Custom Search

Monday, January 23, 2012

Thanksgiving Kitchen Recap

Make pie crusts. Three-year-old asks to eat it, thinking I just made two large cookies. The only other time she recalls seeing the rolling pin in her young life is when we rolled out sugar cookies two weeks earlier.

Next day, pour in pumpkin pie mix, 3-year-old asks to eat it. I tell her, "Mommy has to cook it first."

"Ohhhh... cook?"

I put the pie in the fridge. She goes to bed.

Bake a cheesecake. Quickly put it in the fridge before I'm tempted to "pre-slice" it so I can steal a bite. Bake the pumpkin pie. Run upstairs and work on newsletter. Get sleepy. Zoned out when the smell of pumpkin pie hits my office. Not good. Smells only reach upstairs when food is burning. Run downstairs.

Timer shows it went off 45 minutes earlier. Pie is black. Hope for best. Pumpkin is pretty resilient. I tell myself that again.

Thanksgiving morning. Husband snored all night. I hit "snooze" too many times. I finally get up at the last minute because the turkey MUST go into the oven NOW in order for it to be ready when family arrives for our noon meal.

In the kitchen, I realize the turkey roasting pan I thought I bought was only a thought I had forgotten to follow through with. No pan, but the turkey MUST. GO. IN. NOW.

Position turkey on a shallow broiling pan and aluminum foil, creating faux sides. I treat the butterball with a Swedish massage using essential olive oil and various herbs and spices before tenting the foil over it and sliding it into its tanning booth. You pampered, pampered turkey.

I am pressed for time, what with needing to shower, prepare various side dishes, and set up tables, chairs, and china. I log onto Facebook and cruise my News Feed. Priorities, baby. Priorities.

One hour before everyone arrives and the kitchen is empty of tables, chairs, china, everything needful to eat without pretending to be at Medieval Times. As is tradition, my husband is nowhere in sight. Call his cell phone. He has gone for a leisurely drive in the car with the girls. I attempt to muffle the complaints in my mind as I lug tables in from the garage while wearing brown suede wedge shoes.

Tables set up. Tablecloths spread out. China, silver, and stemware positioned. Husband and kids show up. Girls grab for every piece dinnerware Mommy has "apparently" set out for them to play with. Frown lines form under my makeup. Husband ushers girls into living room.

Turkey finishes tanning. I tell the gobbler I am going to give it an acupuncture treatmet. He doesn't see a thing coming. He looks delicious.

Family shows up 30 minutes late. Foods are cooled. Tongues are bitten. Meal is served.

It was a perfect Thanksgiving.

2 comments:

Heather said...

Hahaha. I love it. I can relate on so many levels. Glad to see everyone else has their own kitchen issues too!!

Great story!

Kristen said...

I just have to show up with the mashed potatoes. (Which, as you might expect, is a sacred honor at their table.)

But my dear husband has been hinting that maybe we can do our own turkey dinner the weekend before Thanksgiving one of these years. Grumble. This year I made potatoes, corn, stuffing, and chicken nuggets. I can't believe that didn't count.