Been a fun week in the Pilaroc household, filled with numerous doctor’s visits and sheet changing. As a matter of fact, I found out my wash machine has a “sanitize” setting. I’ve had it for seven years. Who knew?!

While holding my 3-year olds hair out of the path of vomit, reminiscing on my days as a 21-year old at Purdue, I made a few realizations about sick children.

Why Are They So Sweet?

When they’re sick, they’re so calm, fragile and well, likable. The CEO hasn’t broken anything in over five days. My trips to the local fix-it store are way down. She’s been using her manners, almost resembling a little Emily Post. And her sweet little voice is once more soft, like when she first started talking. Like I imagine the melodious voice of angels to be. Versus the cacophony of shrills I normally hear from her and her siblings fighting.

She could have asked me for a pony, or a car or a trip on the next rocket to the moon and I would get it for her. Thankfully, she doesn’t understand the concept of doing something nice to get something in return yet. So I’ll just keep saving for NASA flight school training.

Why Do We All Have To Get Sick?

I want to love you from afar, as to not catch whatever carrier-monkey disease you have, but for some reason I forget you’re sick (or simply think I’m too tough to get sick) and let you give me sloppy open-mouth kisses, drink your cootie-flavored Kool-Aid and (because I can’t have food go to waste) eat the rest of your Ebola-lined peanut butter sandwich that you opened up and licked the peanut butter off of.

The Herdsman, on the other hand, can’t be found. Kids get sick, he’s on the next flight to Get Me the Hell Out Of Here Island. He’s pounding grape juice (some say it fights off viruses) and taking extra vitamins. In fact, I think he’s gained 20 lbs this Flu season from the grape juice that he’s decided to make a food group and it’s only October. But

somehow he gets sick too. Man cold. The worst!

And I believe I’ve found a conspiracy among drug companies. Pain-relieving OTC drugs really only help spread the sickness to the other monkey’s. Because the sick one thinks she’s magically cured and that she can rough house with the other unsuspecting delinquents, sharing Doritos and boogers in the process. Save yourself some cellphone minutes - just go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for all of them next week.

Why Do They Have to Sleep in YOUR Bed?

“Mama, Maaammmaaaaaa!!!!”, I heard at least three nights in a row, waking me from my five minutes of “Deep” sleep, per my Fitbit. She’s thrown up again. We’re out of clean sheets and she knows it. “Can I sleep in your bed, Mama?”, again, using that little angel voice. I cave. “Yes, baby doll, you can sleep in my bed and have access to my bank account and get sole-ownership of everything when daddy and I die. I’ll update the Will tomorrow.”

I do remember just wanting to sleep in my parents’ bed as a child. Even if they weren’t in it – it was always a cool, quiet, calm place. I liked their sheets better. Their blankets were more soothing and their pillows made for the best dreams. And it didn’t smell like throw up.

I suppose it’s no different for the CEO. The only problem – you can’t sleep with her. I mean actually sleep. Kicks to the rib cage, constant tossing and turning and stealing of the covers. Which reminds me: I need to make a doctor’s appointment to check out that size 11 foot-shaped contusion in the middle of my back.

She’s on the mend. And her spunkiness is slowly coming back. Here’s to hoping the remaining cold and flu season doesn’t give me ideas for blog content.