Grady Doctor in training? You decide.

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The morning light crept through the window on a Saturday morning and tickled my eyelids. I cracked them open and looked around--still lying on my back (which happens to be my preferred sleeping position.)  

Aaaaahhhh.

The house is quiet, which is pretty unusual for us with two boys under the age of 5. Nobody screaming, nobody crying. I blink slowly and enjoy the moment.

Zen.

I hear a soothing noise in the background. . . . .a glance towards the window tells me it's origin--an early morning thunderstorm. This definitely has all the makings for a perfect morning snuggle-fest. I scoot closer to Harry and lean my head against his back. Now I hear the soft rain. . . .sychronous with his breaths. I feel so happy. . . .

The moment was short-lived . . . . .Isaiah and Zachary must have sensed this peace from their room, and were determined to break it up. Like gangbusters they threw open our bedroom door and then pounced on our bed. Fortunately, their entry was much rowdier than they were once they found their places under our down comforter. Somehow, the kids let Harry continue with the visions of sugar plums that must have been dancing in his head, and both snuggled under each of my arms. I pulled them in close to my chest, and decided that, no, this was zen.

After a few seconds of breaths and raindrops, Isaiah reached over my torso to touch Zachary. Here comes the fighting. I braced myself for Zachary's retaliation which would be sure to break us out of our tranquility. But nothing from Zach. Not a punch, not a kick, not a yelp. Guess he's still sleepy.

"Mommy," Isaiah declared quietly, "Zachy feels hot." I was impressed that he remembered to use his "inside voice" with sleeping Daddy in his presence. Then I processed his statement.

"Hot?" I asked while placing my flattened palm on Zachary's forehead.

"Yes, Mommy, he's hot," Isaiah said matter-of-factly. Wait--is this a four year old or a forty year old I'm talking to? I registered his temperature with my hand. Eeeehhh. Warm maybe, but I wasn't going to follow a lead from someone who just started Pre-K. (I'm just saying.)

"Son, I think he just feels toasty since we are all cuddling together. That's called body heat, and it makes you feel warm."

Isaiah yawned, stretched and then sat up on the bed. The look he gave me said, "Body heat? Yeah, right." He wasn't buying it.

"Tell you what, Isaiah," I spoke while wrapping my arms around him, "I will keep my eye on him to make sure he isn't getting a fever, okay?"

"Yeah, keep an eye on him, 'cause he's hot," he said while climbing out of our bed. Funny.


As the morning progressed, Zachary ate two bowls of oatmeal, karate chopped his brother, and wreaked havoc on the house, all while dressed in his muscle Hulk costume. Definitely no signs of being under the weather. I left the kids in their playroom and snuck away to shower, get dressed and run a few kidless errands. Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the room with car keys in hand, ready to head out of the house.

"Gentlemeeeen! Mommy's going bye-bye for a few minutes! See you in a little bit!" I yelled toward the playroom while walking to the door. (We yell through the house to get each other's attention waaaay to much, I admit.)

Predictably, Zachary's two year old feet scampered in my direction. He wrapped his chubby hands around my neck and pressed his soft cheek against mine. Felt my heart skip a beat. Also felt something warm against my skin--Zachary.  

Hmmm. He does feel a little warm.

I scooped him up into my arms and carried him to the kitchen. Propping him up on the kitchen counter, I grabbed a thermometer and slid it under his armpit. Before the "beep-beep-beep" could even signal a value, I'd already measured out the Children's Motrin. I knew he had a fever. Everyone knows that the mommy-cheek-thermometer is as good as gold. Case in point:  

Beep-Beep-Beep! 101.3.

"Yummy! Medicine," giggled Zachary as he slurped up the berry flavored syrup. His temperature was far more alarming than his behavior. Suddenly, I heard an abrupt voice that made me jump.

"What are you doing, Mommy?" Isaiah asked firmly. I placed Zachary on the floor and found Isaiah standing behind me with a puppy mask and rain boots on. He startled me."Why are you giving Zachy some medicine, Mommy?"

"Uhhhh, well. . .um, he, uhhh. . . ." I realized that I was stammering. No one likes "I told you so's"--especially from pre-schoolers. He stood there patiently, brows furrowed behind the puppy mask waiting for a reasonable reply.

"Well, Isaiah, I think you were right. Mommy took Zachary's temperature, and he has a little fever. I'm kind of surprised since he ate so well this morning and is playing like himself, you know?" I couldn't believe that I was explaining myself to a four year old kid dressed as a dog in red wellies.

Isaiah stood for a moment and just stared at me with eyelids at half mast. I shuffled a few steps over to hide the Motrin that sat behind me on the counter. Then he shook is head, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Told you he was hot!" he announced and spun on the rubber heel of his Lighting McQueen boots disappearing down the hall toward the playroom. He told me he was hot. That he did.

****

Future Grady Doctor with excellent clinical acumen in the making? Only time will tell. I have to admit. . . .the thought of one of my boys as a physician does bring a smile to my face. I can also admit that the thought of both of my Manning boys becoming multi-millionaire NFL quarterbacks like Peyton and Eli ain't a bad alternative either. (Just being honest!) Besides, it was Isaiah who told me that he had NO interest in being a doctor when he grows up because:

a.) he doesn't want to grow up since you have to work every day and never play with toys, and
b.) doctors are girls. (His point of reference is my circle of girlfriends. Go figure.)

Happy Zachy and my littlest intern, Isaiah, in his puppy mask.