Crepe Myrtle & Bronchitis
We saw it as we pulled up to the Big House – a giant weed sticking vertically out of the ground.
“That’s … weird,” I said to Puck as we drove into the driveway.
I guess I should have realized what would happen next as Puck tore off across the yard, but I didn’t think quickly enough to prevent him. About a minute later, he returned, victoriously grasping the “weed” in one hand.
“Oh no, Puck!” Carrie burst out the front door, also too late to stop him. “That was Grandma’s crepe myrtle!”
So while Francis made sure the roots were still intact, Puck prepared an apology for Mom once she returned from the CVS Pharmacy with Irish. Irish, who had apparently caught bronchitis from Thumper.
When they returned about an hour later, Puck held the weed behind his back, anxiously waiting for an appropriate time to explain the carnage to his grandma, while Mom discussed doctor’s appointment options with Carrie and me.
“There’s no way she has pneumonia,” Carrie and I insisted as Carrie grated raw ginger into hot tea for Irish. “Don’t have them take x-rays and prescribe her antibiotics. She’s only had cold symptoms for three days.”
Meanwhile, Puck produced the crepe myrtle. Mom laughed. “Well, I guess it does sort of look like a weed. Something from Dr. Seuss, you know?”
As the afternoon arrived, Mom escorted Irish to her doctor’s appointment. Carrie made her wear a medical mask out of courtesy to the general public around her. Carrie and Francis hit their A&P open house in the city. And I finished editing Cardgals podcast episode 62 while Joe napped and Yali watched some good old-fashioned Magic School Bus.
Irish did not have pneumonia. The doctor prescribed her an antibiotic which she began taking while holed up in her room with the iPad while the boys took another dunk in the pool.
Meanwhile, one of Carrie’s small goals of the near future is to teach Yali the “Nae Nae”. So far, so good. Progress is being made.
Back home, the boys went AWOL after dinner, running around screaming, yelling, dancing, and playing tag, while I washed up the dishes.
“YOU! ARE! SO! CUTE! YOU! ARE! SO! CUTE!” Puck chanted to Yali, barely able to contain his enthusiasm, or resist the urge to squish his little brother.
Yali just grins and chases after him, babbling, with a huge grin on his face.