fever, chills, oh my
not as bad as Hindenburg
for the big brother
The wee one is sick today. He woke up with a raging fever and a headache and chills and all that fun stuff. So I whisked him off to the doctor for a rapid flu test. He's had the FluMist, but with Ike-a-saurus being high risk, I just don't want to take any chances. It doesn't appear to be the flu, and he was feeling a little better tonight. Very good, but still. Come on, stupid germs. No whammies! No whammies!
Anyway, while we were at the doctor, the wee one and I took part in our favorite doctor's office past time – discussing major tragedies and/or war. I'm not sure how this started. Today, the discussion was about the Hindenburg. The last visit it was the Titanic. The time before that we got into a chat about war strategy and how it relates to the battle scenes in the Phantom Menace.
The conversations are always organic… they evolve from something normal, into something not so much. How do we do that? Today, we were just hanging out in the exam room and this is how the conversation went:
1. The wee one was worried that he can't remember things from when he was a baby. I told him that not many people remember being a baby, and that my first memories are from when I was around two. I remember sitting on the concrete floor playing with blocks while we visited our new house that was being built.
2. The wee one said, "so you mean under this floor is concrete?" I said yes. Then he asked if there were squares (like in the linoleum) on the floors of airplanes so that people with parachutes could lift them and jump out. I said they usually jump out of the doors. Then I told him about how when I was a kid I used to watch parachutists flying through the sky on the way to a landing area that was near our house.
3. Talk of parachuting reminded him of the time a hot air balloon went down our street, just above the tops of the houses. He wanted to know how many people fit in the basket. We talked about how it depends on the size of the basket, and then I said that big airships used to carry lots of people and have dining rooms and things.
4. "Did those blimps ever crash?"
5. And there you go.
If I could remember, I could probably do the same thing with the Titanic chat and the war strategy, too. It starts off innocuous, and ends in me regaling stories of newsmen shouting, "OH, THE HUMANITY" because people painted hydrogen blimps with paint made of rocket fuel components.
So which is more traumatizing? Going to the doctor on a Saturday, or having to listen to your mom talk about flaming airships? Maybe if the doctor came in the room faster we wouldn't have to worry about this.
Or maybe I could learn to filter myself a little better. Ah, well. At least he's feeling better. And at least I know what the feverish nightmares will be about tonight.