It’s no secret the No. 1 enemy of the slim college figure is mom. Her cooking is sincere, and her will strong: She will not stop until her little boy is a full-figured fattie.

While most of you know the fat-packing power of mom, spending a weekend at home has convinced me that my food-crazed parents take the cake (and shove it down my throat).

It started with a surprise call home. I had waited until leaving Madison to let my mom know I was coming home. My storybook plan went awry immediately.

“No, you can’t come home this weekend,” my mom said. Had my mother stopped loving me? Perhaps she had disowned me, shamed by my profane use of “penis” in food articles?

“How am I supposed to make you everything you want?” she asked. She still loved me, but was panicking about how to make all of my favorite foods before I walked in the door. You see, in my family, the mere presence of the beloved son is not enough—there must be bountiful food to mediate.

Her anxiety began to ebb, but then she hit me with an interrogation: “What do you want? Just tell me and I’ll make it.” I tried to tell her I would just be happy to see her, at which point I was smacked with a scathing “Liar.” With genuine love ruled out, we agreed to go grocery shopping when I got home.

This was really a foregone conclusion, since the grocery store has been the site of all mother-son bonding in my life. It is the immediate destination upon any trip home, and my mom finds no joy greater than buying me every last morsel of snack food the shelves can hold.

When I finally arrived home, I was greeted with an enormous dinner, of course followed by a homemade dessert and a completely necessary scoop (or five) of ice cream. I had barely swallowed my last bite when my mom unveiled the cupboard doors like a magician. “Look, I went to the grocery store already,” she proclaimed, showcasing a heart-stopping array of chocolate-covered goodies, chips of every sort and my favorite cereal.

“But don’t worry, we can go back to the store if you want anything else,” she assured.

On the final night at home, my parents were looking for the perfect experience with their son. Other parents might take their son to the theater, go shopping or go to church. Mine opted for a $1,000 dinner at a restaurant in downtown St. Paul. I suppose I should mention that five other families joined us, but make no mistake, this was an all-out smorgasbord.

Sunday morning came with the familiar sadness of letting the son go back to school. Like most parents, mine fretted about what I might need in the coming months. Of course, it’s much harder since my parents seem to think I’m embarking on a world-trekking pilgrimage. They pack enough road-ready goodies to get me to the summit of Everest.

As I kissed my mom goodbye, tears welled up in her eyes. Of the many things a mother might tell her son—that she loves him, maybe some profound piece of advice—my mom tearily told me to “keep on eating.” Somehow, this is the best display of love she could give. My strange family revolves around food, and it has become a language of affection, each M&M bringing a smile to my face. Luckily, as my pantry is now stocked with peanut, plain, peanut butter and the snazzy new dark chocolate M&Ms—I shouldn’t be feeling homesick (or thin) anytime soon.