Mikie Being Mikie

This morning, Mikie woke up with a horrible rash all over his face, and on his hands. He didn't go to bed this way, and there wasn't anything to explain it in his room. His nails were neatly trimmed, so I knew he didn't scratch his face up that severely during the night.

As he scratched himself, I asked him what happened. His explanation: "The green caterpillar scratched my hands and face."

I assumed he had poison ivy, decided to work from home so I could take him to the doctor, and chalked up the story to Mikie's vivid imagination.

Until I called into school. They told me that they have black and white striped fuzzy caterpillars outside that Mikie loves to pick up. Evidently, when you pick them up, they shed their fur, so maybe he had an allergic reaction to the fur. Seemed far fetched in my opinion, but it lent more credibility to Mikie's story.

Fast forward to lunch time. We are sitting patiently in the doctor's office, waiting to be seen. Not having eaten since breakfast, I am trying not to pass out. As I remind Mikie for the millionth time NOT to itch, I decide to ask him again what he did that made him itchy. This time, the full story came out:

Mikie: "I was playing with a fuzzy Caterpillar. . . he's so cute. . . but Everett through him over the fence."

Mom: "That wasn't very nice of Everett."

Mikie: "The caterpillar lives in the poison ivy."

Mom: skeptical, since he can't know what poison ivy is "How do you know the caterpillar lives in poison ivy?"

Mikie: "Ms. Janice told me not to play in it. . . but the caterpillar was so cute."

Mom: knowing what the answer will be "Did you go into the poison ivy to get the caterpillar?"

Mikie: "Yeah. Sorry, Mom." sorry comes quickly lately when he knows he shouldn't have done something. . .

Mom: "Don't be sorry. Just don't go in the poison ivy any more, it makes you itchy."

Mikie was quick to relate his itchiness to the doctor when she arrived. I explained the caterpillar situation and how said "cute caterpillar" may live in poison ivy. The doctor instructed Mikie not to play with caterpillars anymore, to which I laughingly added, "Yeah, please stick to worms instead." She seconded my advice, saying "Worms don't carry rashes" before laughingly saying "He's definitely a Michael."

Now, this is a comment I have heard before, "He's definitely a Michael." One of Mikie's teachers is also mom to a "Michael" and constantly chalks Mikie's "all-boy" tendencies up to this excuse. Evidently, the doctor is also mom to a "Michael" and told me "it's the name." Evidently, all Michael's who come in to her office are the same.

So, a warning to all friends considering having children. Avoid the name "Michael". According to our doctor, even using it as a middle name guarantees these Mikie-like tendencies of wreaking havoc in the name of exploration.

Maybe this is why Michael is no longer the #1 name for boys. . .

In the interim, between the pet worms and poison ivy bearing caterpillars, I am trying to convince Mike that we need to get a hamster before our child gets rabies from befriending a rabid squirrel.

Love, The Trahans