It Could Always Be Worse

WARNING: THOSE WITH WEAK STOMACHS OR DISDAIN FOR POTTY HUMOR SHOULD AVOID READING THIS POST, AS IT MIGHT BE HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH.



One of my husband's favorite children's books is "It Could Always Be Worse: A Yiddish Folk Tale" by Margot Zemach, which tells the story of a poor peasant who seeks advice from his rabbi on how to make his overcrowded, crazy hut more livable. On the advice of the rabbi, the peasant successively brings all his livestock into the hut and then, after a series of weeks of increasing misery, removes all the livestock, making his household seem absolutely wonderful.

I thought that things were bad enough this past weekend, when I contracted the stomach virus that had been making the rounds with the preschool set, and still had to attend soccer games, worry about what was for dinner, catch up on laundry, and, among other things, you know, "mother." But, of course, things could always be worse. My stomach problems lingered just long enough to depart right before Calder presented with symptoms of the same bug.

Not long after bedtime on Wednesday Calder's bouts of vomiting and then diarrhea commenced. The poor guy barely slept all night and when home from school on Thursday spent the day resting and ordering me around like a little dictator. When sick, Calder is completely different from his older brother Milo, who is a perfect darling, wanting only to be held, cuddled, and maybe read to. In contrast, Calder is cranky and demanding. He is perhaps a bit like his father when sick, but I get ahead of myself. Calder stated it plainly at one point, growling "I'M GRUMPY!!!!" at me as I tried to juggle entertaining Zola and making sure that Calder's flask of Pedialyte was full, he had all the trains and cars needed by his side, and the correct video was being shown in the screening . . . , I mean the family room. Yes, someday Calder will make a terrific CEO or dictator of a small country. Thankfully Calder was completely well today and could go to school because I was absolutely ready for him to go back to school.

Today my husband arrived home at lunchtime unannounced. His face a pale ashen color, he plodded in the door and up the stairs to bed. Yes, things could always be worse.

When I picked up Milo from school this afternoon he looked quite glum and immediately said, "I feel like I'm going to throw up." Yes, things could always be worse. I suppose I should be proud of Milo--he's a pro at vomiting into a ziploc bag while seated in a moving vehicle without any drips or spills. Anyhoo, four hours later and Milo was still vomiting, poor guy.

And now that all the bathrooms in my house reek something awful and two out of five of us are actively ill, one of the dogs decided to use the playroom carpet as a bathroom. Why? Did I really need to know definitively that things could always be worse?

I suppose all of us could have been sick simultaneously. I keep waiting, almost holding my breath, for Zola's cries. It's probably only a question of when, not if, my baby will get sick. Yes, things could always be worse, but maybe by the end of the weekend my hut will be empty (relatively), clean, and free of illness. One can hope. In fact, I'd even settle for just a healthy husband with whom to share parenting duties.