A few days ago, I scolded my mother that plans can simply be made, and there's no need to wait for d…

A few days ago, I scolded my mother that plans can simply be made, and there's no need to wait for divine intervention in everything. Apparently, the universe has a particularly attentive ear when someone belittles its management skills, because it decided to throw me a production. It all started when my mother’s flight to the country was delayed, and it peaked with the unfortunate decision to send him to daycare anyway (oh, the embarrassment 🤦‍♀️), because we had to get organized for our travels. I was supposed to arrive with Adam for a week at the women’s camp in Fømo.

At 2:00 PM, the phone rang: the child had fallen asleep and collapsed in the middle of a story. The staff panicked, assumed it was anaphylaxis (since he has a background allergy), jabbed him with an EpiPen, and called an ambulance. I swear I saw this coming – the staff is a camp crew not used to this (and by the way, better a million times to have one extra injection than one too few).

From there, I found myself at the hospital, and from there we continued in a chain of taxis to Malmö in Sweden to pick up the caravan I was supposed to take to Fømo. We arrived at 5:30 PM. The caravan was there, but the man with the keys had disappeared. The child was again with a fever, without water, taxis, back home.

At 6:00 AM, the child woke up wheezing like an old diesel engine. A call to the center, a run to the hospital, a lung check, and at a good hour – antibiotics. At least this morning we managed to bring the caravan, and it stands here waiting for the child to recover so we can leave.

This text was published in my story while the event was unfolding. That is, my sick toddler fell asleep on me on the couch, and I – instead of being the woman in the caravan on the way to the feminist women’s camp in Fømo – was the miserable woman scrolling in the living room, with a feverish toddler and a binge of Winnie the Pooh.

By evening, I received this response in my DMs:

“What’s the point of all the posing about Copenhagen (which I almost bought, by the way) if in the end you behave like the most typical Israeli and send a sick child with a fever to daycare? Honestly, your place is in a play area in Or Yehuda. Anthropologist or not.”