'Tis the Season

Tonight, we bake. It's a longstanding Christmas tradition in my family that every December, we bake hundreds (seriously, hundreds) of individually wrapped boat tarts: boat-shaped pastries topped with caramel and icing. If you're Filipino, you know what I'm talking about. Mom used to do the baking by herself, with me and dad spreading the caramel, but eating half of it along the way. This year I've promised dad that I would bring him some caramel since he wouldn't be able to easily eat a whole tart. Speaking of daddy, we are visiting tonight before the baking commences, so there will be an update on him soon enough. That said, it's getting harder and harder to provide updates. "Today was a good day." "Today was a bad day." "Today he slept a lot." Nothing really changes except for his shrinking frame.

One of my favourite boat tart memories (it wasn't at the time) of me and dad occurred last year. As I became older, I started accepting more boat-tart-baking responsibilities (except for the icing - mom won't let anyone try that, as it is a tricky business). Last year, since my holiday break started very early, I was going to make all the pastry. Mom had some volunteering to do, but dad was home, and I enlisted Scott's help in doing simple tasks to make the production line move a little quicker. I should also remind readers that Wallace was only four months old at this point and still a little Scottish Terror.

As the day wore on, everything was proceeding pretty smoothly. Sure, my help sort of disappeared to watch Iron Man, but hey, I was baking! Fast forward to early evening: Wallace has to be taken out for a pee. Wallace used to go on the balcony - sometimes, anyway. It was always a guessing game as to when and where he would go, and he was still pretty prone to accidents, which is why he was only allowed to roam the kitchen. Since I had my hands full, I didn't think much of letting Scott watch him on the balcony. Dad was on the phone with Stacey when Scott yelled out that Wallace wasn't peeing, so I gave him the go-ahead to bring him back in. However, Wallace proceeded to run around the living room and dining room area. Oven door down and hot baking tray in hand, I frantically yelled out, "CATCH HIM! CATCH HIM!" It was too late. Wallace had come to a halt on my mom's very expensive and CREAM-COLOURED dining room carpet and let a steady stream go while I watched helplessly from the kitchen, screaming, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Stace could hear the commotion on the other end, and dad and I spent the next hour scrubbing the carpet, wondering who was going to get in more trouble, him, me, or Wallace. Everyone can laugh about it now, but it was a scary wait for my mom to come home. I learned a very valuable lesson that day: if you want something done right, do it yourself (or let your mom do it for you).