Why is it trouble always seems to find us in threes? Is there some universal law of the cosmos that dictates tragedy should strike in triplicate? I'm quite certain Mother Earth has a good chuckle at our expense every now and again. Why am I so certain? Defense Exhibit A: last night. 

Now before you think some terrible fate has befallen me, the tale I have to tell is no worse than a sick kid, a cat's butt and a dog's ear. Hard to believe these three things have anything in common, but Fortune is a fickle-hearted fool, isn't she?

Just about everybody I know is sick. I don't mean sick like mentally ill, or sick like, 'Woah, that's sick' (totally tubular in my generation's lingo). I mean sick like coughing, drippy nose, scratchy throat, cold hands, warm heart sick. Like the work ox in the field, I have kept my nose to the grindstone. I have refused to let the germs infiltrate my system. I have boldly bellowed out to the sick ones around me, 'I will not submit, do you hear me?'

Then it happened. My kids came down with colds. We have always had an understanding. When they're ill, everyone gets a 'get out of bed' free card. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Go straight to Mom's bed because this is your lucky day, kiddo. You get to sleep with Mom. I held up remarkably well against the insidious sickness lying in wait all around me. One scratchy throat, snot-nosed kid after another came to claim my bedside, and I let them come. 'Bring on the boogies,' I said.