Anytime there is a fundraiser at my children’s school to supplement the nurse’s salary, I do my best to participate. Yankee candles, cookie dough, wrapping paper, and the list of “stuff” goes on and on. I can’t not participate. You see, the nurse earns her pay through my kids alone. Thing Two, in particular. He is such a little old man trapped in a boy’s body, and a true hypochondriac. Okay, so he may have inherited that quite honestly. Just the other night, he told me he could feel parts of his brain coming out of his ears. Trying not to roll my eyes, I cleared out the brain matter/ear wax, and reminded him that he is limited to one episode of tom foolery per week. The day he actually hears that and understands is the day I will find a winning Powerball ticket on the sidewalk. The very next day, he had a sty on his eyelid. It manifested just a few hours after he felt the need to mention that he hadn’t had one in a long time.
So back to the nurse. We are on a first name basis. I am pretty sure I mentioned this before. When I see the school’s number pop up on my caller ID, I already know who is on the line. I feel like I’m talking to an old friend. Today, not even an hour passed after having dropped Thing Two off at school when I received the call. Mind you, today was the very first day back from a two week vacation. What on earth could be wrong with Thing Two already? I could hear the nurse fighting back a giggle as she went on to explain the dilemma of the day. Apparently, my child decided to stop by to see if the nurse had any spare underwear because he kept getting wedgies in the ones he was wearing.