I got to be a dad yesterday which, technically I am all the time but when your 'kids' are adults, not so much or at least not so often. In the course of baking holiday treats, Christmas cookies, for the neighbors, Michelle thinks she managed to inhale some powered sugar or something and it irritated and agitated and aggravated her throat so much that she had trouble getting any sleep Saturday evening.
It's a carrying-on of an old tradition in a way. Many years ago when both of our children were small and lived with us, we used to spend the Christmas holiday in New Jersey with my family, or portions of it, at my Mom's house in Princeton and every year, like clockwork, in the days leading up to our trek from the Nutmeg State to the Garden State, Michelle would get sick. I'm impressed with how life works out even while I'm busy making other plans.
We spent less than an hour in the Emergency Room, the Convenient Care operation (for whose convenience is never clear to me no matter how often I end up there) and we'll take it easy for the next couple of days to see what. if anything happens next. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the nothing happening option but that's because that's the drill they taught me in Dad School. I'm not sure that makes me as grateful as a grapefruit but as long as I don't become as persnickety as a persimmon (or Richard Simmons for that matter) all will be well, especially since I'm hoping Santa didn't bring me a unitard.