uh . . . er . . . yes . . .

No, I'm sorry, there will be no pictures of Preschool Spa Day, in part because I dropped my camera at the zoo a while back and BROKE IT (and somehow haven't found 90 seconds to order a new one) but mostly because I didn't go.

You heard me: I DID NOT GO TO SPA DAY. And no, it wasn't the fear of Henry giving me a pedicure or the horror of leaving my house sans concealer or even my ongoing phobias about what the other mothers think of me because my kid is quirky--no, it was the strep throat.

And again, YOU HEARD ME: Henry has strep throat. Seriously, what the hell?

Yesterday afternoon, Henry ate an entire brown sugar and cinnamon Pop Tart (mmmmm . . . . ) and then laid down on the kitchen floor and sobbed about how much his throat hurt. And I thought, noooo! Not again! He cannot POSSIBLY have strep! Except that he's acting JUST LIKE HE DOES! Good thing that vomiting isn't part of the usual MO for my kids when they have strep--because, you know, the POP TART. We mauled through the rest of the day, with continued bouts of spontaneous sobbing and cries of "MY THROAT! IT HURTS!" and multiple refusals to take any Motrin because "IT WILL TASTE WEIRD!" At 6:00 I put Henry in the tub (for a bath, really, not just to contain him and his germs) where he nearly fell asleep; by 7:30 he and I were both snoring away in his bed.

I staggered up again a little after 8:00 to find the kitchen clean and Wade working. At 10:00, just--JUST!--as I turned my light off and snuggled up with my pillows, Henry woke up again, this time running a fever and thrashing around and yelling that "EVERYTHING TASTES WEIRD!" We finally got him to take the Motrin, in some juice (which was met with, "This tastes fine!") and I got in bed with him where we tossed and turned until 3:00 am. Then he was up at 6:00, and went back to sleep at 7:00, but by then I had to get up so that Wade could go to work. I dragged Henry out of bed to take Charlie to school (where it was Pizza Day, thank goodness, although I had to, um, borrow some of Henry's Tooth Fairy money to pay for his brother's lunch) and then parked him in front of the television while I ironed (shut up--I like to iron, it's soothing).

This afternoon, we went to the doctor, where Henry told everyone that he did NOT want to have a throat culture. "I don't want the Q-Tip in my mouth," he said to the surly nurse, who said, "Well. Yes" and stomped out (she was also a little put out by my request that she take his blood pressure, but I figured while we were there we could do EVERYTHING and really it didn't take any extra effort on her part). But the amazing part was this: the pediatrician came in and checked him out and decided that yes, he did need a throat culture and let's just do it! Henry tried to reason with her, which involved a LOT of talking on his part about various ways to distract himself, and she listened very patiently, looking him right in the eye the whole time and nodding encouragingly and then said, "Okay, open wide and stick your tongue out!" and it was over.

I love that woman.

So now we're watching the Book of Pooh DVD that Henry chose at the video store (maybe it's the three hours of sleep but MY GOD is this dumb) and I'm feeling a little queasy, which could be because I'm also getting strep although more likely it is because I ate part of Charlie's Happy Meal and the French fries from Henry's plus my OWN Happy Meal (don't even ask--it's been a long day).

But the BESTEST part is this: Henry has his last soccer game tonight! And he can't go, because he's sick! But I still have get to go! Because I'm the coach. And then we're all going out for hamburgers afterward!

Oh god . . .