MOTLEY CROUP

I've been home with Andrew for the past three days as he copes with the croup.

Should it be called "the croup"?

I think it should. When you say something like "Oh, my kid. You know kids? Anyway, my kid's got croup."

When you say "got croup" it sounds like "got polio".

Anyway, screw it. I'll call it whatever I want. Why do I waste time trying to justify how I describe viruses to you?

So he's got THE croup.

We were made aware of this Tuesday morning about 2:15 a.m. when it sounded like a group of barking sea lions broke into our house and began begging loudly for fish.

This was immediately followed by a 7 year-old silhouette in the bedroom doorway, barking madly.

"What the hell?!?" I screeched as I leapt from the bed and about twisted my ankle.

"I (BARK!) can't stop (BARK! BARK!) coughing," Andrew barked.

You know ... seriously ... why the fuck was this MY problem all of a sudden, Flipper?

So we got up at 2:16 a.m. to try and figure out if somehow the kid ingested something like a piece of shit plastic compass from Burger King that had been under his pillow or something.

No such luck.

It was THE CROUP.

So yesterday I stayed home with him because ... and this is funny ... daycare doesn't like it when you send a kid in that sounds like Lucille Ball trying to swallow a can opener.

Last night I fully expected him to be better. That's one cool thing about my boy. He's never sick for very long.

This morning he wakes up ... I take that back ... he wakes EVERYONE up with his rhythmic barking sessions.

"He's going to the doctor today," I grumble at Susie. "I don't give a shit if he gets a shot or not ... he's going."

(My boy HATES shots. I know all kids supposedly hates shots. But this kid doesn't even like to hear the word when you're referring to a gun going off.)

So I call the doctor (six hours after Coughapalooza) whose reception cheerfully tells me to bring him in at 11 a.m.

I tell Andrew he's going to the doctor.

"But no shots ... right?" he urges me.

"No shots," I repeated. "You're not THAT sick."

First thing the doctor says ...

"We're going to have to give him a steroid injection. His windpipe is closed up tight."

F-U-C-K.

"Ixnay on the injectionay," I hissed as Andrew played his Nintendo DS.

No can do.

Five minutes later, the Governor of Tennessee called to tell us to "please hold it down down there".

I'm dragging a seven year-old through the doctor's office who's whimpering like a burnt puppy when he decides that getting a shot equals a showering of gifts upon him that Santa himself couldn't keep up with.

New Nintendo games, new V-Tech games, some books, a Tom and Jerry retrospective ... this is all coming between gasps of breath and delivered in the most raspiest of rasps.

So we stopped and got him the new "Wall-E" Nintendo DS game.

He's feeling better now.

Thanks to the game.

How about a rant?

Not that this blog/diary/crap hasn't been a rant since its conception.

But a short rant.

Or two. Two rants. Here they come. Get out your rant glasses.

1) "Wall-E Being Hailed As A New Modern Classic".

Went and saw the movie last Friday afternoon with the kid and Mrs.

I'll give 'em credit for the animation. It's amazing what computers can do these days.

But the story sucked elderly woman shit.

It's the same story as "Finding Nemo" or "Cars" or every other Pixar film.

Somebody gets lost or shot off into outer space or sent into a monster world and then they spend the rest of the movie getting home.

It's the same fucking movie over and over again.

I'm on to you, Pixar.

2) Nintendo DS games.

Andrew loves them. That's fine.

But they cost $30 apiece and when compared to the Play Station and Xbox games, these are like Pong videos. They're incredibly lame in graphics, sound, everything.

I realize they're geared toward kids on the go. That's fine too. Believe me, the Nintendo DS is a lifesaver when we go out to eat somewhere where you actually have to order off a physical menu and not something hanging over the minimum waged slaves slacking off behind the counters.

Andrew sits quietly, plays his games and picks at his food. That's Heaven in my book.

But I think it's time the boy got a Wii or something. Because I'm tired of paying good money for games with shitty graphics.

Kinda defeats the purpose of why he's got a Nintendo DS, I guess.

Alright.

Forget that rant.

I'll shut up now.