Well folks, it was the strep. Im now on a lovely anti-biotic for ten days. And my dr. after 8 years of treatment, still believes im capable of consistently remembering to take a pill three times a day for ten days. It would be sweet if it werent so alarming. Still I dont give up. Got the first six down with 24 more to go! Nothing exciting to report beyond the achiness and exhaustion although Ive developed a painful and tickly cough situation. I really have nothing but I will offer you a little snapshot of what r and r at the panflutemaster house is like.
Me sound asleep, at the edge of my conscience i know trouble is coming because i hear little running feet coming closer to my door. In bursts norm. Screaming. “MOM.MY! My….DADDY….IS ….BEING….MEAN….TO….ME!!!!” oh lord here we go. “how is he being mean”. “Sob…sob…incoherent scream…COM….PUT…ERRRRR”. Im too weak to call Gill, “Its ok buddy…your allowed”. Its a crap shoot. Im hoping it workds. “NOOOOOOO (imagine the os going up several octaves) sob….sob…jetix.com….incoherent gasp….COM.PUT. ERRRRRR!!!” I really just want death to come at this point. Thankfully, Gill comes in. “What is his problem?” I ask accusingly. For once Gill is not self-righteously gleeful about whatever domination he has achieved. He is as puzzled as I am. “I just dont know what he wants. Buddy I put on Jetix for you.” “NOOOOOOOOO!!!(yep the octaves again)…sob..mumble …sob mumble. NOT THE TV THE COM.PUT. ERRRRRR!!” I weakly ask Gill just to beat him or something. Anything to make the hurting stop. And I get “THATS. NOT. FUNNY. MOMMY. YOU ARE BEING MEAN!!!!” I say Im sorry and gill carries him out of the room. No sooner do i begin to drift but the door slams open and hits the wall. It can only mean one thing. The turnip. I hear his little darth vader breathing as he toddles over to the bed. I try to fake sleep but he is not interested in me. I hear him grab something and he toddles back out making some sort of maraca noise. As I drift off again, the door is opened in such a manner that I can feel the self-righteousness, so i know it is gill. He slams a bottle on the dresser. “Your son had your prescription. Real nice. You should lock your door if you dont want everyone in here”. Except when I lock my door I get Norm outside playing his wiggles guitar “can you hear me mommy? Im playing you a song to make you feel better”. Someday Im going to look back on all this and feel sentimental and sweet about it. Today is not that day.