The relapse arrived only slightly off schedule, at 4:25 PM EST yesterday. “Mom,” she moan-screeched. “My throat hurts so much, I can’t even talk.” I didn’t tell her that her energy level and impressively high vocal volume betrayed her story just a tad.
This morning, she gave the extra sick-day ploy one more try, as she crawled into bed with me, proclaiming that she was still very, very ill.
“I don’t feel good.”
She threw in a last-ditch, mournful request. “Please… feel… my… head.” She used her very best, wide-eyed croak, mustering every sad and downtrodden facial expression in her theatrical repertoire. She raised a little handful of crumpled kleenex and blew her sore nose. She blinked. She looked pathetic. All in.
I declared her fit for school.
Then, she dropped the act and requested a bowl of Rice Krispies and a banana, while planning her outfit for the day and fighting with her sister over who would get to bring the jump rope to school. Also, Mom, how about a turkey sandwich for the snack bag, hold the mayo?
Yep. I think we’re on the mend, here.
Of course, my paranoid mother-guilt side is just a tiny bit worried that my little blonde wasn’t kidding about the throat thing, and that I sent her to school when I shouldn’t have.
*keeps fingers crossed and cough drops at the ready*