Momsey's Sixth Anniversary

March 12 marked the 6^th anniversary of The Momsey. How I lasted this long is a mystery but a young lady named 'Lucy', the love of our youngest of three, insisted that I write and write and write some more. There were few like me she remarked, often, over the years. People needed to hear from the Momsey, a name she called me upon our first meeting, New year's Eve. She was 18. Lucy is now a proud mom of my one year old grandson who has taken my heart hostage.

The lessons I've learned would never have occurred without my blog. (I was a student, too). I delved into areas of life affected by me, of interest to me and simply because of me. ... My research into the world of fermentation and bread made my family believers of sourdough and its impact on gut health. (It seems the long fermenting period of yeast dough tears up the gluten to the point where it is a shadow of its former self). A flavour bonus results. I have learned to trust my pets. They tell the truth, minute by minute. Deceit is not in their vocabulary or heart. They live in the moment. Planning for their future means naps, high energy play time, meal time integrity, high impact treats, cucumbers, apple slices, berries, fresh in season or frozen, if not. I have shared the secrets to my cooking and baking thoughts. There are none, just common sense approaches that enhance health in meaningful ways. We have the power over our health but it begins and ends in the kitchen. Wealth equals health. It is our duty not the doctor's or the pharmacy's.

I cook and bake using only 3% organic milk where necessary. It seems reasonable to think that a healthier dairy product is better, all around. I am more inclined to eat those homemade comfort foods of yore without trepidation, now. The pasta I buy is made in Italy where gluten insensitivities are rare. Why is that, I wonder? Is the food supply and the farmers there given more protection and treated with more respect? NON-GMO is not allowed in many European countries. But here and with our neighbours, next door, we are are held to a different compelling standard. Seems like we, the citizens, would be confused with labelling so best to keep us in the DARK. Am I sarcastic? Probably.

Many companies have chosen to inform their customer base that their product line is free of those 'modifications' or soon will be. I eat pasta without guilt now. The NON-GMO ones are here to stay in my kitchen. Women's bodies are more affected by the chemicals in our food so we must be more vigilant in what we put into them. We are the species that incubate the human race, one baby at a time. Our bodies matter. Wheat is grown differently and more 'quickly' today. So I turn to organic, made in Italy or NON GMO. It's my safe place. Homemade takes on new meaning. Even bakeries that espouse a healthy philosophy take shortcuts, I now know.

I am now a grandmother, times two. It is a special place where I have modernized my former child rearing practices to include everything I have learned since I became a mom to three boys, decades ago. The 'daughters' of my grandchildren are so committed to their newborns, duty bound in this modern age, looking toward the future with an eye on education, dietary health and safety while taking nothing for granted. Their children deserve that and more.

Restaurant are becoming a burgeoning disappointment. The menu says one thing; the presentation, another. The cute over-sized plates and food towers are a distraction. How do you mix a salad on a rectangular plate? Is dining out about hype? Seems so! Home cooking might become the newest rage. Freshly baked rolls please. I am paying enough for the sub or sandwich. I want fresh, not day old. Tastes better and we're entitled. Day old stuff should be a discount. Stop deceiving. I'll go elsewhere, if there is one.

Shopping at the Canadian chain, Bulk Barn, is opening up an oasis of newly discovered NON GMO or organic flours, grains, cooking/baking excitement for me. Corn meal and buckwheat kasha are my favourites, along side oatmeal, red river. Grains kept my first born alive, in utero, decades ago. Three pounds 2 ounce, at 27 weeks gestation, an incredible weight, I was told. Yet grains are bad. Sorry guys but maybe there are 'other' factors weighing in on your debate. I am not convinced.

Our girl, Sally, has 'returned'. Our 9 year old retriever's last year's surgeries (torn ligament and cancerous tumor), months of recovery and restoration of normalcy makes vacations so unimportant. She lived to give us another chapter in her saga. Nothing better than life. It is the best gift of all!

Mom 'Rule'

By the third 'delivery', it was obvious boys would 'rule' our hearts and lives. A massive mission was about to unfold. How would it begin? One day, at a time, please. Mom was there, maybe looking for a laugh, but always hoping to demonstrate a valuable life lesson to her children, as needed. 'Mob' rule was looming, on the forseable future. Would 'mom' rule be enough to stem the oncoming tide?

As our three boys grew, many decisions would be made, affecting their future lives and more. Raising healthy, informed, caring people, who engaged socially and decisively, became paramount. (We were poor enablers). The day would arrive, very soon, when mom and dad would not be there. Deciding for our boys made them weaker, less resilient, less inclined to know which path to choose, much later, when it mattered the most. ... One was a leader, a common sense boy who 'ran' his childhood 'kingdom' quickly and reacted to his surroundings, immediately. His watchful eye would gather the others when danger seemed near. The middle boy was meticulous, always trying to be helpful while the youngest seemed to follow both absorbing everything he saw and they did. The older ones doted on their youngest brother like the foal he seemed to be. They were a keen bunch, our sons. But mom was the ruler of it all. She had to be. The 'turbulent' teen years were advancing. Preparation was key, as the outside world was lying in wait.

In 1979, the study of neonatology had just begun. The purchase of books was my ticket to learning how and why, in addition to relying upon the common sense thread I knew had. Physio and speech therapy ruled our lives, in those early years, before kindergarten, for our first born. There was a dearth of information on preemie care, then. (He was born 13 weeks early, with zero chance of survival, during a time when the internet and its 'affiliates' did not exist). His younger siblings became his personal therapists, always ready to guide and follow. I observed, then followed. I had much to learn, too.

Matters of the heart were critically important, too, in raising young boys to be caring young men. .... Kindness, respect, and empathy took center stage. These human qualities could not be ignored or learned later. Their best efforts were constant reminders of the world of learning. They understood. Financial and academic acuity would happen, cemented in the daily course of living. Life was always about learning and the making of mistakes. Things like credit ratings and reputations would begin to take shape. Adult independence was a burgeoning concept in those early years. Being in control surpassed being controlled.They knew. The mass education of our boys had begun. 

Understanding the consequences of their choices was a daily reminder of the 'cost' of being human. Money needed to be saved not spent. The future was coming. Real dollars would be needed. Our 'staff' of four-legged animals reminded us of the sometimes financial burden and daily effort required for their care and feeding, too. They instilled empathy, too. These four-legged delights were the barometers of living in the moment. Retelling their stories made our lives meaningful and relevant. They were daily reminders of another form of love bonding us altogether. They were doting family members. Outside forces made this juggling act complicated, at times. But we all had a safe place to call home. We were fortunate.

Resource management was the name of life's game. There was no curfew as it served to complicate lives. An open door 'hotel' policy was not an option, either. Some days ended early; other times, later, than normal. There was much to learn and discover before leaving home. But being here with us provided our boys with 'seasoned help', nearby. 

 

Mom was present, that all knowing evil presence that would not go away! Our lives mattered, too. ... Our sons knew mom's type. She was tricky, perhaps an untapped talent, ready to deal, in any kind of 'weather', any time. The rules of human behaviour were quite simple. Be nice, helpful and kind. The outside world was not always a nice place. Consequences could be lurking. Dad was involved but he had enough to do, away on business, 3-5 days a week. They understood. Mom was far more formidable, anyway, because she knew how hard life could be, if we took it for granted.

A horrific event took place at a high school in Florida. We were sickened. The signs were there, all along, in minute amounts, then looming larger, as did the boy. Help is never complicated. We stop and listen then act. They is no substitute for the real thing called face-to-face communication. The devices we hold dear can help or hinder, depends. They are formidable teaching tools, of course, bringing us inside the mind, where all thoughts are made then 'processed'. Paying attention to one another is the greatest human gift. That all important gift.

Moms are not the only parent who matter. Dads are tops, too, critical for little boys and little girls in today's stringent societal pull. Do dads matter more? Perhaps, they do! But for the moment, I am here, a full life watching over 3 burgeoning lives each and ever day.

The Sock 'Whisperer'

“Where's my sock, I wondered?” He'd grabbed it before I had noticed it was gone. When I looked down, I knew immediately who'd taken it. He saw me in the corners of his green eyes as he ran to lie down, hoping I would not notice his 'loot'. I smiled again. The Sock Whisperer was at it again.

Mr. Wiggles, our four-year-old yellow retriever, was stealing again. His habit of taking things – gloves, mitts, socks - without permission, was such a quaint hobby of his. Taking Kleenex tissue was another matter, however. We were careful not to leave loose tissue in plain sight. He might want to deconstruct it. 

 

Whenever small clothing product was missing we knew who the culprit was. It was our sweet Mr. Wiggles. He was a nice 'guy' not prone to chewing or destroying these soft treasures. From inside a large bag, he would 'inquire', knowing there were gloves or mitts to be found. Many times, he would remove the gloves of winter to carry to his 'abode' while others would ask him,”Well, where is it?” We knew. He watches us from afar.

Mr. Wiggles lives to carry. Anything that squeaks is O.K., too. He wiggles and carries to the absurd. But he is a gentle sweet guy, not interested in the destruction of his world around him. His playful manner enjoys the world of people and things, creating all the excitement he so enjoys. When winter mitts are worn he looks to see if there is a way to take one or both, then disappear. He waits till no one is watching, then goes 'shopping', with complete abandon. A lie detector would be meaningless. There is no crime, here. Just the scent of the many he loves.

The other day, our wiggler decided to unravel the scarf of our pregnant 'daughter', as she was about to leave. Winter is here, with the accompanying very cold temperatures. She was attempting to pet Sally, his sister. Without missing a beat he began to untangle this long piece of knitted fabric to take as he left the room. “What's the problem?”, he seemed to say, when others noticed his newest attire. He beguiles us with his quirky sense of style. As we noticed this brazen piece of 'artistry' take over his persona, we were all reminded of his gentle, sweet nature. Nothing was ever kept, always in plain sight, as he pondered his next move. Gloves, anyone? When one of a pair was visible on floor or table its mate was always with him. Maybe, he wanted the attention or perhaps our scent nearby. Maybe, he was training to become a sitter for all things in all seasons. Maybe he sensed the fun of it all.

Something happened the other day that made seeing difficult. The sock whisperer had slowed down, his hobby now shelved until he felt better. After a week long visit from Emerson, our newest family member, the hound/beagle pup, a high energy baby brother, in disguise, our wiggler looked different as he lay on the sofa, his head propped up on a pillow. He was so tired, I remarked to my husband. Our wiggler could barely lift his head to look at us, preferring more to keep his eyes shut. But that was odd. He'd never done that before. Then I looked, again, more closely, at our quiet unobtrusive little guy, oh so gentle, never complaining companion. His eyes were shut for a reason. Inflamed, deep pink and droopy, his lens on the world needed a doctor's look.

The quiet little pup was the perfect patient as the doctor's thorough exam would attest. Eye drops would address the inflammation and infection. In the examining room, the first dose began its work. At home, I noticed improvement, immediately. The next step: how many people would it take to put the 4 drops into the eyes of a 73 pound squirmy yellow retriever? There had been three of us at the clinic. At home, I was alone in the wilderness: Mr. Wiggles and I, four times a day, 2 drops per eye, for 7 days, then twice daily. His gentle demeanour has helped greatly as I tell him, each time, what had I had to do. As each drop went in, I remarked that one more needed to be added. Dogs do understand language, I have discovered. Then I moved my hand to his second eye, hoping for understanding in what I had to do. On the sofa, with pillow underneath, Mr. wiggles helped me define our 'special' time and place together.

In the morning, I arrived to a sleepy puppy who realized the ritual had arrived, again, for eye medication, but with a treat. Every companion received one. (I needed all the support I could get). He knew this wasn't so bad, after all.  It would continue for ten days. Healing had begun. Mr. Wiggles had reminded me of a blind dog - but for a minute, in time. We were lucky, 'Cause you never know. The sock whisperer has returned.

Momsey's Best Ever Rice Pudding

Momsey's best rice pudding just got better. With the turmeric being classed as a super spice, a regular in all curry dishes and chilis, too, Momsey now includes it in her rice pudding, the last minute dessert with any meal.

The other day, after cooking more rice than needed, with added turmeric, I refrigerated this world wide staple until a use could be found later in the week. ... I remembered making chocolate mousse twice last week. I needed a change. We all did. With one daughter breast feeding and another about to give birth, my intention was to displace gluten and grains from any dessert I might make for their indulgence. They are so mindful of all foods entering their bodies. Health is #1. I wanted my desserts to reflect that.

I remembered having bought organic 1% milk. Its best before date was coming soon. Must use it now. Too expensive to waste. An open carton of organic half and half was there, too, waiting to be 'called' before its 'date'. Realizing I had all the components for a great dessert, I began to create the rice 'brew' known as rice pudding.

I heated three cups of milk 'product' into the stainless steel pot, sitting atop a burner heat diffuser. A small amount of the milk mixture was added to eggs, slowly. (Eggs need 'heat adjustment' to prevent 'scrambling'). The excitement was building. (The heat is now indirect, a must to minimize scorching when cooking dairy products). A wire whisk kept everything in harmony. A few drops of vanilla were added, with more added at the end for that extra kick of wow. A slow stir kept all ingredients in motion to prevent sticking. The anticipation was growing. I managed to make this simple dessert without a recipe. I had seen many. It was not a challenge to do. The turmeric was barely there, I could see. Time to add more. Why not? Desserts could he healthy, too.

Turmeric, this super spice, is found in many curry dishes, a mainstay in all of Momsey's cooking and baking. It is now to be found in my rice pudding and other desserts. Its colour and flavour do not overwhelm foods or other spices added with it. It is a secret weapon in my kitchen arsenal of spices. Why not use it often to keep our brains healthy? Dementia is on the rise, as we live longer, become sedentary and pursue a fast food life style, sometimes, devoid of healthy ingredients. Adding different spices to the desserts we bake makes sense to me.

Whenever we make withdrawals from our health account, we must then make deposits to it for health sake. Of course, an apple would be the best choice. Or a kale salad. No thanks, sometimes dessert is my only escape. With a terrible sense of direction, it is best I stay home, save money and eat dessert, instead.

When I cook rice, now, I make more than needed then freeze it for dessert or side dish as needed in a hurry. Day old rice is better for health, too, becoming resistant starch, like green bananas, a plus in our overindulgent, overweight world. With 3% milk, half and half cream, eggs and sugar, I'm ready to go. Tapioca can replace the rice for that yummy pudding alternative. I will sneak in turmeric, as I always do in many desserts, sandwich fillings, stuffings, soups and even homemade chicken soup. Since there are no recipe police on how I alter the recipe, anything is possible.

Raisins are a favourite of mine, though detested by many because of its taste and texture after being cooked. It is included in my rice pudding, after soaking, then mixed thoroughly throughout. Oh so Yummy and so healthy, I have discovered. The sugar in raisins  contain a rare sugar that is slowly released into the body and reduces cravings. Now they have another purpose. Thank you. I use organic whenever I can find it. Found it the other day at Costco: Sun Maid organic raisins with no oil added. Yay! 

 

On top of my pudding goes the cinnamon because cinnamon, like turmeric, is about health. Turmeric for the brain; cinnamon, for blood pressure. Such a dreamy combination. As I let the rice pudding cool, I am left wondering did I make enough? With 2 dogs to hang out with, a fire to keep stoking, a cat to feed, a book to write, this blog in addition to other chores, I am busy. Love that rice pudding.

The Delicious One Hour Stew

I knew our 'miracle' wedding gift was up to the challenge. In less than an hour, we had delicious tender stew. I was not surprised. Our pressure cooker made it happen, again, in another 'forgotten' moment, after school. It was the early 70's.

I removed the roast from the freezer when I got home, having forgotten to do so, that morning, before going to school. My 'miracle' machine would create a delicious meal in one hour. And so the journey began. Into the pot went the frozen roast, for 20 minutes, long enough to soften its edges for cutting into thick even slices. I was ready for beef stew, beef bourguignon or goulash. After the thick slices came evenly cut sticks and then cubes. The meal transformation had begun. The cubed meat was returned to the pot, for a second time, for 20 minutes of pressure cooking. The vegetables: diced carrots, celery, onions, potatoes, arrived soon after, for another 10 minutes, under pressure, to complete the entree, mere minutes for tenderizing the meat and cooking the raw vegetables. A slurry of flour or cornstarch, depending upon the appearance desired, was added to thicken the stew, adding herbs or spices as desired. Unbeknownst to me, bone broth had been created, intensifying the flavour of the stew while retaining valuable nutrients, within minutes, not hours, of cooking. Fast food's meaning was different in those days.

The hissing sound emanating from beneath the movable metal 'turret' on top of the lid of the pressure cooker could easily fall off, if I was not careful. The pent up pressure from deep inside the pot could be unleashed, perhaps, blowing a hole in the kitchen ceiling. Was this fact or fiction? That was the message, in those days, with the cooker of that era. That threat always seemed to loom large in my active imagination. But pressure cookers were a rudimentary lot in those days. I used mine as often as it made sense. Prior to marriage, I had never used one, seen one or heard of its existence. But it became my cooking ally during the early years of marriage.

A pressure cooker's pre-eminence in our lives provided a basis for all other vegetables to appear, willingly. The web has given me further evidence of the powerful health effects of this powerhouse kitchen tool, called a pressure cooker, to augment the nutrient value of the foods cooked in it. With ribs, the 'show' is more dramatic. After 20 minutes of pressure cooking ribs, these oft expensive and tough meats, are then placed into my Phillips AirFryer with its patented technology, for that broiled in the oven flavour, taste and look. There's nothing quite like it, really. A rib rub of onion powder, paprika, cayenne?, turmeric, cumin, salt and pepper, can be added mixed in, prior to 'roasting'. A taste sensation is just moments away. Dining out is no longer the only place to find delicious ribs. Now, it can be found in our kitchen where human health always begins. ... Cooking wings can happen easily in the majestic air fryer. Slow and easy does it with a dry rub all around.

Many air fryer machines have been on the market for many years. None caught my eye till the name Phillips, appeared, a name synonymous with quality and my childhood. My life changed. Meal time took on new dimensions. “Do you want fries with that?” was a constant refrain as I cooked dinner. “Other ' fries were always suspect. Was 'old' oil of unknown origins, being used for them? Did 'new and improved' really mean better? With my pressure cooker, cooking times were greatly reduced as flavour and tenderness, improved. Frozen appetizers could now be baked, easily and quickly, in the air fryer for the fresh from the oven taste. Cooking drudgery was slowly disappearing and replicating restaurant meal entrees was now possible with my air fryer and pressure cooker.

The oven is no longer the only appliance to roast, tenderize or broil. We have the pressure cooker and the Phillips Air Fryer, working in tandem, to keep us home, more often, saving money, protecting health while freeing up the time to engage, once again, with our children and our pets. It is a simple case of life, happily, ever after.

And So it Happened to Me

As a nineteen-year-old, working part time, in a local deli/convenience store, I was summarily groped by my boss, a man of many faces. He was not nice to his teen employees. As students, naive, trusting, while looking towards our future, we had no rights in his mind. His utterances were also a reflection of this.

Workplace laws and the minimum hourly wage of less than a dollar dictated my teen world. I was happy to be working and saving my money for university or college, whatever 'institution' would accept me. Part time jobs ruled the day, then, as it seems to, today. My employer ruled his kingdom in the basement of his store where I had been sent for 'inventory', that day. I was not expecting the pickings to be me. How naive I was.

We are all complicit, to a degree, in fostering the behaviour of those men who think of women, as second rate humans, unequal to them. Have beauty pageants, provocative posters, advertisements and 'R' rated movies helped keep women in our respective places? We are objects of admiration, yet to be demeaned, dismissed, ignored, at a later time, when it suits whoever is in charge. But let us not vilify the whole herd. It is unfair, ridiculous and downright mean. As a cocktail waitress, in the late 60's, in a conservative costume of its day: blouse, skirt and vest, I was 'violated' by two customers who felt obligated to demean me as I cleared their table. My retort was quick and to the point, catching them off guard. I was not what they had expected, a timid willing victim. Justice was swift. I was vindicated. A rude utterance, one day, from a 'friend' from our distant past, reminded me that some things never change. Oh, my, I could never say that. But he did. No one ever knew. But I never forgot! The 'friendship' died.

My future husband's first gift to me was a complete set of encyclopedia of cookbooks. (I hear the laughter now). I was and still am fascinated by food and its collective footprint on human health. Back in my day, food was a burgeoning study. I was fascinated by it all! While admiring the Woman's Day Encyclopedia of Cooking, one day, 'John' noticed my focused attention on these magnificent hardcover gems of food, recipes, and illustrations, in the home of a friend. I owned nothing like it. Soon, I was presented with the complete treasure trove set of these recipes, photographs and historical facts all bounded in majestic hardcover artistry. And it wasn't even my birthday. My now husband has always thought of me as an accomplished somebody. At times, I believe it, too; other times, no. Is that the result of my personal history?

Hollywood is up in arms over what has transpired these past few months. Women have been on the back burner, perhaps, historically and given few choices other than the 'obvious', for paid work. The workplace has evolved while men have always been in the driver seat. But has society not expected them to be? For those women who have always wanted to be a mom, how would that have gone over with the future-in-laws if the guy had said the same thing and had no aspirations beyond being a dad. He might have been considered a poor husband choice. Yet we are not. Motherhood is the hardest job in the world, some say. It has its moments and the rewards are incredible.

In an episode of M.A.S.H, the war sit-com show from the 70's, a Swedish doctor arrives at the M.A.S.H unit to observe army combat surgery, only to be met with delinquent sexist views when she begins to demonstrates, quite skillfully, a life enhancing surgical procedure on one young soldier, while, later, saving the life of another, who was suffocating. In both instances, sexism reared its ugly head. Two doctors were made to feel inadequate by her skill set. The episode ended with the chief of surgery admonishing the demeaning views of another colleague while showing remorse for his own ridiculous outdated, patronizing views on the 'weaker' sex. Everyone had been put on notice. Times were changing.

Diamonds are not this girl's best friend. Other things matter more. No engagement ring for me, either. He followed me wherever my career took me and quit a lucrative career, in group insurance and financial planning, to do that. When we married, he was prepared to take my name if I had wanted. I wanted to 'move up' in the alphabet so I adopted his. (His surname was easier to pronounce, anyway.) 'High school' decimated my first name. Seemed like it was too hard to pronounce. Ouch, my self-esteem.

As a female, in my male dominated world, I understand the male mantle, only too well. We've have it bad, many times, but so have they. The men of the majority are kind, funny and loving. Go after history, when things were worse. If we condemn them now, collectively, we cast a very long shadow on our sons and daughters, too. How unfair is that!

The Holiday Sugar Dilemma

We had been invited to visit, around the noon hour, during the holiday season. With three young boys in tow, I hoped lunch of some kind would be served. Family always had some sort of food readily available. I know I did. What we faced wasn't unimaginable. It was unexpected, a interesting lesson for us all.

The day had started, normally, with breakfast, three boys and two retrievers to attend to. The day was somewhat predictable until we arrived at the home of our relative. In a house built for 'one', there would be little to amuse young boys, I knew. But I was not concerned. They knew how to behave in all environments. It was both their duty and responsibility. At home they could scream, yell, run around, as the tide allowed. Homes were designed with that human behaviour mind. But in the home of another, the boys knew what was expected of them. They were simply happy to be there.

The offer of sugar cookies and soda pop was presented as soon as we arrived. Episodes of The Three Stooges, would be shown for their viewing enjoyment. It was a treat, after all. An extra measure of tomfoolery, I mused. Oh,my. This newest 'twist' on lunch was unexpected, our boys knew. A set of unusual circumstances had been presented. They were uncertain as to what to do. The 'captain' of the crew, our oldest, looked at me plaintively, hoping for an answer. I reminded them that their choices were clear and simple. “Yes, please” or “No, thank you” would be their replies with each boy determining his own 'fate'. I appreciated their unusual dilemma. And so they greeted the sugary treats with unexpected excitement. I watched for changes in behaviour. I cannot remember what happened that day, but the boys grew up to be caring men, in loving relationships, with rescue pets and children, all around. One moment in time does not a bad habit make!

Cookies were not a mainstay in our children's lives, they knew. Even the homemade ones were a rare commodity. Fruit might have been an option with a hotdog, perhaps, that day. With small appetites, healthy food was always my preferred choice. (Get the good stuff in before the bad stuff has a chance.) The couple of hours visiting a relative, whom we rarely saw, was not going to be marred by a parent's “Is this all you have? “scenario. Maybe, poor judgement had been exercised by the host but I was not here for conflict resolution. It was more important to enjoy the visit than be 'distracted' by other less important things. Keeping things simple was what mattered most.

We visited another relative, an elderly candy aficionado. The sweet snacks were everywhere, spread out in a carefully laid out colourful landscape, on the coffee table, within reach of the little hands of children. It was a holiday, after all. Children will always decide what makes sense, in the moment, if given the opportunity. Excesses may begin the exercise but the body always wins the 'argument'. Rational thinking takes time. Watching my reaction to the 'sweet' offers of candy was a powerful moment for both of us. Mom was going off script. How could she do that, they wondered? It was easy. The clock was ticking and I was not worried. A diet 'correction' would occur later, at home. Having a good time was what the holiday visit was all about. Candy was just a momentary fun distraction. ... Controlling children was never in their best interest. Who wins if parents are always in charge of life's 'little' moments?

Our boys did eat the candy, that day, how much, I do not remember, but the luster of those ongoing moments of freedom soon passed. Saying “no” to children is easy. If said often, the word becomes meaningless. The power structure is so lopsided, anyway. A win on the parenting battlefield, early on, means nothing, if children do not learn the consequences of their own behavior. Bigger battles are looming, later, when “no” will unleash its truly awesome power upon them.

The sweet dilemma of those moments, long ago, became isolated incidents of fun to recall. Much is lost, in raising children, when our need to control them, in every way, supersedes theirs to learn valuable lessons. Being of sound mind and body doesn't just happen. It is created over time, with practice, patience and help from caring, loving family members, some of whom are of the four-legged variety.