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This confession will come as no surprise to my children, but sometimes I’m, well, down right mischievous. (They may have another phrase for it.)

My poor son was feeling rotten. When he called for sympathy I offered to come right away and bring chicken soup or naughty dough or anything else. He wouldn’t let me—he just wanted me to know he was in pain (and under the watch of a doctor). So I promised I would bring him a treat on Monday.

I made one of his favorite cookies—the ones I sometimes make at Valentines as chocolate cookies sandwiched with cherry frosting. This time instead of hearts, I cut out pumpkins and used orange flavored frosting.

When his dad talked to him, I told him to tell our son I had made him some pumpkin cookies.

“But she knows I don’t like pumpkin,” he said, sadly.

“Well, try not to make her feel bad.”

I was nearby with my hand over my mouth.

In his defense, DH had trouble going along with this because he is much nicer than me. “The poor guy is sick and you are teasing him!”

I left a plate full of cookies on their table with a post-it note that said, “Pumpkin Cookies even my son will like. Gottcha.”

He texted me later: I love you.

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