Before the tea kettle whistled she was up buzzing around the kitchen. I could hear the slam of the oven door and dishes clattering in the sink.  I watched her through a small glass less window while sitting at the breakfast nook.  Her gray hair was neatly pinned at the top of her head and I could see the outline of her radiant face. Although advanced in years she still appeared like the day I met her, boundless with energy like a kitten in the night.

I was dating her youngest son and already deeply in love. I was terrified how she would react to the fact that I was a single mom of a little boy and not from a Catholic family. My boyfriend still lived at home while attending college. My son Jacob and I were over for a visit when she unexpectedly came home. Jacob was curdled up on the sofa coiled up in a blue blanket when the door opened.

I wondered how long he would sleep before I would have to explain. She was carrying a bagful of groceries. My boyfriend whisked the bag from her arms.

She extended her hand to me and smiled. I relaxed a little and made small talk.  She asked if we had already eaten.  I shook my head.

“Well,  then just give me a moment to put away the cold foods and I’ll  make us some lunch.”

She ran to the kitchen, put the tea kettle on and returned to the table with three small crust less egg salad sandwiches.

“Here this should tide us over for a while.”

When the tea kettle whistled. I nearly forgot that Jacob was sleeping on her sofa, when I turned and saw him stir. Just then my boyfriend’s Mother appeared with a pot of tea.

It was too late to explain. She had already discovered the little blue bundle on the couch.

“Well what do we have here?” She asked, as she made a beeline to the couch.

“ Hi, I’m Jacob. What’s your name?” he said, flashing a playful grin.

“ He’s my son.” I said in an apologetic tone.

“ I see, he’s seems like a clever little boy,” then turned and gave her son a surprised look.

I waited for the barrage of questions to begin about my son and my failed marriage, instead she invited Jacob to the table and served the tea.  My three year old entertained us with his wild adventures at the park with his toy hero the Long Ranger. After the sandwiches, that were simple yet delicious, she returned to the kitchen for dessert. Jacob squirmed at the table. His eyes nearly popped when she returned carrying a ten inch high lemon meringue pie.

My nervousness faded after my first bite. She went on and on about choosing the right lemons.

“You need to find the ones that are bright yellow and a little soft. The smaller lemons often have more juice.”

I wasn’t sure if her comments were intended as a metaphor for her son, and how he needed to choose the right girlfriend. I squelched my nagging insecurity and let the lemon custard dissolve on my tongue. I shared my love of baking with her and that I worked in a Scandinavian bakery. I found out that we both loved marzipan and she was learning to make wedding cakes. I felt I made a connection. The afternoon was lovely. My fears were temporarily quelled.

We finished our tea and pie and Jacob and I said our goodbyes.

Later that evening I got a call from my boyfriend. He was awfully quiet and stumbled for the right words. I knew he was calling to end our relationship.

“ Yes, what is it ?” I asked, already knowing it was over.

“ It’s about my Mom, and well her impression of you.”

I stopped him, “ I know what you’re going to say. She wants you to find a nice Catholic girl that doesn’t have a child.”

“ Well, not exactly. She thought you were delightful and that Jacob was adorable and well behaved. She was concerned if I was prepared enough to take on the responsibility of a young child. ”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and started to cry.

“So, is she okay with us dating?”

“She is, as a matter of fact she invited you and Jacob to Sunday dinner to meet the rest of the family.”

After meeting his Mother and the rest of the family our relationship took off. In a few months we were engaged. My son and I were welcomed with open arms into their large loving family. His eight brothers and sister extended their welcome to Jacob and I.

It did not seem to matter that I was a single Mom or that I didn’t attend their church. His Mother had set the example that I was the perfect “lemon” for her son. The rest of the family followed her welcoming attitude.  We enjoyed meals together, took long walks to the park. We played scrabble weekly and laughed at the silly things that would happen whenever we were together.

I would spend many afternoons in her kitchen over the years trying to perfect my skills. She was at ease when she baked.  I marveled how her pie crusts were always perfect. She would use ice cold butter and crumble it quickly into a mound of flour. In a few short minutes she would create a pie crust that would be flaky and buttery. Her fillings were equally delicious.  On one occasion while teaching me to how to make meringue we experience a minor kitchen disaster. She was describing making meringue, “ as simple as making pie dough.”  I laughed, my attempts tasted more like oily cardboard then pastry. Jacob and I separated two dozen eggs and placed the whites into her mixing bowl.  She turned to us and  said, “ You must beat the whites until large peaks form, before gently spooning the mountain of foam onto the custard.” While explaining the process she lost control of the beater and it sprayed white meringue all over us. It was a joke that we would laugh about for years to come.

As the years went by my life got busier. My family grew. I still managed to visit her weekly often with several children saddled to me on the bus. She always welcomed them and never dissuaded them for being included in our conversation or in any game we might play. She would always have some special treat that she concocted accompanied by a good cup of English tea.

During the years she became more than a mentor in baking.  She was a confidant and an anchor during the many rough storms that I would face.  When it was discovered that I needed brain surgery or lose my sight, she accompanied me to my countless doctor appointments. She would set my mind at ease, and soon I would find myself laughing at one of our shenanigans.

When Jacob was sent to Iraq she came to my side. She would insist that we bake something together and play a game of scrabble. Our silly rituals brought me peace.

After the children were grown we could linger at the table and finish a scrabble game. We would sip tea and nibble on delicious pies or cookies with no little children under our feet. I can still recall her sweet voice assure me, “These day’s go so quickly, before you know it the children will be grown and all our games will be uninterrupted.” It seemed at times she missed those days as much as I did. We would talk about the early days, when she first met us and how our friendship grew.

She would remind me of how surprised and delighted she was when the little blue bundle on her sofa popped his head out and gave her a big smile. At that very moment she considered him her grandson. She understood my initial apprehension and believed she would have been terrified if the roles had been reversed.

Even when she forgot what day it was after developing dementia, she would recall the day she met Jacob and me the perfect “lemon” for her youngest son.

I for one found the perfect Mother -n -law.