It sat in the bottom of the cup: a pink, pearlescent puddle. It looked innocuous enough but I knew better. Meds. For The Boy.
Crap.
I dipped a finger in and tasted it; I always want to know what the reaction was going to be from him. Hmmm...cherry flavored. Not ba...SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS HOLY (AND LESS THAN HOLY TOO SINCE I DON'T LIKE TO BE ALL EXCLUSIONARY LIKE THAT.)
Where did that aftertaste come from? I was tempted to go eat some grass in the back yard to get rid of the flavor.
The Wife walked into the kitchen. "What's with 'the face'."
I pointed to the offending, tiny, pool of doom that lurked in the bottom of the rocks glass. She walked over and dipped a finger in. I thought briefly about warning her but the thought, "why should I be alone in this?"
"That's not ba...oh. my. god. That is horrible. Why didn't you get it flavored?"
"I did. I just didn't realize that when I asked for cherry flavor it came with a chaser of putrefied skunk rectum."
The Boy walked in. We stopped staring at the pink cesspool. He knew what was up when he saw the rocks glass though. "I don't want any medicine."
Zoom! Gone. Out of the room.
It was time for the pleading to begin.
I chilled it in the fridge while we offered all sorts of helpful hints on how a popsicle would numb his taste buds and how it'll make him feel better (it was only a minor sinus thing, thanks for caring) and how the doctor said he should take it and how if he didn't take it, God would come down from heaven, destroy his bodily form utterly and completely, and cast his soul adrift in the winds of Limbo until such time as he decided to take the damn medicine and then and only then would he be made corporeal again (okay, I only thought that last one, but I still think it would have worked.)
None of it worked. He's always been stubborn like that. Finally, I had to pull a daddy trick. I got his nemesis, the dosing syringe. I silently held it up and he had flashbacks to the times I held him tight and forced medicine down his throat with it. They're not pretty memories for either of us, but, in the end, you have to go with what works.
He crumbled. He took the medicine with an iced tea chaser. We did the appropriate praising and wrote a few extra verses to the Hallelujah Chorus in honor of his achievement...because that's what little boys require.
The rest of the doses since have gone off without a hitch. Someday we're hoping to achieve drama-free nirvana. Until then though, I've got the dosing syringe on standby.
