When my in-laws hear that my husband is sick, it means one thing: baggie time

There are some women who glow with purpose in the health food store.

I’m not one of those women.

My attempts at eating healthy include occasionally checking calorie counts, reaching for the olive oil when I remember, and selecting whole wheat bread at the grocery.

I skip over recipes containing sugar substitutes, can’t bear to think about sourdough, and most of all, despise vitamins. The only relationship I have with them is when I take prenatals for a stretch of about nine months every few years, and even during those times, I give the bottle the hormonally empowered evil eye every single day.

“I only tolerate you,” I assure the pink label, “on account of my child.”

It never deigns to answer me. It knows I’m a foe.

Not all of my family is like that. Some, on both sides of the family, are more mature about the whole thing. They collect vitamins and minerals like I collect good books, and sometimes, before turning to doctors, they turn to Thieves. (I’m still not sure who stole what from whom, but I know Thieves is an essential oil especially helpful in fighting infection.) This offers the perfect means for some positive, hands-on parenting and is assuredly a sign of true love and caring.