Fakey McFakerson, Jr.

Last night Jiro turned to me and said, "I'm sick. I'm really sick."

"What hurts?" I asked as he stared blankly at me.

"Your stomach?"

"No."

"Your throat?"

"No."

"Your head?"

"No."

"What hurts?"

"Nothing."

"Then why do you think you are sick?"

"Kai said I was really sick today at school."

"Kai? The six-year-old?"

*nods*

"Is he a doctor now?"

*cocks head to the side* "Huh?"

Now clearly Jiro had a cough. But so did I. We both tend to get a slow trickle of snot in the back of our throats when it is 20 degrees one day and 60 the next. I wouldn't technically call that sick.

For good measure, I took Jiro's temperature and gave him a decongestant.

He woke up coughing around 3am and I put some Vicks on his chest.

This morning he was fine. Ate breakfast, played, etc. Of course as soon as we walked into school, he slowed a bit and said, "I'm sick. I'm really sick."

He actually looked so pitiful, I wondered if he hadn't taken a sudden turn for the worse. I felt his head. Normal.

Mrs. N came over and felt his head too. "He's fine. If he still says he doesn't feel good later, we'll call you," she said right in front of Jiro.

He was still clinging to me, so I gave him a big hug and said, "Don't you want to see Garrett? Don't you want to exchange Valentines?"

He dug his head into the crook of my neck.

"I bet you guys get to eat some candy today," I said.

He jerked his head up, wiggled out of my arms, and walked into class.

Uh-huh.

At noon, I got the call. It was Caleb's stepmom, who helps the teachers from time to time. "Jiro's not feeling good," she said. "Mrs. N. said you wanted us to call you."

"Have you already done the Valentines?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

Uh-huh.

"Okay, one of us will pick him up shortly," I said as I hung up. I sat at my desk a minute and thought, It's awfully close to nap time. Maybe he can stay til after nap.

Don't get me wrong. If my kids are sick, I will happily take a precious vacation day to stay home with them. (Or happily send them to work with Warren.) But I don't want to use a precious vacation day to pick up a McFakerson and fight with him all afternoon about how sick boys can't play the Wii.

Before I could call back, Mr. Aaron (the director's husband) called me. "Yeah, I think he's faking," he said.

"Really?" I asked relieved. Mr. Aaron is the father of two (soon to be FOUR) and a cop. He knows a faker when he sees one.

"Really," he said. "I'm going to get him to eat lunch and if that doesn't work, I'll call you."

"Awesome," I said.

He never called.

When I went to pick Jiro up, he was happily carrying around a big bag of Valentines and candy. "I'm still sick," he said.

He's been saying it all night.

At least he's consistent.