Everything is better with chocolate

I have no sense of direction at the best of times. Fuddle my brain with grief and I think I could get turned around in a room with one entrance.

On Monday I got everyone ready and we headed out to get my oldest son's friend from a daycare in Burnaby. Now, while I know the North Shore quite well I'm still figuring our our corner of the Fraser Valley and not at all experienced with the streets and byways of beautiful Burnaby. Traffic was horrendous (thank you 2010 Olympic road expansion and bridge enhancement projects) and then, you guessed it, I couldn't find the "easy to find" daycare. And as always when we drive my mind goes to George, probably because my other children love car rides and sing along to the music playing and happily watch out the windows. I often end up fighting back tears, which when you're lost and trying to figure out where you're going is decidedly not an asset.

It was like an episode of Sponge Bob when the odd voice says: "Two hours later." Only not funny. We were all getting grumpy, despite the Christmas tunes cranked in the van, and why do I always end up with an impatient tailgater when I'm trying to read the signs on cross streets? Oh, and my cell phone battery was dead again so I couldn't even call to find out why the streets on my Google map and the regular map that were supposed to be accessible off Gagliardi (how does one say that by the way?) were not in this reality feasible roadway options.

By the time we finally got to the daycare I think my son's friend had abandoned all hope of us picking him up. I warned him we were all happy to see him but grumpy after three hours driving - one into the city and then two trying to find the daycare. I also cautioned him that the van stank because our Albert dog is, well, massively stinky and needs a bath and of course we'd brought him along with us for the little road trip.

And so we hosted this borrowed boy for an overnight stay. I found myself getting frantic and snappish as they played and I tried to wrap things I had to mail out of province. Constantly I'm reminding myself to breathe and step back a bit, not get so anxious. It's not like me. Or it wasn't like me until this babyloss blindsided our family. I'm so easily overwhelmed and I'm still trying to do the things I would have done or did before dealing with grief.

The things got posted. The children did well in the post office and there were no brotherly brawls and nothing got tipped over. They sat on the floor and giggled away. And I've been beating myself up ever since for getting impatient with them over my list of things to do and accomplish that had nothing to do with them.

So today, after a lot of time outside on an unusually sunny and not rainy winter day, we made treats. Chocolate, milk chocolate that is, can do a lot to lighten the mood for five little people and an up and down babylost mumma.

We made these little mock Christmas puddings:



I can't take credit for the creative genius behind little cookie puddings that children will eat and that look so darn cute they're perfect for little Christmas giveaways of baked goodies or for dessert tables or place settings. My friend Megan, who moved back to her home city of Melbourne, Australia last year, made them with her children while they lived here in BC to share with their classmates.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery of course.

You just use those little marshmallow puff cookies, top them with stiff icing for glue (I used just icing sugar with a few drops of milk), small red candies for berries, and spearmint leaf candies for holly leaves. Easy. Fun for everyone. Sticky yummy bliss without too much cleaning up.



I wear my special George bracelet all the time now and found that every time I thought of how I wished George was with us for the festive merry-making I would look at my bracelet or play with the medals:



My husband gave me this crystal rosary bracelet for our 16th wedding anniversary. I recently got the name saint medals for our baby boy's names and added them to it so that it looks rather like a charm bracelet. We named George for three saints because we think he'd have been a triple threat to his bigger brothers and sister. He was supposed to be Tim for my father but we couldn't name him that when he died during my labour because my Dad has been widowed twice. So he's named for the saints for the countries our families came from: Saint George for England, Saint Patrick for Ireland, and Saint Andrew for Scotland. I also have a medal for Saint Therese of Lisieux, whose little way to Jesus inspired me as a young girl (a small cup and a big cup when full are both full - we can do small things with great love....) and a tiny crucifix.

We made molded chocolate lollies, which was a huge hit both in the process of making them by squishing melted chocolate into the molds and in the actual eating of the treats.

And now, long after our guest went home with his mother, our surviving children fell asleep, and my husband also turned in for the night, I'm here with a cup of tea, my memories of my George, and a Cadbury Dairy Milk.

Everything can be sweeter with chocolate. Even grief.

****

Here's a fun rendition of the Carol of the Bells. My friend Ellie, who is raising five boys and has seven little souls waiting for her in heaven (you can imagine she has been a constant support to me and source of such strength), sent me this link to her husband (who is a high school teacher) and two of their sons performing at the school Christmas concert: