My extended family-parents, siblings, their spouses and kids-gets together about twice a year. Not enough for my liking, but since we’re spread across four states and our numbers have grown to include 14 children and nine adults, gathering us in one place now requires a plethora of pillows and blankets, a couple of refrigerators full of food and enough space to give us all at least some floor to curl up on at night. It takes planning, budgeting, and the ability to put aside any semblance of privacy for a few days while we all converge on somebody else’s house.

The last time most of us got together, last summer, our three-day vacation started out great but turned sour in the 25th hour, when one of the kids began complaining of nausea. By that evening, 75 percent of us were laid out with a nasty stomach bug, and the 7-Up and Pepto Bismol flowed like wine.

My oldest brother and I were the last holdouts. We spoke at around 10 p.m. on Night Two, each reporting that we thought we’d made it past the danger. Forty-five minutes later, I was lying face-down on the carpet next to the bathroom, trying to keep the contents of my stomach in through sheer force of will.

As it turns out, my will is not that strong.

The two-night vacation stretched out into three days and beyond. People were simply too sick to drive home. By the time the last person left my Aunt Paula’s house, we were all weak, tired, considerably thinner … and sure we’d never be invited back.

So it seemed particularly unfair that our very next get-together was also tainted by a whopper of a stomach bug. This year we were hosting, and the weekend leading up to New Year’s Eve, the entire family - plus a friend or two - descended upon our house. One night we were all sitting around stuffing our faces with leftover Christmas cookies and playing “Rock Band”. Twelve hours later, the first victim ran for the bathroom. Twenty-four hours later, we were dropping like flies.

The washer and dryer ran all weekend as we sent out the still-standing troops for 7-Up and Gatorade. I ran around obsessively wiping down toilet seats, doorknobs and faucet handles with bleach, but still spent two bleary-eyed nights getting up with sick children.

As the little ones ran around - even stomach viruses can’t dampen the fun of a house full of kids - we adults sat around on the couch looking weary. Though clean towels and sheets were in short supply, drama was not: I rang in New Year’s Eve hovering over my youngest with a bucket while paramedics wheeled my 11-year-old niece off to the ER for a breathing treatment (asthma attack, not stomach bug).

The family’s been gone for a few days now, but we’re still sitting on pins and needles. We’ve heard from others who’ve suffered from it that this is one of those bugs that can show up and punch you in the gut a week or two after exposure. In our little family, only three have gone down so far; but it could knock the rest of us out at any minute. If and when it does, will I regret inviting the whole crew and their germs to my house?

Nah. After all, that’s how it goes in a big family. One minute everyone is eating, laughing, and making merry; the next you’re all puking, crying, and begging for mercy. If we avoided each other every time there was a virus going around, we’d probably never see each other at all.

In the safety of our own homes, we might miss out on a night spent hovering over the toilet, but we’d miss the good times, too. Like making immature jokes about the body’s digestive functions at one another’s expense. Isn’t that what families and holidays and togetherness are about?

I can only hope that when my boys have grown and have kids of their own that they have the same kind of fun with their brothers as we do - stomach bugs and all.

But just in case? Before the next get-together, I may invest in surgical masks and rubber gloves.