During this fall's soccer season, T has loved going to his brother B's games and practices. He loves playing in the grass and rolling around, roughhousing with the other little ones, and playing at the playground by himself like a big boy.
This has also been a pretty severe chigger year.
So, it came as only a small surprise when I got a call from the daycare last week.
"There is no emergency, but you need to come pick up T as soon as possible. He'll need to see a doctor this afternoon."
"Why?" I asked, already kind of knowing the answer.
"He has CHICKEN POX. They're terribly contagious you know."
"No," I said, "he doesn't. He has chiggers."
"They are all over over, he has spots all over his abdomen and back, they are all oozing and I'm afraid its chicken pox. You really need to come get him."
This isn't even the first time they've called me for a "chicken pox" case in one of my kids - my kids play outside a lot. No, it isn't chicken pox (he's even been vaccinated). Yes, they are gnarly - because he won't leave them alone.
I'm almost embarassed.
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