Z’s giving “flu shots” during her quiet play time. I mentioned that we need to go get them done this week, and she got a little apprehensive. You know the routine. “I don’t want a shot. I don’t need a flu shot. Why do we get flu shots?” And then, typically, flu shots show up in her imaginary play with her stuffed friends and dolls. Husband is home, and she just roped him into playing “flu shot” with her.
Z: Are you ready? Ask about the flu shot.
Husband: So what’s the story with these flu shots?
Husband: That really hurt. Z, you need to be gentle. And flu shots don’t go in your head.
Ever-Suffering Mother: (unsuccessfully attempts to hold back laughter)
That’s all. I had no idea what to write. In fact, I’ve been playing stinking solitaire for the past hour, waiting for an idea to manifest itself between the Eight of Hearts and the Seven of Spades. Never happened. But now I can make fun of my husband’s pain so it all worked out, didn’t it?