Thy rod and thy staph, they comfort me

Wait, hang on a second. There is not, in fact, a rod involved in this story. I wish I could say the same about the staph. Which, actually, is quite the opposite of comforting. This post title really has nothing to do with the post topic. However, I couldn't immediately think of another well-known phrase in which "staph" could be inserted so readily.

Sign at the daycare on Monday: "We have had one case of Staph Infection in Your Child's Classroom. Please watch for rashes or sores, and see your pediatrician if you have any questions." Unfortunately, Action Hero's classroom is prime territory for such a thing; the toddlers are both drooly and mobile.

Sign at the daycare on Tuesday: "We have had two cases of Staph Infection in Your Child's Classroom. Please watch for rashes or sores, and see your pediatrician if you have any questions."

On Wednesday afternoon, upon removing Action Hero from his carseat, I noticed that the corners of his mouth seemed irritated, and hoped against all hope that it was just because of the extra drool sparkling against them (he's cutting his eighth tooth right now). However, by bedtime, they were looking downright sore-ish. I spent some time cross-referencing "staph" and "mouth sores" with Dr. Google, concluding that if they were indeed sores, they were most likely impetigo, a bacterial skin infection which would need a course of antibiotic ointment.

And indeed, there were definite sores this morning, so we paid a visit to the real live doctor, who diagnosed impetigo and provided (free!) samples of the needed ointment, which should put things right by the weekend. Technically, it probably is a staph infection; impetigo can be caused by either staph bacteria or strep bacteria, and considering the signs at the daycare, my money's on staph. Meanwhile, I have talked with Boy Wonder about the importance of not sharing drinking glasses or treats with Action Hero, and made a note to stop at the drugstore for some bleach.

I can't think of anything further to say, except a resounding, "Yuck."

Casual where?

Over the past couple of years, I have met various parties who tell me something surprising about their wardrobes. With perfectly straight faces and an earnest attitude, they tell me that they do not own any jeans. Or sweatpants. Or yoga pants. On weekends, they wear khakis, or cords, or cotton slacks...anything but blue jeans. I would imagine that the khakis and cords are accompanied by button-down shirts...perhaps even neatly ironed ones.

I do not understand these people. Business wear is fine for the business world, but at home, I like to be as comfortable as possible, and for me, that means jeans, T-shirts, and sweats. I like to be so comfortable, in fact, that, "Uh. Are you really going to wear that to the grocery store?" is a frequent weekend phrase around here.

However, these people do have one advantage, which is as follows. When a neighbor unexpectedly stops by to drop off some freshly baked cookies one evening, she will not find them cooking dinner in flannel pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that was purchased in 2002.

News in (very) brief

Back soon.

Oh, you didn't notice I was gone? Whew, then.

But, in case you care, suffice it to say that I don't recommend taking on a freelance article two weeks before going back to school. At all.

Perhaps I'm insane. But, you know, money. Is nice. As is maintaining contact with sources of freelance work.

I appear to have left my complete sentences in my homework.

Going to bed.