#5, my extremely emotional just turned 8 year old, came home from the neighbors last night in tears.
"Mom, I have the Chicken pox!" He sobbed, pulling his shirt up to prove it. "Cody told me to, GO HOME, because he doesn't want to get it!' More sobbing.
I was out in my flower bed finishing up a 9 hour yard work extravaganza. I sat down on my arbor bench and looked at the 10 or so suspicious spots on his belly. Sweetie, those aren't Chicken Pox, they are just hives from your cold and allergies" I reassured him.
"But Cody said they were CHICKEN POX and they're contagious!" Ha! These boys have hung out all week together, the contamination has already happened.
"You've had the Chicken Pox shot and all our boys get hives with colds, it's not Chicken Pox!"
" How can we be sure? I want to go to the DOCTOR!" Why pay a doctor when 12 year old Dr. Neighbor Boy has figured out the diagnosis.
"Go show Daddy your spots and ask him to cuddle you." OK, he goes off sobbing and I return to my gardening.
"Mom! What am I gonna do about these Chicken Pox?" He's baaack!
"Sweetie, go take a long, hot shower then all the spots will come out." And I'll be able to finish my flower bed.
"Why would I do that? I. don't. want. more. spots." So, I guess I'm done gardening? Sigh!
I take #5 into the bathroom and put him in the shower. Over the sound of the water he asks, "Does it sound like popcorn popping?" I strain my ears to listen for someone microwaving popcorn.
"Mom, does it sound like popcorn popping?" He asks again more urgently. I listen harder.
"I don't kno... Oh sweeetie! It's Chicken POX, not POPS."
It was hives!