Fast forward to the next morning when I have a counter full of puddings cooling and the worst anxiety induced headache ever, I realise that Christmas really is less than a month away. Since I have to wait for them to cool to see if my attempt was a hit or miss, I decide to get the wheels of Christmas turning. Later that night when I cut the tester pudding and took the first bite, tears came to my eyes. That was, literally, my experience of tasting a memory.

Since moving into my grandparent’s house, I’ve had to taken on the “family entertainment” responsibilities. This includes hosting Christmas dinner. I have only missed that event at this house twice in my entire life. Last Christmas was a very painful and emotional one – Grams wasn’t in the kitchen, she wasn’t at the table – it just wasn’t the same. Three days later, she wasn’t with us anymore. In short, I haven’t really been looking forward to it the way I usually do. Even so, I’m somebody’s mom and have a family to feed – it’s time to get on with the show.

After knocking heads with my sister and uncle for a while, we’ve decided on our menu. Having family members who are vegetarian to dinner for the first time posed a challenge, but after some thought I managed a few yummy options since we tend to go overboard with meat >> Ham, roast beef, roast chicken, lamb, baked snapper, rice & peas, macaroni & cheese, candied sweet potatoes, cornbread stuffing, broccoli & cauliflower au gratin, tomato & cucumber salad with apple cider dressing, baked plantain, Swedish pickled cabbage and cranberry sauce We decide who is making what and the madness begins…

The week before Christmas seemed to fly by, with a trip to the supermarket EVERY day – even with the best made list, I always got home realizing there was something else. I’ll spare you the drama of the Christmas linens. The short version: they’re still missing. I scrambled around town and managed to find a white tablecloth and a red & white runner. I found Gram’s silver candelabra and with some random ornaments, ribbons and candles managed to organize a centerpiece for the table. It’s now Christmas Eve and over the past few days I’ve tried to do as much of the early preparation as I could with things like baking the cornbread for the stuffing and freezing it. Nervous wreck doesn’t begin to describe me at this point. Fortunately there were many moments of levity from my “elf” who seems to have a real fascination with gift wrap trimmings – read: bows and ribbons everywhere imaginable in the house and all over him.

5:30AM Christmas Day: I fly out of bed as if there was some sort of disaster. For no apparent reason. Figuring going back to bed was a lost cause, I made myself a cup of coffee and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. The monster to-do list for the day didn’t look as bad as I thought, so I made breakfast for my dad and my elf. For the record, my dad is awesome – from putting out chairs, to washing serving dishes, grating cheese and everything in between. Fortunately the elf went to Christmas lunch with my mom, so the kitchen was relatively safe for a couple hours. Before I got down and dirty into cooking – let’s set the table and make sure there’s enough space for all the food. Dinner has always been buffet style for Christmas at our house – it was Gram’s formula, it worked, I’m not trying to fix what ain’t broken.

I think I’ve found a home for every dish, wrapped the silver and made napkin rings out of Christmas tree ribbon. Panic attack #1 ensues – what am I forgetting?? Decide a glass of sorrel (loaded with white rum, of course) is the shot and roll up my sleeves and get to cooking. Yes, when my first guests arrived I was still in my sweats covered in flour and other ingredients. My friends and family are awesome however, and everyone rolled up their sleeves and helped with getting everything from the oven/fridge to the table.

One race through the shower and into clean clothes, I hosted my first Christmas dinner in this house. In the end, 16 members of family and friends (with a surprise 17th later – thanks D) had Christmas dinner. Thanks to everyone who cooked, special thanks to everyone who stayed and washed dishes and help pack up the leftovers. The look on my grandfather’s face when he came in and saw the table will stick with me for a long time. The hug and the “great job” after dinner meant even more.

Thanks to my sisters – one in the flesh, one in spirit – because I couldn’t have done it without you. I’m going to ramble if I write anymore, but I’ll share a couple of the recipes another time like the Swedish Red Cabbage, one of my favourites that Grams only made at Christmas. And without further ado… Christmas dinner was served…

Dinner is served

Ignore my poor lattice weaving job -_-

Having learned the best time of day to make pie crust from scratch in my new kitchen, I’ve discovered it’s also quite therapeutic at 7 on a Sunday morning in your pyjamas. Since the blueberry was unfortunately shelved during the last pie adventure, I figured it was time and it deserved its due.

Firstly, we are all going to politely ignore my poor lattice weaving job. It so happened that around the time I was putting that bit together, a certain toddler appeared in the kitchen demanding his milk and breakfast – the resulting mismatched weave is the end result. So thanks in advance for not mentioning it, unlike my darling sister.

I’m probably more excited than I should be about the fact that the time of morning means I can make the dough and roll it out at once with no chilling necessary. Don’t judge me, it’s these little things that make new hobbies interesting. I’ve decided that’s what this new adventure is – a new hobby. That became apparent to me on Saturday night around 10 when I broke out the mixer and made banana bread, just because I could.

J’s dad brought some lovely bananas for us the week before – a LOT of them. Basically there was no way to use them all before they were over ripe… but there’s always stuff you can do with those. With time against me, I peeled all the over ripe ones left and stuck them in the freezer. While getting ice for my drink that night I saw the bag and decided it was time for some banana bread. In the blind hope that I’d be able to use them all up in one go, I grabbed the recipe book and realised that I’d probably only make a dent in half of what was there. Don’t worry, fritters are next

My Dad, the quintessential food critic, gave me 2 thumbs up and an “exquisite” between bites. My picky eater of a toddler has had about a 1/4 of the whole thing by himself. The things that make you smile. I’m sorry I didn’t get to take any pictures of the banana bread.. to be honest, my phone cam has stopped working and I was really too lazy to go for the actual camera at the time. Might take a picture later of the last slice, if I remember before I eat it that is.

So as I feel my butt getting broader with each passing weekend, I’m toying with last night’s suggestion of fudge. Gramps has been not so subtle with his lemon meringue pie request, as has been my uncle with his apple pie “just like Mom’s”. While I write this I remember that my oven is booked this weekend! Christmas is around the corner – it’s pudding time!! Someone remind me to check the pantry tonight to make sure I’ve got all the ingredients. I know I have prep work to do before the weekend – never made these on my own before, always been the “little helper”. Not worried though, Grams has been keeping my company in the kitchen these days – can’t say I’m going to miss getting rapped on the knuckles with a wooden spoon for trying to sneak into the batter before she’s done. *angel face*

Since recently moving into my grandparents’ house, I have been tasked with reviving a tradition which has been dormant since Gram’s passing. Sunday evenings are reserved for hanging out on the patio, corny jokes and whatever sweet treat Grams has whipped up that weekend. A few Sundays ago, I jumped in with both feet and a lot of hope. Once I had the oven figured out with the night of triple chocolate brownies, I used the confidence boost to attempt something I’d never made before.

In sorting out the kitchen cupboard’s I had found tons of pie filling – some of which expired about a year ago. So in clearing out I was left with one can of cherry and one of blueberry near expiry which I didn’t want to toss. I love cooking, but I’ve always left the baking to my Grams, mom or my sister (her chocolate cake will make you drunk and sugar high in less than one slice.. pure awesomeness). So naturally, pie crust from scratch is a mad person’s choice for starting off a tradition. Not one to profess my own sanity – pie it was. I put the poll out to friends on twitter as to whether it should be cherry or blueberry, and we ended up with a dead heat, so I decided to make both.

Around rolls the weekend. I’m talking to my Uncle telling him about my plan to make pies. His hysterical laughter was the first sign that I might be in over my head. However, I ignored him and armed with Grams’ trusty recipe book I got to work. Surprisingly, by the end of making the dough I wasn’t covered head to toe in flour. That didn’t last too long since I forgot just how warm that kitchen gets – rolling it out was accompanied by an excessive amount of bad words. Lesson from that adventure:  pie crust should be made in that kitchen early in the morning when there is still a chill on the house from the night before.

One pie, cherry, in the oven and then the duties of the weekend and helping my dad move in to the house with us took over. Blueberry was relegated to another weekend. Now I traumatized myself the entire time the pie was in the oven by constantly turning on the light and looking in the oven – I was terrified I was going to burn the crust. As a result of my paranoia, it could have stayed in a few minutes longer – but no one complained

Along with some Vanilla Crunch ice cream, my start to my weekend kitchen baking experiments had a nerve racking, but good start. A snapshot courtesy of darling Aunty HP to share the yumminess:

Cherry Pie and Vanilla Crunch Ice Cream

So with that down… up next Banana Bread and Blueberry Pie *drool*…

P.S. I need more dessert suggestions, the recipe books are overwhelming so picking something is near impossible… being the nerd I am, I’m trying to make a schedule between now and the end of the year (mostly for my supermarket shopping.. ok fine, really for my OCD).. Thanks!

Yes, it’s midnight… I couldn’t sleep.

I went in search of an oven thermometer this week. With some help from some folks on twitter I managed to get a great one at an even greater price. You see, now that I’ve inherited my Grams’ oven, I’ve also inherited the now bare oven dial. It’s been cleaned so well over the years that all the temperature markings have been rubbed off. I can safely tell you where 500 degrees is located on the dial – and that’s about it.

Somehow tonight while getting started, I took a good look at the dial and I turned it as if I had done it everyday of life. I stuck the thermometer on the rack and went off to make the brownie batter. Batter made, pan ready for the oven. Opened the oven to look at the thermometer – exactly 325 degrees, just what I needed.

I spent the next half an hour (after putting the pan in the oven, of course) sitting on the floor, in tears.

I’ve been in this kitchen my entire life watching this amazing woman cook and bake for her family. I’ve been very apprehensive lately about taking on the weekend baking ritual. Sunday afternoon treats are an important tradition that have been absent since she passed away last Christmas. I’m not afraid anymore. Thanks Grams for holding my hand and letting me know everything is going to be OK.

I miss you, I love you… the brownies came out perfect.

The quick and dirty version: my grandfather indicated his desire to downsize after my grandmother’s passing almost a year ago. Not wanting to part with the family house, a few ideas were knocked around and now I call the family house I’ve known all my life, my home. It’s an awesome house, with a huge kitchen, lawns, fruit trees – all the things a little boy needs to have a great time and terrorize his mother. I’ve never lived in a “house house” before, always having lived in a townhouse/apartment/gated community type home. The new tasks of watering the plants (God bless the gardener who has worked there my whole life – he’s amazing), maintenance, upkeep and the general running of the biggest house I’ve ever lived in are now realities that I’m getting used to. If you come to visit, please ignore the sticky notes all over the house – I need reminders until these jobs are routine.

Having only completed moving yesterday, I would give my kingdom for some pain killers and epsom salts. My everything hurts. That fact isn’t too much of a bother however since my little man has realised that this house is his new home and he’s quickly adjusting. He’s really growing up faster than I can keep up with, especially now that he’s trying to be more self-sufficient. The “Terrible Twos” are in full swing, but he’s figuring out that actually sitting and eating a meal isn’t such a bad thing, and neither is bedtime.

Last night I made my first meal in my new kitchen. My grandfather informed me over the weekend that I’m expected to take up the tradition of entertaining family on a Sunday afternoon (“.. with a pie, or cookies, or something of the sort..”) and so I’m elbow deep in trying to figure out where to start with that task. Note: nutritional facts on dessert recipes will depress you, read with caution. I’ll let you know how this experiment works out…

In the meantime, little man has a hearing assessment coming up so I’m putting my focus there. He may just be as stubborn (or more) as his parents, or he may be having some difficulty – personally, I would rather rule it out than ignore a possible issue. That’s a story for another time.

So until then – new blessings, new stresses… but never ungrateful.

Sadly, I’ve been through my fair share of moments that teach that lesson. Somewhere along the line, I became numb to the process of grieving. I’ve chalked it up to accepting that death is a simple reality of life and despite the loss of a loved one, life does indeed go on. No matter how much you would rather the sun doesn’t come up tomorrow – it will – whether you’re prepared to face it or not.

Personally, I’ve never had any use for the wailing, throwing yourself on the floor (I will admit that I fell down when I got the phone call that my little sister had died.. legs just kinda gave out on me..), or any of the other dramatics I’ve seen as a response to death. There is something, however, that bothers me more. Why is it people feel they have the right to determine, or judge, how those left behind move on with their lives? Parents, siblings, spouses… why does society still feel that one must wear black and live in your own personal doom and gloom until they’ve decided that, maybe, you can have a life other than what they’ve known?

Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, but I’m a big fan of personal choice. Loss is a part of life, deal with it! How one person chooses to grieve, or not grieve, is entirely up to them. Yes, there’s always that person or group who will object in some form to the choices we make – but how far do we really get in life having the opinions of others define our actions?

The most common argument I’ve heard is someone doing something that disrespects the memory of the dearly departed. So I guess my real question is how soon is too soon to brush yourself off and continue with your life? I’ve heard many, many answers to this question… and honestly, agree with none. Only you know when you’re ready, and sadly, you may be alone in that thinking no matter how much time has passed. Guilt trips are a common assault at this point. In my random observations over the years I often wonder who the guilt really belongs to and more often the owner is the person dishing out the guilt trip.

And we’re now back at the beginning… how someone chooses to handle the loss of a loved one is an entirely personal choice. Love your family and friends, support them and think before offering advice that you might need to be taking yourself. We may not always agree with it, but IT IS NOT YOUR LIFE – get over it.

</rant>

About midway through my pregnancy, a few realities started to set in. Once maternity leave was over what on earth was I going to do with the kid? He certainly couldn’t come to work with me and I am super paranoid about day care. With this worry growing, I had a heart to heart with my mom to try to figure it all out.

I remember when I was little, I had my Etta. This woman, to this day, is my other mother. She bribed me with grapes to start walking at 9 months old. She taught me to count by walking up and down the stairs with her as she took care of the house everyday. She was the homework and vegetable dictator. All these early developmental lessons pale in comparison to what she taught me about people. Her influence is responsible for my view that people are people and regardless of origin, colour, creed – all the things that make us different – all people are no less and no more than you. Respect is not a right, it is earned and good manners are a must in every situation. She taught me to stand up for myself (her picture is beside “warmonger” in the dictionary – seriously), but to be humble in the same breath and admit my mistakes. 30+ years later, she is still working with my family and has become my saviour. After that conversation with mom, I approached her and asked her how she felt about another little one being added to the family. Her response was one of the moments that confirmed to me that bringing this little boy into the world would be the best decision I’ve ever made. Today, she is J’s “Nana” and she brags constantly about her grandson.

On this day in particular, she isn’t feeling on top of the world, so she stayed home. I’ve stayed home from work and have the little terrorist climbing all over me as I attempt to do laundry. I started out thinking about the mountain on my desk and the nightmare playing catch up will be when I get into the office. Then I got over myself. She does this everyday. She raised my sister and I, and now as adults, she is still here teaching the same lessons to my son. “Lucky” is an immense understatement when trying to describe how fortunate both myself and J are to have her in our lives. She’s getting older and I’m glad he’s off to school for the better portion of the day soon. He’s a handful and I can see how tired she is at the end of a day.

We quarrel and argue like an old married couple most of the time. “No, you can’t wear that and leave the house!” “What time are you getting home?” “You need to stop at the supermarket and pick up *list* before you come home” and the all important, “Please DO NOT forget my lotto tickets and bring home dessert for after dinner tonight!” I try to get home as soon as possible after work everyday just to rescue her from the tyrant. Most of the time, even when I get there ready to romp, they both ignore me. Could be worse

Safe in Nana's arms...

I am grateful to have the love personified in her taking care of my son when I have to work. I am grateful to be able to help her in any way I can, even if it’s just to take the time to take her to visit her family in Trelawny on a weekend. I have to remind J sometimes that she was my Nana first and does he ever get jealous! Yes, it will be a rough day at work tomorrow, but so what? The important things in life, my family, are so much more important.

Years ago, her choices could have taken her on a different path. She chose us, her children, her family and I speak for all of us when I say that is it difficult to find the words to even begin to express the profound gratitude for the contribution she has made, and continues to make, in our lives.

She is my family and I hope she knows how much I love her.

Lil' Bigfoot

Yes, those are the feet of my 22-month old terrorist. He starts preschool in 2 weeks, I would appreciate any and all volunteers to hold my hand and bring Kleenex (for me).

He’s a funny kid – somedays I’m the only person in the world despite tons around and other days I may as well be invisible. Kinda like his mom, there’s no telling what kind of mood he’s gonna wake up in on any given day.

*cue anxiety attack*

I have NO idea what to expect on the first day of school!!! Is he going to cry and be clingy? Is he gonna head for the playground and have a blast? I just don’t know!!!

*cue tears*

I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry, but I’m tossing that out the window like a poorly thought out New Year’s resolution. This is my baby we’re talking about here!!! He’s barely talking but just this morning reduced me to a blubbering mess in the car when I asked him if he was going to be a good boy and not give Nana (his nanny) any trouble. He laughed at me and his laugh is so infectious, I had to laugh too, and said something along the lines of “mummy’s smart little baby”. He started shaking his head and saying “no no no”. Of course I pouted and asked if he was trying to say that he wasn’t my little baby anymore. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then simply said “no, i not Ma”. All I could see was the little runt I brought home, who is this big kid????

*cue bawling*

*regaining composure*

So preschool… his grandaunt decided he needed to follow the family military tradition. The camouflage lunch kit is pretty cute, I must say. He’s got his uniforms and some new kicks (see the lil big foot picture – I don’t know how great an idea those laces are gonna be, but we’ll see).

*mini freak out*

I know he’s going to be fine. He’s a bright and stubborn little boy, who likes to wave a toilet brush at you like a sword and “read” the newspaper at the dining table with me while I have my coffee. I’m telling myself that he doesn’t have to be with me all the time, that he needs to discover the world outside of home and family.

I’ve got 2 weeks… wish me luck!

*hyperventilating*

Someone pass a paper bag please…

The concept of “dating” was never really one that I gave much thought.  I was a social creature, always out and about meeting new people.  Some of these new folks have become friends over time, a precious few could fall into the category of “dates” and even less could be considered to have been a “relationship”.  Since being pregnant and having my son, I could be considered a recluse for as priorities changed, so did my lifestyle.  Nights out are few and far between, some for lack of a babysitter but most for lack of motivation and enthusiasm.  By this point, the challenge of where to actually start is obvious.  All of us would be hard pressed to find suitable, much less any, candidates while sitting on the sofa at home watching cartoons with a toddler. As a result, it is safe to say that step one will involve actually getting out of the house.

As a chronic overthinker, I have of course run this scenario over and over in my head as to what would happen when I meet someone who could be a prospect.  The only constant thing in all of these scenarios is something I believe strongly – the fact that I have a child will not be a secret.  Now this is not to say I’m going to introduce myself with “Hi, I’m a single mom of a toddler!” or that I’m going to wear my “Greatest Mom Ever” t-shirt.  In recent experience I find that most men ask whether or not you have kids fairly early in an introductory conversation, but in the event they don’t I find a way to gently work it in.  I’ve witnessed friends with children attempt to avoid the topic for as long as humanly possible and then when it is finally revealed, it becomes a huge issue and often the end of that dating story. It is hard to admit that in the back of my mind I honestly believe that men view a 30-something single woman with a child as a signal to turn tail and run as fast as possible.  This is undoubtedly the source of most of my apprehension.

Fast forward in my paranoid scenario and we come to the next hurdle.  Once upon a time, not so long ago, the timing of a prospect with potential meeting your friends was a tricky consideration.  Times have certainly changed since the issue is now how to bring up the fact that my highest priority is the toddler at home.  In the event that things take a turn towards becoming serious, when is the right time to introduce this person to my child?  Reflecting on a recent conversation with my best friend on this very subject, I realize that I sound like a paranoid conspiracy theorist. After all, with a child to consider in your life decisions, the whole idea of dating does make one a little paranoid about when and if your child will be exposed to this person.  I accept that I am overly sensitive to this part mostly because I have a son and am wary of the male influences in his life.  Character vaults to the top of the criteria to examine closely and takes far greater precedence over how great he may look in those jeans, or that he has a smile that makes your cheeks flush.  I’m now less concerned with his shoes but looking closely at his attitude to the waiter in the restaurant.  Is that an attitude I would want my son exposed to?  Cue onset of paranoia and further lack of motivation to get off the couch.

The road ahead is daunting, but I am in no rush.  There is a new man in my life, undoubtedly the love of my life with the most beautiful eyes and gorgeous smile.  Someday soon, after we have read a bedtime story and he’s settled in for his adventures in Dreamland, Mommy will put on a little black dress and set out to rediscover what this “dating” thing is all about.

So, what’s been going on?? Well, it’s almost time for birthday #2 and he starts preschool in 2 weeks. Yes, I am hyperventilating. Mission More Letters is progressing about as fast as turtles stampeding through peanut butter, but there’s progress and room for more to come. All in all, I really can’t complain too much. It’s waaaaaay too hot to complain anyway, this summer has been a real scorcher – but the kid and I have lovely tans!

King of the Beach

(See? I found the bright side!!!)

There have been more than a few things on my mind lately… so look out for the ones that are actually “fit for airplay” coming up. First up, on the encouragement of Auntie Criss (check her out at www.chineyphat.com) I put some thought into that dreaded topic: dating as a single mom. It was quite the ride.. lemme know what you think.