Total Drama Island

The virus that knocked us all on our -- tushes -- hit Megan with a particularly nasty cough. It was hacking, persistent, barking, and loud, but not productive. And she milked it.

She doesn't like the liquid medicines available to her, objecting to both the grape flavor and the entire family of red flavors -- berry, bubble gum, cherry. Unfortunately, she is not old enough or heavy enough to resonably take most adult preparations, so she chooses to suffer -- loudly.

After two days of constant hacking, I finally told her she needed to take some cough suppressant to give her body a break. "It's not like you're coughing anything up," I said. "You need to stop coughing long enough to get a rest."

We gave her a choice of the stuff we had available and after five minutes of whining, begging, and attempted negotiations ("I'll stop! I'll cough up stuff! Really!") she chose the grape-flavored cough and cold mix, and we poured out her dosage: two teaspoons, which filled a tubular spoon doser to the top.

"THAT MUCH??!"

We assured her that yes, this was the correct amount, and she began the whining, begging, and negotiations again.

"Just get it over with," we told her. "Stop complaining, suck it down, and you can have a drink of whatever you want to get the taste out of your mouth."

She agreed she'd drink some 7-Up, so we set her glass right next to her, handed her the dropper-spoon, and encouraged her again.

She lifted the spoon to her lips, closed her eyes, and froze... "I CAN'T!! I just can't. My body won't LET me!"

We reminded her that she was 10, that she needed the relief, that it was only 2 teaspoons, and she COULD DO IT.

Again we watched as she raised the spoon, closed her eyes, and froze.

There were tears. There was wailing. There was a prolonged session of attempted negotiations. There were more tears. There was more encouragement, more reasoning, more firmness.

Finally -- FINALLY -- after 25 minutes of unbelievable drama -- she took the hated purple stuff.

Tear-stained and exhausted, she accepted a wet washcloth and stretched out on the couch for a rest from the ordeal, and Matt and I exchanged the "OH MY GOD" look so familiar to parents.

The next four hours were blissfully cough-free, or at least less cough-y, and she got a good sized break.... Don't you hate it when your parents were right?