That Grinch would so be doing 5 to 10 for grand theft if they had.
Last year the Boychild basically caught us dead to rights, and confirmed that there is *gasp* no Santa Claus. Last night we discovered he’s still frickin’ holding a grudge about it.
“This lie is on your head,” he proclaimed, standing there with tears welling up in his 10 year old eyes. Even though he’d already been questioning Santa’s existence prior to the confirmation, thanks to his little school friends (bastards, all), the actual loss of this beloved icon is a real source of grief for him. We’ve always been told by teachers that he’s a sensitive kid, and have seen the evidence of that ourselves, especially over this particular issue.
I suppose I can understand… Despite our religious beliefs (or lack thereof), we have always celebrated Christmas in a grand fashion, what with the tree, the decorations, the treats left out for Santa and the reindeer. So I guess in a way he feels like he’s been cheated…of a jolly old fat man with a penchant for B&E. No, of a treasured uncle, or something like that. I’m trying so hard to remember how I felt when I found out. And even WHEN I found out, and I just can’t dredge up the memories. So, hopefully, this isn’t something he’ll stuff and mount in the Injustice Room in his psyche, to be dealt with at extraordinarily expensive hourly rates in his 30s.
This morning has been an honest to gods nightmare. As my four loyal readers know, the Girlchild suffered an allergic reaction to amoxycillin this week (you know, the penicillin I told the “doctor” her dad and brother were allergic to?), resulting in hives all over her little body, including the bottom of her feet. Watching your baby girl hobble around like she’s 80 instead of 8 is a source of much stress, let me tell you, and no small amount of sheer fury. So, since I tend to get quite emotional when furious, I had the Husband call the doctor’s office to insist upon a stronger antihistamine, or even a corticosteriod, to knock this shit out of her before we get into the breathing difficulty portion of the program. *insert bared teeth here*
The fundamental problem with this doctor is he didn’t listen to me in the first place, and still insisted her outbreak was not related to penicillin. You can imagine how well that went over. So I got on the horn with a “patient advocate,” while the Husband spoke to nurses in the doctor’s office who seemed to imply that this is not the first incident of this nature. Grand. The upshot is that the doctor insisted, to both Husband and the patient advocate, that he was right, that I did not make it clear to him that I was uncomfortable with the Girlchild even trying penicillin, and that even if I had he still would have prescribed it.
*blink*
Come again? I realize I don’t have a pretend real medical degree like you do, *doctor*, but let’s see just how far you get in the pediatric field by ignoring the parents of your patients. Let’s just see.