Last night we were in the doctors. My son has a sinus infection and we managed to get the very last appointment of the day.
When the nurse asked how long he’s had symptoms, I said, “It began on Friday.”
My son, the one who if I say the sky is blue must say it’s green, piped in, “I don’t remember it starting on Friday.”
“Well, grandma told me you began feeling sick on Friday night when I was away. Remember?”
Then my daughter, her own nose red from blowing and her eyes all teary from a cold, chimed in. “Besides, grandma’s a doctor. She should know.”
“She’s not a doctor.” my son said. “She’s deceived the next generation!”
Technically my son is right. My mother is no doctor; she simply likes to self-diagnose, just like everyone else in my family. You don’t even the Google doctor when you live with us. We’ve got it covered. It’s called doctoring without a license.
And less you think I’m picking on poor old dear mom, I too am guilty of dishing out diagnosises. I did come up with Eeyore syndrome. What? You’ve never heard of that??
You should of watched more Winnie The Pooh as a kid.
Ya, going to the doctors is always an adventure. Thanks to all the great doctors and nurses who put up with us.
In other news, I’m over at Fancy Little Things talking about writing and blogging and how sometimes it’s good to get out of our comfort zone and do hard things. Because, you know, discipline leads to accomplishment. It’s revolutionary. Go figure!
So, follow the link and I’ll meet you there.