And now it seems, I am being too much of a mother. A little over-qualified on the "loving and caring" part of the job description, if you will.
Exhibit 1 - You won't know, because I haven't blogged it, but I have been rather ill/sick this past week with what turned out to be strep throat, (a bacterial throat infection). After four days of a "cold", I woke up on Wednesday morning and could neither talk nor swallow. I took myself off to the walk-in clinic for a quick strep test (the one where they shove a gigantic Q-tip down your throat and you gag like a 3 year old and the nurse has to ask you if you're "OK now"). Sure enough, strep throat and a sinus infection, but I tell you, less than 12 hours on penicillin and I was a new woman. Sir Alexander Fleming, I owe you big time. I would have said I'd kiss you, but with strep, - not a good idea.
Any road up - since the 8 year old also had to be tested (bad cough for a week) before they would let him back in the classroom, (negative) I was wondering where on earth I could have picked up a throat infection.
"Oh", said the Man-Child (who is almost 17 and therefore no longer technically a Man-Child), "probably from me, I had a sore throat last week".
"Really?" I said, while reaching to smack him across the back of the head. (6'3'' = no chance). "Why didn't you tell me?" In case you're wondering about my reaction, I vaguely remember his pediatrician saying he could be a strep carrier in that he often has strep with minor symptoms.
"Because you'd fuss too much". (What - you mean taking measures to ensure that "sore throat" doesn't fell the entire family is "fussing"?)
Exhibit 2 - The Queenager, (home from college and apparently the USA hopeful for the Sleeping-late Olympic Gold) has a nasty war wound on her knee from packing boxes. There have been a few well-publicized cases of flesh-eating bacteria from innocent-looking scratches in the news recently and quite frankly, the last thing I need before we fly to England is a stint in Intensive Care. (See, I told you I wasn't that maternal deep down.)
So, I got out the trusty old Germoline (American readers, it does the same job as Neosporin but stinks to high heaven ands reminds me of my gran so....) and smeared it on her knee. At regular intervals. Much to her annoyance.
This morning I left before she was awake (natch) so there were a few instructions regarding the dog (walk), the front door (lock) and her
It brought to mind a heart-breaking scene many years ago when the Man-Child was about 5. He had bumped his head or banged some limb fairly hard, and I asked "Oh no. Does it hurt?"
His reply? (Sob)
"Yes, but don't kiss it".
I tell you, I'm wasted on my three!