The Plague Redux

Since early May there has been at least one sick person in our family. And just when I thought we were finally getting healthy, Matthew came down with the scourge. He’s coughing and stewing an aggressive fever. His cough is slightly different though. Instead of the wet cough that sounds like a backfiring tuba, Matt has a croupy cough that sounds like a seal on steroids.

What is prolonging this plague? Why couldn’t everyone get super sick at once and then we could be done with it? I’m sure there must be some heavy-duty sanctification behind it, but if I knew what exactly I was supposed to learn I’m sure I could do it much faster.

I’m probably supposed to be more patient, which means I shouldn’t have said, “Jacob, we’re getting really tired of listening to your cough.” Yeah, that was the epitome of tact and motherly compassion. Or, “Matt, you don’t need to announce your fever every five minutes.” After all, he doesn’t have anything more exciting to do. (Though I will state for the record that digital thermometers that measure to the tenth of a degree were created by engineers who had never taken care of a sick, bored pre-teen.) Or, my favorite, “If you don’t cover you mouth when you hack, I will duct-tape your mouth shut.” Okay, I didn’t really say that—I only thought it. Hmm…I see a pattern here. Patience. I need to hurry up and get some.