
When you're 16 years old and nearly 6'2" in height there is a certain indignity in going to the pediatrician. Having one's heart and lungs listened to by a person with Poo Bear on her scrubs and a plush toy clinging to her stethoscope seems a bit ridiculous. It was all too much for my wheezing, gasping son. God forgive me, this was too hilarious a sight to miss with my camera phone. He swore he was comfortable but I find it hard to believe.

Once proper airflow was well on the way to being restored he perked up enough to start playing this nebulizer mouthpiece as a kazoo, which led to a game of "Name that Tune." He stumped me on
this one. I took a video of him jamming out on the breathing tube but my phone won't let me send it anywhere. Then he started doing other things with the mouthpiece that we just won't even mention here. Just trust me. It was funny. Aside from preferring the boy a nice healthy pink color as opposed to blue, I like how his brain works when it's receiving oxygen.
I returned him home for the remainder of a sick day and went into work late. I came home to a warm-from-the-oven plate of melty, gooey goodness produced by Isaac. If this is what happens when he is deprived of football practice I think he needs to quit the team and sign up for a pastry class. Oh yes I do!