Lock Down

Just before the joy and wonder that is the first grade, the kiddo spent four days fighting an up-and-down fever that ended up being strep throat. Clearly, he is not my child, even though I'm *pretty* sure I gave birth to him all those years ago.

For me, strep throat is an obvious sign that the world is coming to a painful and grisly end. I'm talking fire and brimstone. For the boy, strep throat goes like this: "My neck kinda hurts. Will you play Legos with me?"

The doctor gave him cold, yucky, pink amoxicillin. Dr. Mom prescribed copious amounts of cartoons and a tiny dog.