A couple of nights ago, my mom called to check on Alice who has an ear infection.
She has been to see a doctor. She is taking Amoxicillan.
“Maybe she needs a taco,” my mom suggested.
Oh, the ear taco.
Well. In case you’ve never (and not even Google seems particularly familiar. What?), an ear taco is a cotton ball with a little olive oil and a pinch of something, I don’t know, nutmeg or cloves, I think, sandwiched in between, then rolled on up into the achey ear.
I probably spent every Christmas Eve, ages 5 to 11, with one in either side. It is very soothing.
How could I forget? And why can’t I remember it exactly?
The doctor visit was also Alice’s latest well-baby check-up. At the beginning of those, the nurses give you a clipboard and a questionairre. Super-easy stuff. Do you read to your baby every day? Yes! Do you ever leave your baby alone in the bathtub? Never!
One of the questions asked whether she receives all of her health care from licensed professionals. Do you visit faith healers, curanderas or witch doctors? (Seriously, it was on the form). Nope, I checked without even blinking.
And, yet again, ear tacos.
That brought me home.