‘Roid Rage

The boy and I are sick. Have I already written about this? If I have it doesn’t matter because a new day has dawned- the day of ‘roid rage. Keep in mind that this is unlike the “rhoid” rage I experienced after childbirth. This rage is a different beast all together.

I’m on day four of a six-day pack of steroids for Terminal, End-Stage Flu Disease (or the flu, for short). Historically speaking this is the day I sob for hours on end because my husband forgot to put a bendy straw in my drink, or because I can’t locate my favorite camisole. I need that camisole.

Luke (4yrs old) has pneumonia and an ear infection. It may sound more serious than what I have, but then again he isn’t missing his favorite article of comfort clothing and he CLEARLY has a bendy straw in his cup. I’ll probably steal that straw.

The husband asked me to help him make a grocery list. Can you believe that? With ALL I have going on in my life he expects me to stop and make a grocery list. Because I’m awesome I mustered the energy to jot down a couple of items.

Luke’s ‘roid rage rivals my own. Even as I write this I can hear my husband wrestling him into the tub as Luke shouts, “I can be nekkid all day if I want to,” and “That water better not touch me!” Steroids make him strong. I imagine it’s like wrestling an alligator.

Poor Brantley is simply outmatched. I bet he feels like Sheryl Crow during her Lance Armstrong days. He just needs a safe place to go for a couple of days.

We Got The Funk

I picked up Luke from school yesterday and it was apparent he wasn’t feeling well. It was his first day back and he had been there a mere three hours. By yesterday evening he was complaining of his back hurting. With all the talk of flu going around I was not excited to hear that. He ran a low grade temperature and went to bed early.

When he got up this morning he was covered in an itchy rash and felt really hot. I took his temperature and shouted downstairs to Brantley. “It’s 101 degrees!”
“Damn!” Luke replied. He had obviously not lost his spirit.
“What did you say?”
“Nuffing. You wook fancy.”
“That excuse will only work so many times, Mister.”

Brantley and I took him to the doctor where he was diagnosed with strep throat and Scarlett Fever. In all my years of nursing I’d never seen Scarlett Fever. Poor kiddo. It looks rough. However, despite his itching and clawing, headache and fever, he still wanted to show everyone in the office his dance to Funky Cold Medina. He did the whole thing complete with ground routine, but I have to admit that it didn’t have its usual pizazz. I’ll forgive him this time.

“This song makes my booty dance, Mom.”
“Indeed it does, son. Indeed it does.”

(To be clear, Luke’s never seen the video.)

Let Me Be Your Garbage Pail Friend

Just a couple of days after our return from Disney World, I tested positive for the flu. This confirmed my suspicion that Disney World is the filthiest place on earth. Friends and family swooped in to help out with Luke who was still recovering from Disney pneumonia. I proceeded to wallow in the bed for a few days, until today when I awoke feeling like a real person again. I wiped the sleep out of my eyes. Then, I did it again. And, again.
I asked Brantley to look at my eye. He chuckled, “You have pink eye.” I’m not sure what else he said because I was too busy throwing punches into the air. I do NOT sit on public toilet seats. I do NOT lick door knobs. I wash my hands all the live long day, and yet here I am oozing funk and resembling a Garbage Pail Kid.
This only leaves one question. Wanna make out?