Category Archives: motherhood

Doing Hard Things – Nate needs a new knee in New York :(

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August 5, 2011 became a day our entire family will remember. For my oldest OS, it was not only a day that marked the passing of my grandma but Nate endured an additional painful moment that the rest of us didn’t.  

Nate in happier days!

It was an hour before completion of CLDT training at Fort Bliss. Overall it was a lackluster experience for my OS and I best leave it at that. Putting it mildly, Nate was ready for it to be over and to return to West Point for the beginning of his “firstie” aka senior year. Prior to leaving the base, Nate was relieving stress by joking around and wrestling with some of the other guys. The next thing he knew a much larger NCO (non-commissioned officer) pounced on Nate and threw him backwards. As he dropped to the ground, Nate heard the dreaded pop in his left knee.


In 2007, Nate first heard that “pop” during a soccer game. It marked the end of his soccer season for the year. My OS was 17 when he had knee surgery and began a long rehab for a torn meniscus and anterior cruciate ligament (ACL). In time, he recovered well and was resolute in absolutely never having to relive that experience ever again. 

But the Lord had other plans on August 5th. Now on Wednesday, Nate returns to the operating room. Not in the comfortable environs of our hometown but this time at West Point. And on the same knee no less! Tomorrow my middle OS Aaron and I travel to New York to be with Nate before and after the surgery. According to the surgeon, my OS will have a different operation to fix the problem. Based on Nathan’s future job as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Army, the surgeon advised him to have a patellar tendon graft. This is a harder surgery with a tougher rehab and an uglier scar but it insures better results for his long-term success. I guess you could say Nate will have a Soldier’s Knee.


My boy will have to summon a great deal of strength to heal from this surgery. With the help of his fellow cadets (let it be so!) and his faith in the Lord, I know he can do this but I hate that I will be so far away. Would it really be that awkward if I just stayed in the barracks and promised to not be a bother??? 😉 He will return back to class almost immediately whereas the last time, Nate recovered at home for nearly two weeks. Four years ago I could take care of him. I brought him food, as a family we helped him. Nate had plenty of visitors and attention, we all rallied around him. Now I will only be able to stay for a few days. His dorky brothers even had daily competitions on who could collect the most urine in the handy receptacle near his bedside, I doubt anyone is going to volunteer for that job! 

This is a leg brace; however when I had my ACL surgery
I called it the most horrible orthopedic device
ever created! How I loathed that thing! Be of good courage, Nate! You can doey it!

Nate will be in a full leg immobilizer for six weeks. He’ll be hobbling all over the base and be expected to fully participate in West Point activities. Jesus knows my heart and hears my prayers. 


So to the extent I feel comfortable, I’m sharing part of my prayer with you, dear friends.

Suddenly plebe year is looking a lot easier
than recovering from ACL surgery AGAIN! 

Lord,

As you well know, I don’t understand the reason for this injury but I don’t have to comprehend all your ways. You don’t ask for my permission and I realize that. Forgive me as I acknowledge my weakness in this area for even questioning your sovereignty about why this happened again. Lord, in your perfect time, speak to me and give me ears to hear. Calm my anxious mama’s heart and allow me to trust You through this process. Reveal to my boy new things about who You are. Bless my child with Your presence when he is in pain and feeling discouraged. Surround him with the compassion and kindness of others and allow my boy to notice your manifold blessings. Though I will not always be near my son, you promise in your Word to never leave or forsake us. You never sleep, you are always present and that is a comfort to me. Lord, though his knees aren’t the greatest (!) you and I both know Nate is tough but so very tender hearted, thank you for fearfully and wonderfully making him this way. Because of You, he can do this hard thing! In Jesus’ name, amen.
One of my sweetest blessings = my boy

Thanks y’all for praying for Nate and caring enough to read this post…

Doing Hard Things – Aaron sharing from his heart

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My feet and those of my boy – both of us getting 
ready for the service. I love how our feet 
are touching, I didn’t realize it until now 
when I posted the pic. 
My middle OS Aaron entered the world with great gusto on August 30,1996. Almost exactly 17 years later, on a beautiful summer’s day in the Chicagoland area, that same precious child approached a microphone and through words, gave a final gift to the grandma he loved dearly.
Pretty sure I used that entire box of Kleenex!
My grandma’s memorial service brought forth countless blessings. On every level, from the music selected, the pictures featured, the location of the service to the tender common spirit filling the morning, it was obvious that the Lord had given us a day to reflect and celebrate a remarkable person. 
Aaron was the first family member to speak.This wasn’t his choice and he fretted about the pressure and enormity of the task. Not a lot of teenage guys would relish his position. From the perspective of a great-grandchild, my OS desired to recognize and share a central message about someone we all adored. Prone to migraines, we had been praying against him having one during the service and praise the Lord, he was fine. But think of how many adults cower in front of a microphone, let alone how many grown ups willingly speak at a memorial service about someone they love… Ok, now you have a slight understanding of the pride I had in my OS. 

Aaron spoke from this podium (so did everyone else).
You can see a funny picture of Nathan 
and Grandma in the background. 
We always had so much fun with her.  
My boy had worked so hard on his message. He sought counsel from teachers, asked for prayers, listened to our advice, changed a few words and added others. He considered his outfit, his hair (it really is that important!) and his shoes. But the foremost thing Aaron desired was to fittingly articulate the impact Grandma had on his life and on the lives of all the great grandkids. 
At the beginning of his message, Aaron accidentally omitted the name of his big brother, Nathan when he was recalling all of the great-grandchildren. True to form, Aaron gracefully recovered and it gave us all a moment to chuckle when he humorously, begrudgingly inserted Nathan’s name in the list. 🙂

Grandma and her boys at The Sound of Music.
As a music lover, Aaron equated Grandma’s life to a soundtrack. He told of the time we took her to see The Sound of Music. Grandma seemed less interested in the actual performance but more focused on the time with us as a family. Grandma closed her eyes, still fully awake and hummed away at familiar songs. Aaron recalled how he looked over at her during the musical and observed such joy on her face. My OS said that the soundtrack of Grandma’s life was one with strong notes and crescendoes, beautiful and melodious. It was a moving and fitting analogy.
He continued and the tears in Aaron’s eyes and voice mirrored everyone else’s as we wept during his message. My ever growing pile of Kleenex only increased when Aaron spoke of Jesus and His love for all of us. While we were there to mark Grandma’s passing, we celebrated the depth of happiness she gave to us all. Aaron acknowledged the Source of that love, Christ our Lord. I sat there draped in the arms of my other two OS and the Hubs never more thankful for this family I’ve been given. 
I like to imagine that my grandma is in heaven and that she could see us on August 27, 2011. Since there is no sadness or pain in heaven, in my heart I envision her utterly resplendent and I wonder if tears streamed from her sweet face. Not from sadness or cancer or dementia but from joy. I picture her absolutely overwhelmed being in the presence of the Lord, worshipping Him forever and for this one shining moment, seeing her handsome teenage great grandson confidently speaking of her and standing near her portrait. Oh how that picture in my heart brings me peace. If only everyone could be loved like this on earth and then to have that love exceeded in heaven, I want to live that kind of life now and eternally.   
Thank you Aaron. Thank you Grandma. 
Thanksgiving is mixed with sorrow, tears erupt with little warning and that’s the way I process grief. I realize that it’s going to be like this for a while as I have mourned other loved ones in the past. It is possible to be simultaneously sad, proud, grateful…after all that’s just what happens when you are Aaron’s mom and Grandma’s grand-daughter. 

Wednesday remix -convergence

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That huge feeling of accomplishment 
a little boy gets when climbing a mountain 
while holding a plastic knife

Seems quite similar to that proud feeling
a man has when standing in his India Whites, 
a shiny gold ring on his finger

And the excitement of a tween as 
she’s rockin’ it in a midriff and white pants,
holding her portable camera at the petting zoo

Is quite similar to the feeling a woman gets

when speaking at a church in El Salvador, 
far away from family and friends

What a blessed wonder it is when God allows 
those people to be mother and son and 
share joy together.

A Gift from a Gift – Ring Weekend

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West Point is the place for Nate

Four years ago when my oldest OS decided on attending the United States Military Academy, I distinctly remember giving him a motherly nudge in the ribs. As I learned about the many attributes associated with this historic institution, I realized that quite possibly there might be something in it for me. What mom doesn’t like to know that her hard work might be rewarded one day with something sparkly and shiny?

Nate and Grandma along about the time
that he lit some toilet paper on fire…

True, having Nathan as a son is a gift from God. Aside from the time when as a teenager he lit a piece of toilet paper on fire in our carpeted living room just to see how fast it would burn! (who does that???), Nate has been a delight to raise. And though, you’d think that would be enough for me, I admit, I’m a sucker for a pretty bauble. On Friday night, my OS delivered big time.

Nate’s ring is fine but what’s in it for me???

He had just received his beautiful sky blue topaz West Point ring and we were staying at a friend’s house. Although I was unaware, the moment that I had hinted about four years ago had arrived. 


Nate was doing a load of laundry and I was downstairs in the basement with him. As my OS prepared to dump a bunch of stinky Soldier clothes into the washing machine, he pulled out a little black box.


My boy then said with a warm embrace and a satisfied grin, “Hey, Mom, this is for you. Thanks for your support. It has meant a lot to me.”


I held the velvet box in my hand and pried it open. My gift from God was giving me a gift. And this is what I found. 

My beautiful pendant

A stunning West Point pendant made of yellow gold twinkled at me. A sense of wonder wafted over this mama’s heart. Nate had remembered the nudge from long ago. He also remembered that I love the color purple because he chose a light amethyst stone for the center. As Nate placed the pendant around my neck, I knew that many other WP mothers had a similar moment and the same feelings. So much love, pride, gratitude, would it be possible to wear this pendant ABSOLUTELY EVERYWHERE? 

I can’t lie, yeah I felt pretty special.

I do know one place where my pendant will be seen. This weekend as we travel to Chicago to celebrate my beloved Grandma’s life, it will be draped around my neck for everyone to notice. All I need now is a pair of versatile gold hoop earrings, Hubs if you’re reading this, our anniversary is coming up…hint, hint.


So tell me, do you have a special treasure from one of your children? If you’re a WP parent, share about your “jewelry” experience. Let’s remember together.

Wednesday remix – part two, from the middle OS

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My middle OS Aaron is at it again. My arm is no longer confined to a cast and a sling but I relinquish my blog to him so he can continue exaggerating his dolorous journey to the Quilting Symposium. Here is part two which means that yes, there will be a part three. I had no idea he had this much teenage angst!

Mom and I not at the symposium

Fully aware that the decision I had made could possibly claim my life, I rode in the car with my Grandma and very excited mother. We pulled into Peace College and stepped out of the car. My heart pounded, vision blurred, muscles tightened and senses heightened. I became completely conscious of my surroundings as we walked to the symposium. 


I spot a tent pavilion on my twelve o’clock with two ladies guiding us toward the quilts, another middle-aged lady on my nine also approaching the tent, a lady with a small purse on my four o’clock sitting on a bench, a lady on my three o’clock heading to the symposium, a lady, a lady, a lady, a lady. THEY WERE ALL LADIES! Was I the only male in attendance? Was I the only person under 40 interested in…I mean NOT interested in quilting? I now stood in a desert, devoid of all teenagers, males and attractive young girls. 

Where had I to turn? I was completely on my own. I carried my mom’s backpack with all her essential quilt symposium tools and followed her and my grandma to the front desk. The ladies there gave us sheets of paper with all of the vendors in attendance listed. 

Quilty things

“If you get all of the vendors to sign this, you can enter it in for a raffle prize afterwards.”


“Thanks so much.” I wanted that raffle prize badly, but did not have the dignity…or lack of dignity to go to the vendors and ask their signature for my chance at a quilting prize. 

Then the inevitable happened. And I knew it would happen. My mom looked at me, gave me her purse, and said, “I have to go to the bathroom. Stay here. Come on, Mom.” 

“You want me to just stay here?” 
“Yeah, wait for me and your grandma.”

This was where the nightmare began. In the midst of a tornado of frenzied quilters, my mom left me alone to go to the bathroom. I thought she loved me, now she just leaves me here to wither away in my own dark corner of the Quilting Symposium. 

Someone remind me, what am I doing here???
“I hope they’re ok. I hope I’m ok.” With every passing second, I drew nearer and nearer to my impending doom. If it seems like I’m exaggerating, (and those of you who know me know I am very careful on never being too dramatic) I’m not. I felt sure they had left me at the symposium. All hopes of a safe return home were now smashed. Goodbye world. Goodbye friends, guitars, graduation, college.            
One of these things just doesn’t belong here!

“There you are. I’ve been just standing here forever.”

“Oh, haha, people probably thought you were a little cutie.” Thanks, Mom.


We entered the venue starting with a wall of aprons, of which my favorite was the pastel orange and purple. 

The mother of all machines

Then to giant long arm sewing machine. This was the T-Rex of all sewing machines. The Queen of the quilters. This thing could embroider the southern border of the U.S. We continued on with empty bladders and frenzied nerves.

(to be continued…)

Doing hard things – the dilemma and the decision

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Land tortoises aren’t especially attractive, are they?

As I navigate into this world of swimming, I am betwixt calling myself a swimmer and a former land tortoise.

Do it? Don’t do it? I did it!

Still on the outside to some extent, I keenly observe human aquatic creatures. How you move about in the water, your level of ease, the effortless way you seem to both inhale and exhale while simultaneously kicking your feet and moving your arms in a horizontal position. And your buoyancy. Me likey your buoyancy. I am among you but not quite ready to say I am one of you for fear I might be revealed as an impostor.


The day before going to Playa del Carmen in Mexico, I could be found at the neighborhood pool. I successfully wrangled my orange hair, freckle face OS to join me and as we all know teenage boys LOVE going to the pool with their mamas, right? And if their mamas are learning to swim, well, let’s just say Ike was BEYOND words for this adventure…




We arrived at the pool and I informed Ike that I absolutely had to jump into the water seven times because his dad had told me so. Ike was very eager for me to get the task completed but when you have spent most of your life as a land tortoise, it’s harder than one thinks especially if one is an impatient, orange hair, freckle face OS.


But I did it.

This is the scene of the incident,
feel the tension!

And then I told Ike what I was going to do next. I was going to jump into the deep end. With a mixture of encouragement and nonchalance, Ike approved. In a flash, I approached the nine foot water and immersed myself into the pool. I repeated this activity several times.


The whistle blew and it became adult swim time. Again I was in the deep end of the water. Everything was going well until I was mistakenly identified as a swimmer.

That ball bobbing in the water…
what was a former land tortoise to do? 



A little urchin of a boy who apparently hadn’t noticed that although I was in the deep end of the pool, I was still clutching the side, approached me. “Could you get the tennis ball for me?” he asked unaware of the enormity of his question.


I was dumbfounded as I looked and saw a bright yellow tennis ball right in the middle of the water. I wish there was some kind of attractive, water-resistant sign I could have as a reminder that I am NEW at this. You know the kind of sign on top of a car used in driver’s ed? 

I’d like something along these lines
but cuter, sassier and water-resistant, please.



“Um,” I stammered. “I’m not that great of a swimmer and I don’t know how to stop in the middle so I can probably get your tennis ball but I’ll have to give it to you on the other side.” That poor child just wanted his toy not a long explanation. He probably wished he had just waited. 

This would also work but in purple and with squiggles.

Without giving him a chance to respond and wanting to look like the heroine, I dramatically inhaled a big glob of air. In a splash (get it, splash?) I swam my way in the deep end, paused momentarily to intercept the tennis ball and returned it to him on the other side as promised.


As it was on the eve of our big vay-kay, I just had to smile to the Lord. I felt Him winking at me from the heavens saying, “We did this.” Another challenge met. It was a proud and humorous aquatic event. I guess  I’m becoming less of a land tortoise after all. But I do have a lingering question…how do you people stop in the middle? 

“Hi, I’m Cindy and I’m a recovering land tortoise.”
A terrible picture of me but I love the dents in my
head from the swim goggles. Btw, I don’t have buckteeth. 

And would you believe that another astonishing thing happened to me on Monday? Another crazy water story I will share forthwith! You bless me, truly you do with every prayer and motivating message! 

Wednesday remix – with a pull and a prayer

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Your words of encouragement in regards to my swimming victories are spurring me on! Thank you, friends and family! In subsequent posts, I want to share what I’m learning, less about swimming techniques per se, but the greater aspects of my quest for aquatic magnificence.

They have nothing to do with today’s post
but seriously, aren’t they adorable?

Oh, and love, I want to share glimpses into love between a Soldier and his bonita. But more on that later…


Until then, I came upon something I wrote eight years ago about Aaron and a loose tooth. Still brings a grin to my heart…


Call me a wimp. Call me a baby. Call me the worst mother in the world. I don’t care, I just couldn’t do it. 


Aaron’s loose tooth would have to stay in his mouth until he could pull it. I’m not a good gore person and if you haven’t seen a tooth dangling from your kid’s mouth lately, one day you’ll understand. Strange as it may seem, the Lord used this experience to draw Aaron closer to him in a real and tangible way.


Losing a tooth isn’t an easy thing for the W-H’s. Some families’ teeth casually slip out one day with nary a wiggle. Our OS’s teeth are very stubborn. They like where they live and can be freeloading tenants. Aside from myself, I’ve only assisted one person in losing a tooth.


(Enter 70’s time machine…) One day accidentally on purpose I punched my sister Lorri in the mouth during a fight in the station wagon. While our parents were out of the vehicle, I gave her a knuckle sandwich which consequently sent her tooth flying. 

No knuckle sandwich necessary in this pic!

We searched and searched but never located the tooth and thanks to my natural charm and urgent begging, Mom and Dad never found out.


(Return from time machine…) Our middle OS lost his first two teeth at the dentist’s office. With a few good yanks, the dentist produced two adorable baby teeth which Aaron happily placed under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy.

I don’t recommend Aaron as a dentist
but oh the personality!

Now with budgetary concerns, Aaron’s loose tooth would have to leave the old-fashioned way. Each morning, Aaron showed me how loose his tooth was getting. For two days, my OS lingered in the bathroom, the only tools to expel the tooth being his boyishly dirty fingers and toilet paper which he used as a gripping device. Meanwhile I stood in the hallway clutching my stomach afraid I was going to pass out. He might as well have been giving himself an appendectomy, it grossed me out so much!


With utter determination, Aaron pulled and grabbed his central incisor. Possessing all the courage an eight year old can muster, he shut the bathroom door and with amazing bravery, mightily tore at the remaining root. Free at last, free at last, the battle was won, the tooth was out!


However, that wasn’t the only time Aaron lost that tooth.

I can’t believe we still have this in the house!

At bedtime, he prepared to put it under the pillow. It was the first tooth he had ever personally pulled and suddenly, he could no longer find it. He cried and searched. We combed the house looking for it. Maybe it’s in his pants in the washing machine, I wondered so we jetted downstairs only to find soggy jeans with empty pockets. This tooth was originally placed in a special Tooth Fairy container, where was it now?


That night as Aaron lay on his bed, dejected and forlorn, he asked me to join him in prayer. Aaron led the intercession and though I don’t remember what he said, Someone did. My OS drifted into sleep hoping that God, in His mercy, would locate the missing tooth in time for the Tooth Fairy to make her delivery.

I was even more surprised to find this assortment of 
dental treasures! Why are we saving these? 

In the wee hours of the night (pun intended), I awoke at 1 am and used the bathroom downstairs. Normally I frequent the potty in the master bedroom but for some reason I didn’t and…yep,  

“You found me!”


that’s when I spotted it. Aaron’s Tooth Fairy container and the pearly white  he had misplaced in the downstairs bathroom!

Aaron woke up in the early morning with a huge smile, astonished that the Tooth Fairy had actually arrived. A crisp one-dollar bill magically was found under his pillow. He was delighted but as for me, observing what was placed in Aaron’s heart was more valuable. As I shared in his excitement, my OS told me, “I’m glad I prayed. It actually works. God is real!”



Matthew 18:19 says, “Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven.” Aaron humbled himself before the Lord and received his heart’s desire. If I would have yanked that tooth on my own, perhaps he wouldn’t have seen in a very real way how the Lord values all of our supplications.


With a couple of tugs and a simple prayer, Aaron received a true wisdom tooth and a tiny, shiny bright testimony to God’s faithfulness. 


Gotta a tooth story? Ever entered a 70’s time machine? I’d love to hear!

Wednesday remix – who you calling a diaper head?

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It’s been about ten years since anyone has called me a “diaper head.” In all my life, I think I’ve only been called a “diaper head” once! HA! I share this Wednesday re-mix in celebration of the growth our family has experienced since that fateful diaper-headed day. Read on to learn again that our family is very imperfect, often dysfunctional but God isn’t finished with any of us yet! 

I’m the shortest one in my family and the happiest
when I have a ginger with his arms around me. 

Sparks were flying and it was almost a week past the fourth of July. My precious Isaac, the red head, had turned into a human firecracker! I didn’t know that much dynamite could fit into a 30 pound “container.” All this fury over a simple command to pick up dinner napkins. Apparently I was the match that set his anger ablaze. I knew Ike had a temper but whoa, seriously? 

Don’t let that smile and cowboy hat fool you…
this guy can be a stinker!

He slammed doors, screamed and even charged at me with two tightly bound fits. His red eyebrows furled, his blue eyes enraged all because I told him he needed to do his regular family chore. Firm attempts to corral him weren’t working and things were going from bad to worse. Just that afternoon, his brother, Aaron, had been rather challenging so by this time, I was humbled and worn out.


Hoping Ike would soon tire because I knew I certainly was exhausted, I doggedly pursued justice to no avail. 

I prefer fireworks at a distance, thank you very much!

“Mommy is a diaper head! You’re a baby head!” flew from his ruddy lips. From the bathroom where he had been exiled, Isaac’s self-control had completely left and mine was hanging on by a thread.


The normal forms of correction we use weren’t working and the situation seemed desperate. What was I going to do? The Hubs wasn’t home, there was no back-up. I had to handle this one alone.


But in my second of need, I realized I was wrong. I was not alone. It’s then that I heard His voice. 


“Pray, Cindy. Pray.” I slowly walked up the stairs speaking to God with each step, asking for guidance, counsel and patience. His still, small voice beckoned me and told me to do something for Isaac that clearly wasn’t my choice. 


God told me to hold him. Simply take that furious fellow into my arms and rock him gently. Let him know I loved him.


This wasn’t exactly the form of discipline I had in mind (LOL) but I knew the Lord was guiding me to be “quick to listen and slow to anger.” James 1:19. Then He told me to show mercy and compassion. God told me to forget Isaac’s pre-school insults. So against all my human judgment, I cradled that angry guy in my arms and spoke softly to him. The firecracker and his mom were finally settling down.

A snapshot of life too many years ago…

It is a tradition each night before my sons go to sleep, to pray for them. I petition the Lord for and with them and always thank God for the blessings I find in being a mother. That night, I assumed it would be tricky to give great laud and praise for all the day’s adventures.


But again, the Lord supplied me with the humility and gratitude necessary. “…and thank you God for letting me be Isaac’s mommy today. Even though it wasn’t easy, thank you God.” 

I love seeing Aaron’s physical and
spiritual muscles growing!

A little later on, I tucked my middle OS in bed. Despite a rather action-packed afternoon with him as well, I said, “…and thank you God for letting me be Aaron’s mommy today.” I gazed into that handsome face and just smiled. We stared at each other for a moment and to my surprise, Aaron rang in after me…”and thank you for letting me be Mommy’s child today.” He’d never said anything like that before!


God had spoken and apparently I wasn’t the only one listening! Being a mother is an aerobic activity. Hard on the mind and body.


But to the soul, O Lord, to the soul, motherhood is infinitely more complex. In the course of a few hours I had a whirlwind of feelings. God’s soft and mighty hand soothed us all. We had gone from intense emotional explosions to quiet, gentle love. The Lord Jesus found us where we were in a crumpled mess. He gave us what we needed to heal. Praise Him!


Is there something in your own family that’s troubling you? Feeling bruised and beaten in this job of a lifetime? Have you ever had a few agonizing hours as a parent? My prayer for you my friends, and I mean this with sincerity, is that each of you reading my post will experience the kind of day I had. Grow and give great thanks to God from whom all blessings flow. Fireworks can be dangerous and are pretty to the eye but I discovered on a hot July night, they can be beautiful to the heart and soul.

My beloved firecracker

How to mess up a good batch of brownies

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Since writing this story 11 years ago, I have experienced plenty of culinary catastrophes and victories. I believe my venture into dessert experimentation began with the brownies made with a special ingredient (not THAT ingredient, btw!)

Yes, I actually wore this to the grocery store one day…

Lest you think that my boys dance and prance for all of my delectable meals, I should set the record straight. One memorable moment stands out as a reminder that, perhaps, I should just stick with simple spaghetti if I wish to earn their favor.


After several months of annoying body aches and pains, a friend suggested I start taking vitamins and some organic, unrefined oils to aid in my overall health. I was interested in getting myself back into better shape. I liked the results of these vitamins and the time came when I needed to re-order.

While looking through the mail order catalog for the produce, I was delighted to find another product any good mother would want to give her children. I found the children’s version of these oil pills I had been taking. I carefully read the description and without hesitation placed my order.


Soon the small box arrived at our doorstep, just before my two oldest OS arrived home from school. My freshly baked brownies were cooling on the kitchen counter. I looked at the colorful bottle.  Darling little jungle animals and bold lettering made the label seem so appealing. The scrumptious butterscotch flavor described said it was delicious over desserts. I swept into action and a secret plan started cooking in my head. 


Nate and Aaron bounded up the street and took their usual places around the kitchen table, awaiting their afternoon snack. I told them about the yummy brownies and they were practically salivating with anticipation! 

Can you say yum? Can you say yuck?

Carefully, I cut each of my three sons a square of warm brownie. Then I added the elusive ingredient. I diverted their attention and poured a few thick teaspoons of this oil on top of their brownies. 


The oil sat that on the brownies for a moment, almost as if it were saying, “Are you SURE you want to do this?” but then it seeped into the dark chocolate.


They’d never know I had added some health food to the middle of this treat. Aha! Mission accomplished!


I presented each boy with his own plate. It was Nate, age nine, the most discerning of the three, who asked me, “Mom, what’s that on the brownies?” I escaped answering the question and encouraged him to dig in. 


The bite had barely entered his mouth when he grimaced and contorted. He held the moist brownie bits on the curl of his tongue, hoping not to swallow any and cried, “Ugh, Mom, these are sick! What did you do? They taste terrible!”

flax seed not in oil form!



I tried not to laugh and despite me encouraging him to try another bite (he was almost gagging from the first one), he quickly declined. Seeing their big brother so grossed out, the other boys suddenly lost interest in their snack. They scrambled from the table before I could torture them, as I had their brother.

I wanted to be the best mom in the world with a homemade snack and health food all rolled up into one great afternoon treat. While the taste of that nasty brownie concoction will hopefully fade from my son’s mind and palate one day, I take solace in knowing that he’ll probably growing up remembering one thing, that his mom made a mean plate of spaghetti!

“I shall never forget that day my mom almost poisoned
us with those horrible brownies. Wow.”

We mothers can rest assured that although we may not be remembered for all of the grand meals we made, it’s the everyday, commonplace love that is never forgotten. I bite down on my mother’s tender, tasty sandwich and my sons devour their mother’s slippery noodles and we feel loved once again.


How about you? Any tricks you’ve tried that were less than successful?