"Mama - you do it!" My son looked on in abject terror as I brandished the inhaler.

"I'm trying to do it, if you'll just hold still and let me spray this crap into your face!" I am paraphrasing, but the gist should be identifiable. I might not have said "crap," for example. We struggled for another minute, the boy getting more hysterical and me getting less AP with each passing second . I think I told him I was going to strap him to the cabinet with duct tape. Again, taking the 5th on that.

In a fit of exasperation, I finally sat him on my lap so he could watch me take a rip of Qvar off the kid-sized bong with the attached face mask. He furrowed his brows and watched me intently, sure I was going to keel over and confirm his suspicions that I was trying to poison him.

Having made myself sick to my stomach (Qvar=blech!) but selling it like a pro (I'd like to thank the Academy) I resettled him on my lap and convinced him to take his puffs like a good soldier.

Parents are like the Royal Taste-testers and Court Jesters all rolled up together.

SEE Mommy in rapture over green beans!

HEAR how she does not die from taking that medicine, and in fact enjoys the cherry flavor muchly!

WITNESS the general awesomeness that is flossing!

LISTEN as she performs an epic poem about early bedtime!

LAUGH as she tries to reason with your sugar-addled brain!

You know, I would die to protect my children. I really would. But do I REALLY have to wash all the pesto sauce off the freakin' ravioli because today it is icky when yesterday it was not? Should I flog myself for being able to read minds while I am unwilling to comply with their borg-like will? Shall every new anything be preceded by a parental dress rehersal and subsequent play-by-play rehash?

I spent much of my morning at the doctor's office again, trying to get to the bottom of my little guy's hacking cough and labored breathing. Nowhere else on the planet (except maybe at my MIL's house) do I perform so much surrogate service. My son wants to see MY ears looked in, my tongue squashed, my back frozen by the stethescope, and he wants details, people. The doctor was into humoring crazy sick kids...

Oh! Get this: we are walking behind the nurse from the waiting room to the exam room, when my son suddenly starts clutching his face and crying. When I say suddenly, I mean, one second he is behind me, trotting along, and the next he is behind me, still on his feet, weeping hysterically. Apparently, he fell down, hit his forehead on the heel of my wooden soled clog - without me feeling or hearing it, and bounced back to his feet before anyone saw him fall. He had a nice divet out of his head, and the nurse and I were flabbergasted. It's like it happened on an alternate timeline.

Anyway, so I endured a check of my facial orifices, while exclaiming "whee!" and "that was tickly and fun!" Then she asked us to go get a chest x-ray. I had to draw the line at taking off my top and standing in front of the camera. The tech seemed vaguely bummed, but thankfully, we're talking about the Nudito Bandito, so he was more than happy to lose his shirt for the chance to see his bones on film.

Luckily, it's a minor infection, and with the new drugs we got on our way home, it should clear up. And who knows... one of these drugs might actually be fun! Whee!