Beautiful Boy

My sweet, sickie boy at his orchestra concert last night.

Look how freaking tall he's gotten! Grown 1/2 inch in 2 weeks, according to my calculations...

Well, we've been dealing with pneumonia again in the Riddle house this week. Yep, Nolan. Again. He went to school for about an hour on Monday when I got a call from the nurse. She was going to keep him, I decided to bring him home. What a freakin' mom I am for sending my Bubby-boo to school with pneumonia. I win Mother of the Year...again.

So, we waited for him to improve between breathing treatments and prednisone. Nothin'. A trip to the doctor and a chest x-ray confirmed what I already knew with my x-ray vision: pneumonia. Atypical. Streaks in his lungs. Of course. Brought on by mowing the grass on Saturday. Now I know my boy is allergic to grass. Duh. Mom of the Year again.

I finally picked up his homework yesterday afternoon. He's caught up now in under 2 hours. I hope he doesn't fail his math final from lack of studying or oxygen. I don't think he will, but you never know what hijinks this boy will pull out of his ass. And right now, I'll let him get away with just about anything. My Bubby-boo. I wuv him. As I type, I'm letting him watch "Zombieland" for the second time since last night. Yes, you read that right, "Zombieland"...rated R for violence, gore and language. It's pretty disgusting and I'd never let him see it if he weren't sick and pathetic and coughing all the time. Pass me that trophy. You know, the one that says, "Mom of the Year..."

He played in his orchestra concert last night. His teacher was okay with it even though he's been absent all week. They have worked so hard and come so far in 8 months, give or take. It was a great concert. He coughed most of the way though it and forgot his sheet music. Played the entire concert by memory. And I watched him. I don't think he ever missed a note. When playing the violin, it's kind of obvious when you screw up, and he didn't . Memory like an elephant, that boy. I love him to pieces.

We were at the doctor the other day, just sitting there listening to this resident drone on and on with what I'm sure he thought were words of wisdom imparting upon a lowly, ignorant mother of an asthmatic child. I tuned him out for a moment and looked at my son sitting on the examining table. He looked at me with a glint of boyish naughtiness in his eyes and smiled so knowingly--he knew I wasn't paying attention and that this guy wasn't schooling his momma at all. At that exact moment, I wanted to burst into tears. The overwhelming urge to cry was hard to stifle, but I controlled myself and as I looked at my 5'6", 139 lb. 12 year old boy, I could only think these words, "My beautiful boy. My beautiful.beautiful.boy."

He knows me so well. Oh, and we're trading lungs here pretty soon if I can get him to agree to the switch. So far, he refuses.

You don't want my lungs.

Yes, I do.

No, you don't.

But I want you to have MINE.

{{silence}}

Get better, boy. Mommy loves him.