As if I haven't done a great job proving my ineptitude - I shlepped all three kids to our pediatrician yesterday, where they were quickly diagnosed with (duhn duhn duuuuuuuuuhn) bronchitis. All three of them. Just like that. I probably could have headed this off last week, but figured they'd just get over it. I was enjoying the mellow.

By Sunday night, we knew they were not going to 'just get over it.' So I scheduled an appointment for the oldest, and my husband planned to come home from work to cover the other two. Except that didn't happen. So I had to take all three with me to the doctor's office.

Our doctor is great. He has three boys himself, and is unphased by the Circus onslaught. We arrived 15 minutes early, and infected every toy and book in the waiting area (we gotcher germ warfare right here, baby) and used the potty three times. When we were called and followed the nurse to the exam room, my son burst out into a spontaneous rendition of the Bob the Builder theme song, with many trills and operatic extras. Good times. The other nurses looked on in amusement/horror.

Once they closed the door behind us, the kids were kept at bay for a minute with a book, but soon I was physically restraining my son from pulling the rubber reflex hammer out of the container on the desk so he could dispatch us all like a savage with a battle axe. The doctor arrived quickly, and after listening to my daughter's lungs, quickly checked the other two.

When he asked if the kids were allergic to amoxicillin, I confessed I didn't know. He was shocked that we've never had antibiotics for anything, but gave us a rundown on what to expect. Weird poop. Great.

So off to the in-building (thank goodness for that) pharmacy for albuterol and amoxicillan. While we waited for our prescription to be ready, we wandered the hallways and I caved to demands and purchased three Tootsie Roll Pops at a cost of $0.60 a piece. Highway robbery! I was secretly hoping they weren't very fresh, and would stick their mouths shut, at least until we got out of public space. Open shelves full of OTC medicines and kids who are sleep-deprived and snot-addled is a new level of Hell.

$60 bucks and two paper sacks later, we made our break for it. The entire pharmacy heaved a sigh of relief. At home, we have learned that albuterol makes for hyper kids. Because, yes. Hyper is better than hacking until vomiting. But still.

Laller, laller, bluh-a-hack-heh-choak-gag, laller.