developed a liking for cat food on Friday. It’s not buffalo ravioli, but he thinks it’s dadgum tasty. He should know. He’s eaten about four handfuls of it in the last three days, and now the cats are wondering why in the world their food dishes are sitting on top of the kitchen counters, where they KNOW they’re not supposed to go.
(Not that knowing this stops them.)
(It doesn’t take Encyclopedia Brown to realize that the cats sit on the counters at night, and grin their evil cat grins because they think they’re pulling one over on me.)
Thing 2 also has a passion for my Scentsy bars. He likes to unload them out of the baskets in the kitchen and litter my floor with twenty-nine of them at a time. This is just the way the world spins: It’s my payback for having had a Scentsy addiction in the past. Now I must face the music and pick them all up thirty dozens times every day.
Well, Thing 2 learned to wave last Friday. He shoves his entire arm toward the recipient of the wave, and he slowly (oh… so… slow…ly…) curls and uncurls his little fingers.
Melts my heart, people. Melts it like the best Scentsy wax on the market.