I walked in the door at 12:06 p.m., just back from picking up Charlie at preschool in the village, to find a message on our answering machine* from Cubby's great-aunt/school principal that he had an earache and was lying down at school waiting for me to pick him up. So I buckled Charlie and Jack back into their car seats and went right back to the village to pick up Cubby from school.
I had mom-guilt-induced visions of finding him crying in the fetal position when I got there, with the accusing glares of his teacher following me out of the school as I carried his limp form to the car.
Me, dramatic? What?
In the event, Cubby was sitting with his classmates doing a math game when I got there. His teacher didn't bother glaring at me, probably because she was too busy and it was pretty obvious Cubby was not in any imminent danger of rupturing an eardrum or something. I still took him home and put him on the couch with his beloved heated-up sheep pillow thing. He then alternated whining about his ear hurting and bathroom talk**.
It's really fun to listen to, as you may imagine.
His ear does hurt, obviously, though just as obviously it's not bad enough to distract him from his customary gross refrain.
So that's what I have to look forward to today. Fingers crossed he's entirely recovered tomorrow, for all of our sakes.
* Yes, our home-phone, landline answering machine. I don't hold with those newfangled cell phones. Hmph, bah humbug, etc.
** An example: I told him Grandma only had one bathroom in her house growing up, for six kids and two adults. His response, "Well, I guess if the kids had to go to the bathroom, they just pooped on each other's heads." I told him that was inappropriate and to knock it off. His response, "Well, if you don't like that, they could poop on each other's noses." Seriously, dude? SERIOUSLY?