And the "Good Mom" award goes to....

...I'm not sure who, but I'm quite sure it's not me. This, after I was feeling like such a wonderful parent these last few days because I'm reading The Glass Castle where the parents leave much to be desired. After all, I don't allow my kids to cook hot dogs themselves (and catch on fire) or ride in the back of a moving truck while holding a baby, or play with discarded chemicals in old sheds, or... you get the picture, right?

Despite my "competency" at parenthood, the last few days have proved otherwise.

Tuesday morning Liv told me she was sick. Her stomach hurt, and she didn't think she should go to school. However, I had errands to run and things to do and I was pretty sure she wasn't really sick... so Ryan and I teamed up and convinced her that she was fine and not really sick so she could still go to school. We had a stern conversation with her about telling the truth and got her ready for school. She didn't eat breakfast, but I packed her a lunch with Jell-O and juice. At school she told her teacher that she didn't feel good, who then told her maybe she needed some food in her tummy, so Olivia ate her Jell-O like the obedient child that she is. She sat through lunch recess feeling yucky and upon returning to her class promptly threw up in the garbage can. Let's just say the conversation with the teacher ended with "so you see, Mrs. Harper, she really was sick." Olivia made sure that both Ryan and I recognized that she had been telling the truth and that she was in fact sick.

Olivia recovered within a day and was happily back at school, soccer, eating, and wanting to play with friends.

This morning Coleman said he didn't feel good, his stomach hurt, and he thought he should stay home from preschool. Once again, I had things to do and I was pretty sure Coleman was fine. So, once again, I sent my child on his way and then did my thing.

When Coleman got dropped off from preschool, my friend Jill told me he wasn't feeling so good. He didn't look good either. He walked in the house and got to the couch and stayed there, taking sips of apple juice now and again, drifting in and out of sleep. He seemed warm (but taking his temperature didn't show a fever--good thing I have an awesome underarm thermometer that is oh-so-accurate) and then his breathing became labored. He couldn't seem to calm it down and he started coughing quite a bit. Jill called to see how he was and I told her his symptoms--she told me how a few weeks ago she felt so awful and was surprised to find out she had pneumonia. She asked if he'd had breathing problems before... and he hasn't... and I didn't think much about it, but I was sure it wasn't something like pneumonia or asthma. I decided that if he wasn't better within 12 or 15 hours, I'd take him to the doctor. When Ryan got home, he felt like we should probably take him tonight, so I set an after-hours appointment. Ryan and I assured him that the doctor would help us figure out what was wrong and poor Coleman was worried about having to get a shot. We both assured him that a shot wasn't necessary, the doctor would just look at him, and maybe give him some medicine to help him.

Turns out he had a fever of 101 F.

Turns out he needed a breathing treatment.

Turns out he not only has a virus, but pneumonia.

Turns out he needed a gigantic, painful injection of an antibiotic, which I then had to rub in for FIVE minutes, which elicited even more agonized cries.

Turns out he needs 3 more days of nasty-tasting antibiotic.

Turns out he needs 4 days of steroid medication, that "could have a bit of an after-taste."

Turns out he might need another breathing treatment tomorrow.

Turns out he really needs to drink more liquids and get some food in his tummy.

Turns out, mothers don't always know (or do) best.

To those whose children have been around my sweet (sick) kids, the doctor assures me that they haven't been contagious for several days.