Striped

A Bad Case of the Stripes
By David Shannon

For a bout of Bronchitis, I managed to cajole the children through a round of Godzillomiacin.  Just in time for them to contract what Ella refers to as striped throat.  Since Jack never eats what I cook; but only what he can find on the floor of his sisters room or bite off the end of a writing utensil (see pencil eraser, crayon, and marker felt,) I've given up on making antibiotic frosting and have opted for going in quick.  I get that dropper in there and squeeze with as much force as one can exert whence pinching a squishy little rubber dropper into a squirmy toddler's mouth.  Then I blow in his face, hard, until he swallows and offer his bewildered demeanor an M&M.   After I've used my super ninja medicine giving skills, to get ten days of Pinkacyllin into Jack's tightly pursed lips, we're going to pretend we're cowboys for a while and wear bandannas over our faces when we go out.