how I know my mom is the best mom

When I was a wee domesticait (ok … approximately 16), I thought I would perform a loving act for my dear, hardworking and supportive mom.  Since my sweet tooth is the pointiest one, I immediately thought of the best way to show my appreciation: a delicious ice cream sundae.

In addition to being the head cook, financial adviser, nurse, teacher, etc. my mom also tends a prolific garden each year.  Included in her crops is a lush mint plant from the herb garden.  Mom usually makes her own homemade mint sauce and keeps it in a decorative bottle in the refrigerator.

I assembled a beautiful sundae, topped with the chocolate chips and a hefty dose of her mint sauce.  The mint sauce smelled a little funny when I poured it out, but I thought it was a new improvement on her recipe.  Mom never leads us astray with her food (except for when she tries to make Jello, but that’s another story) so I figured my palate was simply too immature for her sauces.

The sundae was finished–albeit still with a strange lingering smell–and was triumphantly presented to my mother.  She was touched by my kindness and quickly prepared to dig in to my creation.

She hesitated.  Probably because at this point in my life, I had almost burned the house down trying to cook a chicken breast, which ultimately, even the dog wouldn’t eat.

“Um … Cait?  What sauce did you use?”

“The mint sauce.  I found it in the bottle in the fridge.”

” …..  That bottle now holds my homemade …. ITALIAN DRESSING.”


My heart sank.  This random act of kindness had failed spectacularly.  But I was not prepared for what my mother would do next.


After she had polished off the entire creation, she told me that she didn’t have the heart to toss my dessert in the trash.

“Well, honey, you made it for me.  Why would I throw it away?” she reasoned.

Please keep in mind that I am sixteen years old at this time, and she was treating me with the same care as a toddler who presents their parent with their prized dried macaroni artwork.

This is how I know my mom is the best mom.  She has endured everything I have thrown at her in the last 24 years, including the world’s worst ice cream sundae.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  I hope I can be half the mother you have been.  With extra Italian dressing on top.

Mom and me in Times Square, March 2013

2 thoughts on “how I know my mom is the best mom

  1. bairloch May 13, 2013 / 9:04 am

    So what you’re saying is, you tried to kill our mother 8 years ago and are only fessing up to it now that the statute of limitations is likely past?

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