You're Going to Get Sick!

Every Friday night, my cousin Vicki and I eagerly anticipated our time at Grandma's house, a tradition that brought us comfort and a spirit of excitement. Once our parents departed for our brothers' football game, we would race into the warm kitchen, where the enticing scent of Grandma's freshly baked treats filled the air, a testament to her baking prowess. Following a delicious, homemade dinner, we would excitedly sample her sweet creations. After helping her tidy up the kitchen, we'd snuggle on Grandma's couch, enveloped in her vibrant quilts, diving into her collection of vintage photo albums while she shared enchanting tales from her past, each image revealing a fragment of our family's narrative. As the evening progressed, we would entertain ourselves with toys in Aunt Joyce's room until it was time for bed. Those nights, brimming with joy, affection, and the delightful flavor of baked treats, formed the essence of our childhood memories.

On one of those Friday evenings, the sweet scent of melting chocolate wafted through the kitchen as Grandma meticulously crafted her famous chocolate-covered candies, the kind that could make any old day feel like a celebration. Vicki and I, arriving to the clattering of bowls and the soft rustle of waxed paper, exchanged mischievous glances, our eyes twinkling with the thrill of imminent shenanigans. Despite Grandma's stern warnings about getting sick from indulging in too many sugary delights, the glossy allure of those delightful confections proved too irresistible.

Throughout the evening, we stealthily entered the kitchen multiple times and grabbed a few pieces, relishing the silky chocolate as it melted in our mouths, perfectly complemented by the satisfying crunch of coconut within. Each indulgent bite felt like a small act of rebellion against her well-intentioned advice, and the delightful flavors quickly made us forget any sense of guilt. With every chocolate we snatched, Grandma would quietly caution us, "You're going to get sick!" Yet, we paid her no mind, our laughter buoyed by sugar, filling the house as we dashed back to Joyce's room. Although we were aware that consequences might await us, the thrill of enjoying her exquisite treats was too enticing to resist. Unfortunately, those moments of indulgence would inevitably give way to feelings of regret and remorse.

At 10 PM, the comforting ritual of brushing our teeth began, the minty toothpaste leaving a fresh tang in our mouths that masked the sweets we had snuck earlier. With every scrub of the toothbrush, I could feel my excitement mingling with a twinge of regret, as our stomachs churned with the aftermath of Grandma’s delectable candies, which we had devoured with abandon. The soft glow of the nightlight bathed Joyce’s bedroom in a gentle warmth as Grandma, with her soft hands and loving smile, tucked us into bed, ensuring the blankets were snugly wrapped around us. Her presence was a soothing balm, even as my belly protested occasionally, reminding me of the sugar rush we had indulged in. We lay there quietly, trying to suppress the giggles that threatened to burst forth, our eyes shimmering with the thrill of the treats we sneaked throughout the evening.

During the night, Vicki and I were suddenly jolted from our slumber by fierce stomach cramps that twisted and turned. The remnants of last night's candy binge had turned on us, as Grandma's warnings charged to the surface of our minds. Grabbing our sides, we exchanged panicked glances, and without a moment's hesitation, we dashed toward Grandma's bathroom. Each step felt like a race against time as we hurriedly pushed the door open, hoping for relief amidst the chaos of our sugar-induced turmoil.

Upon hearing our gagging sounds, Grandma, always practical, made her way into the bathroom. Towering over us at 5'11", she bluntly reminded us, "I warned you were going to get sick." With a resigned sigh, she opened the cupboard to grab two washcloths. After running the water until it was warm, she soaked the clothes, wrung them out, and handed one to each of us. Then, she went back to her bedroom, leaving us to deal with our own misery.

As the sugary treats wreaked havoc within us, we cried and sniffled; the aftermath of our sweet indulgence served as a clear reminder of the delicate balance between pleasure and remorse. Eventually, as our vomiting subsided, Grandma took us to the kitchen to drink mugs of ginger tea, a remedy she had likely concocted many times before for just such an occasion. The warmth of the tea soothed our anxious bellies, and the spicy scent filled the room, offering a sense of comfort amidst our suffering.

“Now,” she began, her eyes sparkling with a mix of sternness and affection, “how about some rules for next time?” Vicki and I exchanged guilty glances but couldn't help grinning at the absurdity of the situation. While sipping our tea, we listened intently as Grandma shared her wisdom about balancing sweet treats with healthier snacks, silently promising to listen to her warnings next time.

Eventually our stomachs settled and the night deepened, so we retreated to the bedroom and tucked ourselves back into the big bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I promised myself that the next time Grandma made candy, I would savor just one candy and pair it with laughter—not regret. Because in the end, it wasn't just about the candies; it was about moments shared, lessons learned, and the sweet bond of family that would always make the best treat of all.