comfort, plain and simple

My mom is the kind of mom who believes in comfort food. She believes in comfort everything; she is a pampering, cozy mom. When I was little and we’d be at the beach in Rhode Island where she grew up, I loved nothing better than running out of the cold ocean and into her towel-laden arms, which she would wrap snuggly around me and then rock me with as I curled up in her lap and stopped shivering. When I was even littler, I had trouble sleeping unless she lay by my side at night and talked with me. “Come lie with me,” I’d holler from my bedroom, repeatedly, until she arrived. Sometimes my dad would come instead, and that was fine too. Truth be told, those late-night chats were the beginning of my loquaciousness, and I just needed someone to let me get all those thoughts out of me before I could fall asleep! But as I wore myself out and started to quiet down, mom would sing to me—in a high, wavering voice that I knew wasn’t that “good,” as singing voices go, but loved anyway. She would sing “Frère Jacques” and “Lullaby And Good Night,” and I’d lie in the dark and smile until I fell asleep. But best of all, when I’d get sick, she’d always treat me to her home-made mac n cheese, which is better than any other I’ve ever had. It’s especially good when you’re sick because she doesn’t bake it; she makes a thick, cheddary sauce and then serves it, moist and hot, and brings you seconds if you need seconds to soothe your throat some more or help your head stop aching. It’s the best comfort food imaginable—even if she disagrees, thinking nothing in the world rivals a thick bowl of New England clam chowder—and for me, it’s what I dream of whenever I’m sick. I’ve tried a few times to make it for myself, thinking it might help me through a rough week of sore throats or migraines, but mine is just not the same as hers. I keep thinking she must pick out a better cheese than I do, or use better milk. But the truth of it, I think, is that it’s not so much the food that provides such comfort (though it really is very good); it’s the TLC it’s served with. And given that the ear infection I dealt with all of last week has now taken up residence in the opposite side of my head, I really wish that TLC didn’t live 3,000 miles away!