I am once again testing the limits of sending holiday-deadline-specific gifts via the Internet. I thought Mother's Day was May 22; this morning, Jack informed me otherwise. MOTHER'S DAY IS SUNDAY, EVERYBODY. I am crossing all fingers and toes with the hope that gifts from various gift portals will arrive by Saturday, because I paid a bloody fortune for the let's-gouge-the-forgetful-shoppers shipping.
Also, everyone here at FussyCorp is in the grip of a cold. I was the last to get it. I had no concept of anyone else's suffering. How could I? No one whines enough. Jack is not a whiner. Once he had a bone infection in his jaw and when he finally got around to seeing the dentist he (the dentist) was like, Oh my GOD. You've had a bone splinter growing out of your jaw for two weeks. Most people would be in the hospital right now begging for heroin suppositories.
I don't think we're personally responsible for the plague of snot that has visited a certain preschool. Because I kept sending Jackson to school even though his nose was a little pink water faucet that you can't get to stop leaking even though you used Teflon tape. I don't think I created Typhoid Jackson. Jackson who is a whiner, who's been whining and drooping all week, and I've been idly picking the crust off his nostrils, which makes him cry because it hurts, but did I grasp and feel and knead his pain? No, I gave him another shot of cough syrup and a pat on the fanny and sent him back out onto the Play-Doh-covered field.
So, now I understand. Yes, when I woke up at 1:00 Tuesday morning with a sinus headache that not only covered the cubic foot that my head occupies, but stretched out to grasp everyone within a three-foot radius to include them in the misery, I understood why my little son is now addicted to Triaminic Cherry-flavored Cough & Cold syrup. Personally, I learned that Sudafed takes the aches and chills out of your body and plugs them firmly into your head. I have a dim memory of tasting my food, many years ago.