When Mom Gets Sick

A survival formula for dads

I met my wife in 1979.  That was the year she was born and we lived in the same neighborhood.  I re-met her as an adult in 2007.  I don’t remember her ever getting sick in the 16 years since.  Until yesterday.

It’s important to understand that, of this woman’s many virtues which compelled me to ask for her hand, chief among them was an unusually strong back.  She is, at once, CEO and the entire manual labor force in our home.  And I don’t take it for granted.  But also, these are jobs I didn’t sign up for.  Because I don’t sign up for jobs that I’m grossly ill-equipped for.  Bottom line – we depend on her and getting sick was unfortunate, but also a little selfish.

But a survivor by nature, I quickly launched a three-point plan that I think can be useful to all of you dads should you find yourselves in a similar crisis situation.

1.       Evacuate the house.  You can’t afford to have any of you catch what mom has.  Get out of there.  It means you will probably have to spend some dough doing things you don’t want to do and buying things you don’t want to buy.  But it’s WAY better than playing board games.  Board games are dreadful.  I managed to escape the day only playing one of them with the two little ones.  Which leads me to #2.

2.       Cheat at board games.  There will be plenty of time to teach lessons about honesty and character when mom is well.  Today your only goal is to get through this board game so that you can get back to rule #1.  If you get sucked in, agree to it only if the other players aren’t old enough to read.  That way you can make up rules to accelerate your time at the table.  We have a “so-so” literacy rate in our house so I can get away with this trick up to the early middle school years.  You might not be so lucky.  And as you’re shaping the rules, you generally want to favor the weakest gazelle in the pack.  Makes him feel heard.  Yes, it’s always a him.

3.       Breakfast for dinner.  Chute.  Dinner. This is a two-part rule.  First, always order out.  But if you have to survive a second night, you go to the oldest dinner hack known to man.  Clang a bunch of pots and pans together and do some variation on bacon and eggs.  When this kitchen racket started last night my 10-year-old son approached with the look of a tiny doe who just lost its mother in the dark forest, “You’re going to…cook?”

A brief exit poll of the six diners revealed:

·       “Best meal of my life”: 2

·       Tried one bite and moonwalked out of room: 2

·       Never came downstairs to even acknowledge I’d cooked: 1

·       Tried to eat it, but cried, went upstairs, and threw up: 1 (This is not made up.)

All in all, I think I had a pretty heroic day.  But not so heroic that she’ll allow a little virus to knock her off her feet again anytime soon.  And that’s the balance.