Day # 49: Evidence that I am truly the wife of Job!

Jamie has had a blistery patch on his face for a little while (maybe even 2 weeks). Realized that it was migrating yesterday to his cheek/neck and on his arms so made an appointment (because I don't go to the Naval Hospital enough?) for today.

Took him to the appointment and was told that their best guess (N.P. + M.D.) was:

SCABIES.Don't you just feel itchy already?

Not a sign of poor hygiene, just another all-too-clear sign of BAD LUCK.
Yes, readers, we have another PLAGUE here at the Sand Castle -- one that requires that I treat all four boys (but magically avoid contact with the ointment myownpregnantself) launder all bedding and clothing (or seal it in bags) and generally work slavishly in pursuit of microscopic annoyances.
Mind you, these little mites are HIGHLY contagious -- person to person but no one else seems to have it, leading me to suspect that he could actually have contact dermatitis.


It just doesn't get any better than this!

Took a brief detour before heading to the Main Pharmacy. My favorite pharamacy tech, Precious (really her name!), and I had a nice chat while she entered all the info in the system -- I had to pick up 2 Rx for me, 3 for Tim, 2 for Charlie, 3 for Jamie, and 2 for Jack so we had quite a lengthy talk. I shared with her my conviction that my sponsor's name was really Job and that Job had left me with all this fun to go have antics in Iraq. She giggled her precious self and told me my children were blessings. I reminded her she was dealing with just me and not those precious gifts so best not go over-stating things like that.

Fast-forward one-hour of joyous waiting with Scabies Boy to when Precious Me is handed TWO overflowing brown grocery bags full of scabies-treatments, iron pills, attentional support, and the ever-popular psychotropic meds for Tim. Between the watermelon appendage and a sack on either side of it, I became uncomfortably aware of the horrified gazes of the assembled pharmacy patrons. Most averted their eyes but a few simply could not mask the look of abject curiosity as I obviously looked like I was going to go home to attempt some do-it-yourself-chemo or such.

Home to finish a project for work and then decided, since it was such an excellent day of Caring for My Precious Offspring, that I'd tackle that mop on top of Charlie's noggin while the sitter was there to handle the post-cut shower/bath.

For his latest twist on remaining atop the Worst Haircut Victim world rankings, he now insists on covering his ears with his hands (added degree-of-difficulty points there, especially since he's holding his wrapped lollipop reward in one of the clammy hands) while whine-sobbing "noears-noears-noears-no haircut-noears" the entire time. Babysitter sat nearby, mouth agape at the Flowbee Method (sans flow-bee machine) -- or perhaps it's the Bowl Method (sans bowl), whereupon I pull chunks of hair at right-angles from his scalp and lop it off until it's the right length (i.e., shorter). I finish up by peeling one hand at a time from the protected ear zone, which ups the snot factor by about 100%. Oh, and add that oh-so-charming touch of the Little Dutch Boy bangs. Only I needed a band-aid (TM) at the conclusion. And he does look MUCHO better.

Where the heck was Zohan when I needed him?! Probably with my beloved Job.