1. Prepare a large bowl. Add 2 eggs, 1/3 cup of oil, 3/4 cup of milk, and 3/4 cup of buttermilk into a bowl. Whisk well. In a separate bowl, measure and pour 2 cups of pancake mix.

I always had this theory that Mary Alice, my grandma, was psychic. When I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes almost simultaneously she would call asking how I was doing. Usually, I would strategically avoid the question and proceed to ask her about her life, but the conversation always concluded with a piece of encouragement often pertaining to the very situation I was in distress over.

My grandma was basically Raven from 'That's So Raven' but with fewer antics. My grandma knew me to my core. She knew I had dreams of doing everything. I didn't want to just be a lawyer, I wanted to be an author, designer, and a writer too. She understood that I could keep to myself at times and at other times the most boisterous person in the room. My grandma believed I had the ability to achieve whatever my heart desired. I could have told her I wanted to be the next Picasso and she would have found a way to get me a paint brush set.

My grandma understood my dimensional attributes. All these multifaceted points were my very own life ingredients. Whisk them together and you've got me.

2. Add the dry ingredient to the wet ingredients bowl. Mix well, but be careful to leave enough pancake mix residue to avoid over-saturation from the wet ingredients.

Growing up my mother and I experienced what every mother-daughter relationship goes through, the period of discontent otherwise known as 'we're probably gonna argue about everything under the sun'. When I was little I would get upset at my mom and write diary entries proclaiming how mean she was to me, purposely leaving the diary open to the entry on my bed where she could see.

To say the very least, I was a passive aggressive child.

My grandma taught me that my mom wasn't just my mom, but my responsibility. On paper, it sounds imprecise because the mother is typically seen as the protector, but my grandma transitioned me to protect my mom too. My grandmother had this illustrious reputation for protecting her family even if meant getting unorthodox, but that's why I loved her so much because I knew she would do anything to help the ones she loved. This visceral image of a mother-daughter relationship founded on the principle of familial protection helped me cultivate the lesson from my grandmother that I had to have my mom's back just like she had mine.

The night my grandma passed I remember this innate feeling of doing whatever I could to help my mom. I recognized similar traits in how my mom and my grandma would take care of me on my bad days peeking through how I helped her. I like to think my grandma was watching me that night.

My mom and I clashed sometimes, but we were always careful not to let our disagreements oversaturate the core or ingredients of our relationship, love.

3. Prepare griddle and set heat to medium level. Add a tablespoon of butter on the griddle. Using a ladle evenly distribute pancake mix on the griddle in even amounts on top of the tablespoon of butter.

I first realized my body was changing in the 6th grade. It was my first boy-girl swim party and I was shopping for swimsuits with my friends. Everything fit me wrong and made feel uncomfortable because my body had developed faster than my other friends. This made me view my body as something I wanted to run away from rather than something I revered.

My grandma had some of the utmost confidence I've ever seen. She wasn't afraid to love herself. On Sunday nights before church, I used to watch her do her nails in awe of one, how she would paint her nails on her right hand (something I still struggle with) and two, how content she looked doing her nails.

I would often emulate her and attempt to do my own nails. What I learned from her wasn't the vanity of beauty, but the inwardness of beauty. My grandma loved doing her nails because that's what made her feel good and sometimes loving your body can be as simple as that.

I still struggle sometimes viewing my body as something I love, but in those times I remember the small things that make me feel beautiful: charcoal face masks, Lululemon leggings, and painting my nails on Sunday always making sure to apply evenly distributed coats.

4. Wait for pancake mix to bubble and then flip with a spatula. Leave pancake on the griddle for approximately 3 minutes or until crispy edges are evident. Plate and serve.

I can't talk about my grandma without talking about God.

My grandma instilled in me a God fearing complex to persevere in this world. When I go through trials and tribulations, I often find solace in the word of God and praising God. These were things that were always expressed to me as an avenue from my family no matter how young I was. My grandmother would sing joyfully for all to hear during church songs. I admired her for it because I knew I would never sing out loud in church because I didn't believe it was necessary to hold the people in the pews in front of me hostage to my voice.

After my grandma passed, I went to church and I began to feel like singing. I wanted to be completely vulnerable in praising God and I realized why my grandma always sang. She knew singing was a display of physical praise for all to see. It was the outward action of wanting God to hear you other than prayer itself. I always knew about ways to follow God's will, but even as I grow older I learn about more ways to become vulnerable to God's will.

There are things God has planned for me that I'm not even aware or have planned, but that's the beauty of always trying to unlock my potential in my faith. My grandma helped me come to the revelation that I was always equipped with the blueprint to succeed on my plate and It was just up to me to serve it up for the world to see.