In the last 24 hours Piper has accumulated two skin knees, three bumps on her head, one nasty papercut, and a monkey bar “incident” that’s far too gruesome to share in polite company. She plays hard. It shows. We always buy the jumbo pack of band aids.
Tonight she was rubbing an itchy eyeball and worried outloud if maybe she didn’t have pink eye again. “You don’t have pink eye, Piper. You never did,” I told her.
“Justin said I did.”
“Justin’s wrong. You didn’t have pink eye. Remember I took you to the doctor three hours before our flight and had you checked? The doctor said it wasn’t pink eye.” Which is also what I told Justin’s dad when he hunted me down in the parking lot post holiday to let me know that Piper had spread pink eye to his whole family and ruined their vacation. I assured him that we’d share our germs some day, but we couldn’t take credit for this particular virus.
“Did I get a Zebra pack?” In Piper speak a Zebra pack means Z-pak antibiotics. It’s a mystery to her why the doctor is always mentioning her favorite zoo animal.
“You didn’t need one, P. You didn’t have pink eye.”
“How about a black eye? Do I have one of those?” Piper asked.
“Not right now you don’t.” I knocked on wood for good measure.
“I sure get a lot of black eyes. Wish they had a Zebra pack for those.”
For once, we agree.
piperism 
That’s kind of hardcore that Justin’s dad would hunt you down just to tell you that. Especially since he was WRONG.
Who does that? It’s preschool. They’re all germy. I’m positive we’ve caught something from Justin this year, but I’m not going to play the assign the virus game. I can imagine that having a house full of pink eye for the holidays was no trip but STILL!