Send drugs

One reason I've been kind of quiet this week is that in addition to starting homeschooling, seeing friends who are visiting from CA, working on my magazine article research, and being an Olympics junkie, I've really been feeling atrocious. It started as a scratchy throat about a week ago, and whaddyaknow, it's STILL a very scratchy throat, now embellished with frequent coughing spasms and a migraine yesterday (my solicitous husband, before bed last night: "DO you want some Robitussin before bed so you can sleep? No, please. Have some, because I need to sleep.") So fun.

I almost never go to the doctor because I'm rarely sick and when I am, it's usually home-treatable, but I finally broke down and went today, stuffing the kids with cinnamon rolls from Upper Crust Bakery to atone for the parental sin of Spending Indeterminate Time In Dr's Waiting Room. Turns out, though, that it's not strep throat, and it's not even clear whether it's an infection or just my immune system finally crying "Uncle!" and developing full-blown allergies to Austin's infamously high mold count. Now, as Ian reminds me, I can "talk to my doctor about Zyrtec."

Those commercials. It's amazing, not only how annoying repetitive they are, but how transparent their effect on the young mind. Thanks to our Olympics jag, my kids are now convinced that they need to swish with Listerine every night before sleeping, that Barack Obama must be SO CRUEL because he plans to cut thousands of jobs, and that lime-flavored Bud Light would just about hit the spot (scary, isn't it?).

When the Games are over, I think our TV will be taking a sabbatical. It may come unplugged and just be broken for a while. At least until we're all happy drinking orange juice again.