When Piper is sick, she wants soup. Lots of soup. Noodle soup. Pasta fagioli. Tomato Soup. Repeat.
While slurping up her tomato soup today, she decided that cheddar bunnies would be better than crackers. It’s Piper’s version of a grilled cheese, which she loathes: “It’s smashed bread and cheese! What’s the big deal?”
So the bunnies took a yummy dive and Piper said, “Mom, there is a pool party going on in my tummy. I’ve invited these cheddar bunnies. Hope they can swim!”
Piper wants me to blog about her strep throat. Again. Because she has it again. Ouch.
“Tell them I’m really sick, Mom.”
“You said it doesn’t hurt. And you’re dancing.”
“Yeah but that won’t get me any sympathy at all.”
Poor Piper. Skipping around our house with 103 fever begging for her next dose of Amoxicillan because she loves, loves the flavor. She claims that swallowing doesn’t hurt. Her tonsils are so swollen that her voice sounds funny. She’s either the toughest kid on the planet or a complete liar.
“Oh, and tell them Dad smells like pizza. He does.”
“But pizza smells good.”
“Ok. Just tell them about my stripey throat.”
Piper’s had a rough week. Stitches. Falls. Fevers. Step Throat. It keeps getting worse. There was also an outbreak of lice in her classroom. On the bright side, Piper doesn’t have lice. So, there’s that, right? Considering she spent a good part of the week in and out of doctor’s offices and on and off our couch, catching lice was low on her list of possibilities. Poor Piper.
Luckily, she figured out what’s been causing her bad luck. She told me all about it this morning.
“Mom, I know why my fever was so high?”
“You do? Why?”
“I don’t want to say it out loud so I’m going to spell it for you.”
“Okay, Piper. I’m ready.”
Piper then used her finger to write J-O-E in the air. That happens to be her father’s name.
“Really? Your dad caused your fever?”
“No, Mom. I spelled Junie. You know, my favorite stuffed animal. Junie.” (Junie stars in most of Piper’s pictures. You can see her illustrated here.)
“Actually, you spelled J-O-E.”
“Whatever. The point is that I think Junie has strep throat. She keeps giving it to me.”
“Huh.”
“Or I’m getting all sweaty because of all those stuffed animals. I’m sleeping with like fifty of those things. I can barely breathe in there, you know.”
When Piper woke up this morning with a raging fever and a sore throat, I wanted to cry. But I can’t. I’m the mom. So I gave her a dose of ibuprofen, stripped off her sweat soaked pajamas, and brought her to our bed. We cuddled and talked about how stinky it is to feel sick. “I know what would make me feel better,” Piper said.
“Anything, baby. What?” I asked.
“Hot noodle soup.”
“But you ate all the noodle soup yesterday,” I reminded her. “We’re all out.”
Tears welled in Piper’s eyes. Okay. Okay. I can make a fresh batch. From scratch. Before 6 a.m. Fine. I diced and simmered the broth. I boiled the noodles. I buttered a fresh slice of bread. Then I fed it to Piper with a spoon. She said her throat felt better. She said it would feel even better if she could watch Word Girl on the couch. I’m a sucker, I know.
A few hours later, after the fever broke and some of Piper’s energy returned, after the negative strep throat test and doctor’s visit, I brought her another bowl of hot noodle soup. Piper peered into the bowl at her beloved carrots and celery floating in a fragrant bath of broth and noodles and said, “Mom, I don’t do leftovers.”
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