I swear to you, I didn’t jinx myself. I never once mentioned aloud to anyone, not even my husband, that our family got through this last, long Minnesota winter without getting sick. I knew better than the tempt fate. But The Sick found us anyway in the form of strep throat. It marched through the house knocking down first the elder son, then the younger, then my husband. To add insult to injury, the elder GOT IT AGAIN. The only bright spot was that I remained strep free thanks to copious hand-washing and liberal use of hand sanitizer.
Once The Sick hit, I hied myself to Target and filled my cart with foods not normally found in my pantry. When the body and spirit feel beat down, I look for easy-on-the-tummy salt and sugar delivery vehicles: three kinds of cracker: saltine, cheese, and graham. Three flavors of jello: cherry, strawberry, and, by request, berry blue. Two flavors, or really colors, of Gatorade: blue and purple. My boys love the jars of baby-food bananas, so I found myself in the baby aisle after many years. Not pictured: the boatload of yogurt and kefir I got to combat the deleterious effects of the antibiotics.
Normally, I’m an exclusive co-op shopper, an advocate for doing all possible shopping at the co-op. But sick food, or more precisely food for the sick, is something that reflexively sends me back to childhood. and the foods my mom gave me. And judging by how fast all these were consumed, the boys and my husband agree.
