Posted on

Coffee or Wine……because adulting is hard

I want a do-over. Yes, I want a do-over.  I know that a lot of you out there want the same thing. I am not ashamed and you shouldn’t be either. Because sometimes it gets to be too much and we just want to find our little corner and curl up with our thumb in our mouth and let someone else do the adulting for a while.

Some days I just don’t want to hear “Honey where is ……..”, “Mum I can’t find …….” Aunty can you help with……., Mrs. H I can’t understand X,Y or Z” or any of the various variations of the above.  Neither do I want to  be one who always has to wear the “wicked witch of the west” crown.  Always running behind a child, employee, colleague, family and the list goes on. Because being the level-headed responsible person is a full-time job. I am not superwoman.  There I have said it.  I am not.

So yes some days I want a do-over.  But I have realized that my daily reality does not allow for that, so hence, in my mind, that is why coffee and wine were invented….because adulting is hard.

Do you remember fondly, as I do, the glorious carefree days of our youth? When you worked because you had to admittedly, but that was really it.  No bills and no major responsibilities.  You pretended to be all grown up, making your own decisions but as time has passed we now get to realize that the period of carefree partying and sleeping in late, was all because mummy and daddy allowed us to experience that time in our lives. The skipping through the rain and jumping in puddles without a care was because someone else made sure that our clothes were washed, food and drink was waiting when we made it home and truthfully that we were allowed to just be.  Now it is our time and for one sometimes I want a do-over because being the adult is challenging.

For example, in dealing with your child the adult reserves are seriously tested.  I love my children, but Lord the patience needed.

I remember growing up and testing the boundaries of my mother’s patience and periodically she would say “I hope that when you have a child I am alive to see it and that the child is just like you”  In my naivete, I took that as a compliment.  It wasn’t.  Well, skip forward a few years (read decades) and I have a child who some people say Is. Just. Like. Me.  My mother is still alive and having the last laugh.  “de berry don’t drop too far from de tree” (Children inherit traits and attitudes from their parents) perhaps is most fitting. Really? yes really.

Loving, curious, opinionated and stubborn. Did I say stubborn? Definitely stubborn.  I don’t think that I am stubborn but hey my mother says I was; my husband says I am, so I don’t have to agree but if they feel that way… huh… maybe in some ways I am. But now having a child with those traits, yeah, not so nice at all.

So now I get to say things like “Use the streetlights as your guide. When they come on you need to be at home or very close to being inside of the house and not now leaving your friend X’s house” because I have discovered that just saying “Use the streetlights as your guide and come home” means nothing. The child can be very literal when it suits his purpose. Just as asking “do you have all of your gear for whichever sport the next day” does not translate into getting up and checking or packing said gear. Therefore, so that my tribe is not forced to come to get their Godchild by proxy from my house, I have to be very clear and precise in my speech. Explaining that because your friends do it does not mean that you have too as well is also challenging.  But sometimes we are both at the same place at the same time and when we do get it right it is awesome.

So I have set boundaries.  An example of one that works is anything forgotten at home stays at home until you return. Homework, sports gear, money for field trips… anything.  Actions have consequences and we are all experiencing this.

So yes adulting is hard but for the times when it seems over the top, we have Coffee and Wine.

Bajan Brown Sugar

Posted on

Corn Soup for the Soul

So I like to think that I am a foodie. Among other dishes, I do a wicked corn soup. So much so that my fellow foodies have nick-named me the VP of Corn Soup. What is corn soup you may ask?  It is a refreshing soup that can be a meal. It is usually found outside of a fete or at a lime and was originally a Trinidadian and Guyanese thing.  But we here in Barbados like to share and copy, so we now have corn soup.

Now my corn soup has in sweet potatoes, pumpkin, split peas, English potatoes, vegetables, in fact, everything plus cream corn, corn kernels and small pieces of corn on the cob.  And importantly the bite-size pieces of pigtail and the pepper.  In fact, if a piece of pepper does not get “lost way”  in the soup something is wrong.

But more than just a great meal suitable for consumption after a period of drinking, corn soup for me signifies the women of my tribe.  You take a number of ingredients that by themselves might or might not be healthy and good for you, put them together add some heat and you get a masterpiece. We in the Caribbean, specifically the women, are a diverse group of individuals with our own idiosyncrasies but when tossed together under pressure, we are resilient.  “Necessity is the mother of invention” has always been one of our mottos. And although physically weaker than most of our male counterparts, we have shouldered burdens that they cannot begin to fathom.

For example, while sitting chatting with a male colleague recently I told him a few of my #lifeinleggings stories.  He totally could not understand why I was self-conscious about compliments until I share some of those stories.   After listening to me rant for a few I had to stop as his “flabber was totally gassed”, he could not wrap his brain around some of what I considered everyday events. Like how to walk the fine line between being seen as gracious when receiving a compliment or being seen as bitchy if you don’t respond in a manner that the person (read male) giving the compliment thinks is appropriate. Picture this …… you are walking from your car to your office and some random person shouts how nice you look in your outfit, you smile graciously and say thank you but keep walking.  You are hailed as the best female in the area.  Now picture the same scenario but this time you merely wave your hand and keep going but this time you are bombarded with negative comments “who she think she is?”, “Was just paying she a compliment to make she feel good” etc. Now you are persona non grata. Few men ever experience this situation.  Few ever have to monitor where they spend their time, who they engage in conversation, which roads they travel daily, etc but we as women have to.  This is our daily reality. We are very conscious that “ya betta don’t tek a six for a nine” In other words try very hard to understand your situation and “Do not misunderstand a person’s real intentions”

So we all develop and refine our tribe.  That group of strong, confident women that are always there to watch over you. To tell you stop, check  or re-think a position but most importantly to hold you down when needed because to be truthful no-one actually looks good in prison stripes and they DON’T HAVE WINE IN PRISON.

My tribe forms the ingredients for my corn soup; and when together, either physically or otherwise we cook up a fabulous corn soup for the soul. Because we need it.

See you somewhere around a corner or at a lime with a bowl of corn soup

Bajanbrownsugar