From as long as I could remember my mother used food to make us feel better. She was a giver. Her love language was making us something special to eat. I never realized how much that would affect me in my later life. Food became my comfort. Food became my reward for a job well done. Food became my way of knowing I was loved. There was nothing wrong with what mom did, it's just I allowed it to become a crutch as I was growing up.
My husband and I are not sick very often. We are certainly not sick very often together. This last week both of us caught a stomach virus that stopped us dead in our tracks for 3 days. We literally did nothing but go from bed to couch to bathroom to back to bed for the last 3 days. Yesterday I woke up finally feeling like I was going to make it. I open up the windows in the house, cleaned, and filled the house with essential oils. I really had not eaten anything in three days. As I was there sitting on the couch I wanted something then I hadn't had for a long time. A piece of cinnamon toast. See my mom was one of those wonderful ladies that when make you feel so special when you are sick. She would mix eggnog and cinnamon toast and arrange the plate just right... so you knew you were loved. All I can think of is that's what I wanted. As I went to the kitchen and pulled out my whole grain bread and slipped it into the toaster I remembered all the times that Mom fixed us our cinnamon toast. I don't have any real sugar in the house so I grabbed my Stevia and made my cinnamon toast on the whole grain bread. As I took my first bite I was expecting so much. Sorry, it just wasn't moms cinnamon toast. It didn't do anything for me. Dave came down and said we need to get out of this house today. We decided to go to lunch at Olive Gardens. I was only able to eat two bites of salad half a bowl of my soup and breadstick. That was a must have eaten in 3 days so that was good. As we were there my son called and invited us over to see the baby. There's no better medicine then walking into a house having a child run to you laughing and smiling like you are the most precious person in the whole world. My son greeted us and went into the kitchen. I wondered what he was doing but concentrated on playing with Harrison. At first I was a little frustrated that he wasn't with us, until I saw what he was doing. He was in the kitchen making cinnamon toast. He cut it just like my my mom, and brought it to us. We all satk in his living room eating that cinnamon toast. I looked at him and I said did you read my post about cinnamon toast this morning? He said no, I just know you needed it. I fed my grandson some cinnamon toast and told him about how special his great-grandma Burke was. How his daddy Made it just like she did so that I would feel better. Later that night I was talking to Dave and I looked at him and said I never wrote anything about the cinnamon toast, I can't believe he made for me. It had probably been 12 years since we sat down in mom's house and had cinnamon toast together like that. I wrote him last night and told him how much it meant to me. His response..."Mama I will always make yo
