Yep!

It IS croup.  Or RSV.  They weren't sure which at the doctor's office, but as the treatment for each is essentially the same in a kid Buddy's age, it doesn't matter too much.

So we are watching Muzzy (in German) over and over and over again, to get him to sit still, pouring "juice tea" (apple juice + weak chamomile tea) down his throat, endangering the state's supply of Vick's VapoRub, and forcing our ancient hot water heater to do double duty.

I made a lasagna to stick in the oven tonight; I love those no-boil noodles.  Not that I would turn down the night off from cooking, but taking one feverish boy and one girl who is valiantly denying the obvious (that her red eyes, crabby disposition, and general lack of energy mean she's getting the crud) to a restaurant does not seem like a good idea.  And I don't want pizza.  We feel guilty buying from places other than the one where Uncle Dunkle manages, these days.

You can keep praying for us.  I would rather not get this stuff, since what with Littleman on the way I can't take much more than, say, a Lifesaver and a (one) Tyelenol.  And I'm a wuss if you like, but a cold (in a grownup RSV is often just like a cold) with unrelieved symptoms is no fun, especially when you're drinking lots of fluids while carrying a baby who really likes to play bladder soccer.

Cheers,

Breanna