The Maestro of Mouth is Soon to be Gagged With a Q-Tip

The Maestro of Mouth woke up at dawn this drizzly morning in a lot of pain. He's had a fever for two days and now it hurts when he swollows.

He hardly ever cries, but Aiden's had his fill of being sick.

He hardly ever gets sick too, just as I ironically told him the day before his symptoms first manifested. I suspect a classic case of manifest destiny, as I told his kindergarten teacher.

I'm going to call the pediatrician when her phone lines open in a few minutes and ask her to squeeze us in. I'd rather have a quick in-n-out (throat-gagging) exam at the office today than deal with the ER tomorrow, on a "shooting heavy" Saturday in L.A. County.

Aiden wouldn't go for the ER anyway; the last time he was rushed to urgent care the doctors glued the skin on my little Frankenstein's forehead back together again, firmly and tortuously answering the question that, no, Aiden, humans can't fly, so please stop trying to dive off of anything and everything in sight.

Right now Mouth is chasing his brother, sister and our new family addition stray cat about the house at breakneck speed with a pair of salad tongs. It's a good thing we are headed to the doctor anyway. Someone's bound to get wounded in the very, very near future.

All this hyper activity begs the question ... How sick can Aiden be if he's darting around the house like a pinball? Hmm. Maybe he should've gone to school after all, even if the perfect attendance award is now out of reach.