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Day two of the Homemade with Love photo shoot is where Penny De Los Santos captured the cover shoot for the book. We tried it with a few different tops and various baked goods. This wasn’t the final of either, but everyone had a good laugh when Penny attached those clamps to my shirt—one of my friends cleverly refers to them as my suspenders.

Looking back on this photo, almost a month after the shoot, I realized I have a twinkle in my eye. The photo shoot was emotional, but to see that genuine smile on my face warmed my heart. It reminds me that somewhere inside is the old me, and she comes out, ever so slowly as each day passes.

You can get “extra helpings” from day two of the photo shoot over at my Flickr page.

It used to be I woke up and knew what kind of day I was going to have, or at least what mindset I would approach it with. Most days it was with a sunnier side of life outlook. On the days I stirred feeling a restlessness in my core, I'd do my best to break out of it.

Nowadays, unpredictability seems to be the name of the game. I feel lost, like I'm in need of an anchor, something to ground me and assure me that everything will be okay. I know this is only a phase, but the anxiety on my part stems from the wonder of how long this phase will last. The feelings of sadness and insecurity also come barreling out of nowhere. One minute I'm fine, fondling Valentino dresses at Loehmann's—I didn't buy any, the next I'm a teary mess talking to the salesman at West Elm. It just seems to be par for the course these days.

I needed something to center me, keep me focused and remind me that I can do this, even during the seconds and minutes when I don't want to. See, everyone seems to think my girls are enough to keep moving forward. I love them, gosh knows I really do. Isabella and Virginia, if you girls read this post one day when you grow up, you should know that next to your daddy, the two of you are my beacons. I am very aware, though, that you both need to be free to grow up one day and live your own lives. You do not need to be tethered to a mom who is utterly dependent on you for her own happiness. I've always been keenly aware of this, long before your papa died.

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I took this picture a few months back when Mikey, the girls and I were at Socrates Sculpture Park in Queens. The park is filled with art installations, and this saying was scrawled on one that reminded of the top of a lighthouse. Something about those four words jumped out at me, beckoning me to take a picture. Almost as if I would need this reminder down the road.

I've been thinking it would be therapeutic to write a book about what not to say to a grieving widow. While it's true most of it is well-intentioned, some of it leaves me flat out bewildered. I especially get a kick out of the ones that say God has a plan. Um, more like a twisted sense of humor is how I'd see it if I considered myself a religious person.

Really, I'd love to know your plan for me God.

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I pride myself in making killer pancakes. The secret is butter. Really, it's a no brainer, but often times people seek to make a healthy version and wonder why they can't recreate that crisp ridge around the outer edge.

It's butter people, so don't be afraid of it. I melt a couple of tablespoons for the batter, then add a generous pat to the pan for each batch of pancakes. It's important to grease the pan again for each new batch, or you can kiss that crackly, crunchy pancake rim goodbye.

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This is what the sunset looks like from our deck on Cape Cod.

It might be more accurate to say this is what it used to look like, since this memory was captured last year when Mikey was still standing by my side watching it with me. I imagine I'll be a wet mess of tears as I watch my first one this weekend without him. I hate the reality of my new world. I downright despise the unfairness of it all, and want to scream so loud he might actually hear me from wherever he's watching this all unfold. I know he hates the brutality of it all too.

We lived for those sunsets. No matter what we were doing, the world went on pause, as we gazed at it, always in awe of how quickly those last few minutes flew by. That moment when the sun dips below the horizon, now reminds me of how quickly Mikey exited my world. In one sudden swoop, the fire in my soul was extinguished, and I'm left wondering if it will ever be ignited again.

As I sat down to share this recipe with all of you, a pang of anxiety took hold. Good heavens, I've built this up big time, and there's always the fear of disappointment. This isn't to say these slushies won't leave you looking like Martha Stewart with all your friends, not to mention kids will now worship you, even if you didn't give birth to them.

The problem is in my mind, this recipe is so easy, it almost seems a non-recipe. I mean, it's really just adding cherry conserves and ice to a blender.

Are you deflated? Wondering why I kept you in suspense for so long?

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Like many home cooks, I use the leftover chicken carcass to make stock. Every now and then, though, you need stock and have no leftover roast chicken. The secret to quick, flavorful stock was so easy, yet I needed Jenny Linford, author of From My Mother’s Kitchen, to point it out: brown the chicken first to add a depth of flavor. I used her base technique with a few changes. The two major ones being I used chicken thighs instead of a whole chicken for more flavor and less money at the market, and went one step further and also sauteed the vegetables to coax more flavor than simply simmering them in water would. Linford used thyme in her stock, but I prefer the more traditional tastes of parsley and bay leaf, and while I love leeks, regular yellow onions are less expensive. Guess you can say this is a thrifty woman’s version of her recipe, but you’d ever know from the rich flavor.

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My mind is constantly a whirl of recipes. Some of them are to share here with all of you, others are destined for the Cuisinart blog I've been writing the last four years. A few will soon grace Betty Crocker and Pillsbury's websites too, like that chocolate chess pie I teased you with recently. Come September, there will be some new and inspiring afterschool snack ideas in Relish magazine.

Then there are the recipes I'm hoarding for the book proposal. I really hope to share those with you soon, but once I get the blasted proposal in order, it will still be quite some time before they get from my kitchen to yours.

And then there are the recipes like this one. The ones that demand to be shared immediately. The problem is there is no such thing as immediate these days, and for her patience, I owe Deb a big apology. I promised her this recipe a few weeks ago. Some might say I even taunted her with my tweets, but finding the time to transcibe my notes to these pages proved elusive.

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