I wasn’t completely unsympathetic this morning when Sam insisted that he had a headache and didn’t want to go to school, but we did give him some Tylenol, stuff him in the car, and drop him off at school.
I think the fact that he had to wipe his copious tears with the back of his hand to put on his game face before he got out of the car at drop off should have tipped me off to the fact that he really wasn’t feeling well.
I also should have known that even though I told him that if he didn’t start to feel better soon that he could go to the nurse and have her call me, he would never in a million years do that. I was the same way. I would rather suffer in silence than call attention to myself.
Because I didn’t hear from him all day, I assumed he was fine. After school, he got off the bus, walked straight over to me, and collapsed into my side, sobbing.
He was NOT fine.
“I want to go home right now. I don’t feel good. I want to go home right now!” he cried. And then I had to walk home very slowly because he refused to release me from the death grip he had around my waist.
Many tiny, tiny steps later we entered the house and he fell on the couch. I took pity on the poor guy and canceled Jack’s speech therapy and social skills group that usually falls on Mondays directly after school.
I DO have some words to say about the receptionist at our speech place. She’s not too good with the phone and the transferring calls skills. Which, as the therapists do their own insurance billing, seems to be MOST OF HER JOB. I had to employ alternate means of cancellation. (You know, email.) /rant
Sam napped for two hours and woke up with a fever.
If you need me tomorrow, you know where to find me. Here. With a sick kid.
Plus? After volunteering in Jack’s class this morning, then calling his teacher to interrogate her about what she thinks about his special ed services, she had to call me a half hour later to tell me that he fell on the playground and got a knot on his head.
The teacher has assumed the nurse called me. She was calling to see if I wanted to bring him dry pants because he fell in a wet spot. By the time we talked, Jack was happily eating the ice out his ice pack. Which sounds a lot like Jack.
We’re best friends now, considering we call each other every 15 seconds, but don’t you think the nurse might have called or sent a note home to let me know that Jack suffered a head injury? It seems important.
Oh, ALSO?! I had three chicken breasts sitting happily on the broiling pan on the counter waiting for the oven to heat up. And 15 minutes later I had ONE. And a suspiciously full-looking dog.
If I’m lucky, she’ll barf it all up later.