in sickness and in health

I remember the walk to my car, arms full of the remaining items taken from my bedroom one final time. I was on my way- leaving my mother's home to start life out in the real world. She followed behind me, picking up the trail of clothing I unknowingly dropped along the way. We both tried to push away the emotion as she laughed and said, "who is going to be around to pick up after you now?" We wiped away our tears and deep down I hoped she was proud and hopeful that I would be able to do it on my own for good and trust me to make proper choices.

Growing up, we were a family of 4 people total. When my mom would bring packaged ice cream treats home from the grocery store I would immediately count the number of items in the box to see how many I was allotted. Nestle Drumsticks were the worst; everyone was slotted to only have one. From the time the treat of choice hit the freezer, usually 5:45pm, until post-dinner indulgence seemed an eternity.

Fudgsicles were great, there were so many no one else would keep track of the count. I could have more than my fair share! Ice cream sandwiches were another hard one, though. With only six to a box, I knew I had to leave one of the extra two for my sister. She didn't have quite the obsession with treats I had (and still have) so hers would sit in the freezer for d a y s. It drove me nuts. One week was the maximum amount of time I would allow before I would break down and eat it, however, I always gave a casual reminder two days before consumption.

You better believe the first trip to the grocery store on my own included my very own box of ice cream sandwiches. I practically ran through the checkout so I could get home quickly to eat more than my fair share. I even contemplated eating one in the car, but chose to hold out. I decided to test this little sick theory I always heard about. My mother would tell me on several occasions that if I ate too many of any treat I would get sick. I never believed her, eating such goods only made me happy.

After unloading all my groceries, I sat down and ate myself 6 delicious ice cream sandwiches in a row that fine Saturday afternoon. It was glorious. I watched the clock and waited for signs of the flu. I never puked, dry heaved, or even felt the slightest hint of stomach aches.

I must, however, admit it has taken me 10 years and a pregnancy craving to bring me to eat another one since that Saturday afternoon. I am glad this was one of the few times I had to learn something the hard way instead of listening to my mother.

*not my photo