One of the kids is always sick when Grammy is in town. This time it was Lowe’s turn. On the third night he couldn’t stop coughing for even a single breath, and even though Dr. Ali Google assured me that this was normal and that a doctor wasn’t going to do crap—because you don’t take antibiotics for a cold—I dragged them both in to the real Doc anyway.
Dr. Google was right as usual, but the doctor did decide to do something, hooking Lowe up to a nebulizer. Honestly I’d never even heard of one of these things before, but Lowe took to it immediately and it seems to be helping him out. He’s sleeping through the night now anyway. The doctor’s office doesn’t know us at all, but handed over their nebulizer machine without any deposit or information other than the address we’d given them. See you in a few days. Sometimes the differences between Mexico and the States are so glaring.
At the beach today we bought a couple of kites, because apparently every single time we’re on a Mazatlan beach with Grammy we must buy kites. Ouest immediately turned into Amir (from The Kite Runner), slicing Lowe’s kite out of the sky.
Despite repeated warnings however, Ouest’s kite soon disappeared over the horizon. She dropped the string and away it flew. Before the string had traveled ten feet from her hands she was crying. Dutifully I searched the nearby neighborhood, to no avail. Which is good because it keeps the number of kites we own to under ten.