The Neck Bone's Connected to the Throat Bone?

I'm often amazed at how much children have to learn in their first several years of life. I'm continually amazed at how much children learn simply by observing and conversing - not even by being taught - but simply by absorbing. And not only do kids have to learn all the untaught things of life, but also language and the simple day in and day out things to survive. They have to learn colors, numbers, letters, body parts, personal communication skills, etc. It's quite amazing to think about all the information their brains receive, process and remember.

In general, I would say I am naturally inclined to be an alarmist. I almost always jump to worst case scenario, and then work my way backwards to a more realistic perspective. Knowing this about myself, I try to intentionally under-react to situations to balance out the emotional turmoil going on in my brain. I also try to under-react because I don't want to be one of those parents who rushes my child to the ER every time he seems to have a fart caught. Last night Ezra woke up crying quite hysterically, saying his neck hurt. He obviously had a fever. In my mind, I was on the way to the hospital, calling ahead on my imaginary cell phone (since I don't have one), letting them know I was bringing in my son who clearly had meningitis, possibly avian flu, measles, mumps, rubella, and maybe a bad case of gas. I forced myself to react a bit more calmly, however, and began asking Ezra a series of questions. Did it hurt when he turned his head side to side? Yes. Can he touch his chin to his chest? Yes. Does that hurt? No. As we continued this chain of questioning, it became clear that it was not his neck that hurt, but rather, his throat was on fire.

All this to say... clearly I need to work a bit more with Ezra on anatomy... although the neck is indeed somehow connected to the throat, they are actually two different entities all together. As the song goes... the neck bone's connected to the throat bone - right?
This is how I know when Ezra is really actually sick, versus just milking the sympathy he gets. When he's sick, he brings his blanket from his bed and lies on the floor wherever I am. If I move from the kitchen to the living room, he picks up his blanket, follows me in there, and lies back on the floor. Poor kid.