There's some primal instinct that kicks in as soon as mothers hear those words: "Mama, I'm not feeling so good..."
After placing my hand on my child's forehead to see if it's worthy of breaking out the ear thermometer, I always know what to do.
Sometimes, it's a matter of the Tylenol/Motrin routine with lots of juice and movies; others require a visit to his pediatrician.
"He's alright," Lamar will tell me.
I know what my husband thinks: I am some overprotective mother who hovers too closely over her child.
I will even go so far as to say he's right.
But a mother knows when her child needs to go to the doctor or what will make it all better.
Just like a child knows no amount of bubble-gum flavored amoxicillin can make them feel better than Mama.
I also think deep-down, Lamar gets a little jealous when Cole does get sick and the only person he wants is Mama.
No one could make me feel better than Granny and Mama when I was a little girl and got sick.
Granny knew just what kind of soup would help - potato or chicken noodle depending on the ailment - and has even been known to cure a bad bout of bronchitis I had once with a sniff of moonshine and some crushed peppermint.
Not sure if that was really what did the trick but when I came to three days later, I wasn't coughing any more.
Mama's fixes were a little simpler, but worked just as effectively.
Regular old Canada Dry did more than any amount of paregoric ever did when Mama poured it in a glass and told her "Kitten" to sip it.
Mama always knew how to make my bed up when I was sick so I felt like I was resting on warm, fluffy clouds that smelled so clean and springtime fresh.
Even my favorite stuffed animal, my purple bunny Thumper, got a fresh wash and was tucked back under the covers with me.
Now when Cole gets a cold, I find myself doing the same things my Mama and Granny did - those doting little touches that make him feel better just because it's Mama.
Cole wants Mama, plain and simple because as he told his father, "Nobody does it like Mama."
Lamar protests that he can open a can of Campbell's as good as I can, but Cole tells him Mama knows how he likes his soup, in a bowl nestled on a plate with crackers on the side.
Lamar tries giving him Gatorade when he's sick; Cole will tell him "Mama gives me ginger ale."
"He won't let me do anything for him," Lamar said with a twinge of disappointment once. "When he's sick, all he wants is you."
I smiled and didn't say a thing. I understood completely; there's just something about the way a Mama can do things that makes it all better.
Sudie Crouch is an award-winning humor columnist and certified life coach. She lives in the north Georgia mountains with her family and four insane, but fairly well behaved dogs.