Domestic Interiors

Hot Timbale

Guess whose fever last night registered as 105 (one zero five) and who was diagnosed this morning with tonsillitis? The HH Munro twist would be Patrick, I suppose (and we would later discover that after all that the ENT had accidentally not removed his tonsil but instead his sense of perspective or most of his good intentions) but the correct answer is: Edward. He seemed fine yesterday and then an hour after he went to sleep he woke up screaming. I went to investigate and discovered that in the space of sixty minutes he had become hot enough to fire pottery. His head was dripping wet and his ears were bright red and scorching to the touch. Prior to this I thought that Patrick was the only kid whose ears flame like the beacons of Gondor when he is fevered but apparently Edward has inherited all kinds of quirks from his brother. And this was early in the evening when his temperature was only 104. It went up and therefore downhill from that point and, like I said, 105. That sort of speaks for itself. I made a note to take him to the doctor in the morning and in the meantime I patted him with a cool cloth, blew on him like soup and gave him another dose of ibuprofen. He eventually dozed off again. You know, although my well-documented maternal neuroses come in many flavors (drowning and falling from roofs - why is that not spelled like hooves? - choking and peach) high fevers don't do much for me. Well, this is one hot baby, I thought, and went back to fanning myself as he drooled down my neck.  

So poor Edward has picked up the tonsil torch from Patrick, which is kinda awful. Wasn't I just swearing that I would never again subject myself to a childhood tonsillectomy? Not that one tonsil infection books you an automatic date with Dr. Slashy but still... it brings you that much closer than zero. So that hollow sound that was making you think this blog was haunted? Just me groaning and wringing my hands. If I was now forced to line the kids up in the order in which I think they would lose their delicate tissues Edward would no longer be second to last. I told Patrick that Edward has a throat infection. He wanted to know if Edward felt as badly as he did last week. I said, probably and asked what he (Patrick) thought I could do to make him (Edward) feel better.

Patrick said, "You really think he feels as bad as I did?"

I said, "Yes."

Patrick said, "Then you should probably shoot him."

I said that wasn't a very nice thing to say, even pretending, but HAHAHAHAHA. I know I have been faulted in the past for being more than a little fatuous where Patrick is concerned (the best parents show greater detachment) but I can't help it. I just think he is so droll.

For the record my intention was to post a picture of me and my new hair, or lack thereof, on the last post. I set up the camera on the dining table and hit the timer and grabbed Patrick to use as my prop, like a Sears baby photo with those jumbo alphabet blocks or little rocking chairs. Then I forgot.

But this was the result and, yes, I know it is hard to see the actual hair because I am wearing Patrick like a hat. However, hand to my heart, it is the only one in which Patrick is not doing something unspeakably gross with saliva. On a parting note: if your kid has not yet read Calvin and Hobbes I urge you to carefully consider placing the six year old equivalent of the Anarchist Cookbook into their small and devilish hands.

More later once Edward cools down and is able to go more than fifteen minutes without laying his perfect round head on my collar bone and shuddering. In the doctor's office waiting room he started shaking with fever, teeth chattering like the little matchgirl and I got all anxious until I realized that there are much worse places to be introduced to the febrile seizure than within the confines of a well attended pediatrics practice. Not that he had one but I was ready.

I CANNOT BELIEVE that Edward has infected tonsils. Good grief.