There is a pumpkin pie baking in my oven, a pot of homemade turkey broth simmering on the stovetop and a pan of cranberry sauce merrily boiling away on the burner next to it; I’m feeling pretty smug about my culinary expertise right about now.
That is not to say that I have accomplished this all alone, indeed; the Man-Cub assisted in the making of the pie by seeding the pumpkins, peering anxiously into the oven as they roasted, pureeing the cooked pumpkin in the food processor, adding ingredients to the mixing bowl and pouring the batter into the pie shell. He is destined for a future as a pastry chef with his own reality television show, a line of high-priced exotic spices and a horde of groupies. Or, at the very least, he will be a connoisseur of pumpkin pie and there’s no shame in that.
Tomorrow, I plan to get an extra hour or so of sleep before wrestling Foghorn Leghorn (who, by the way was apparently a rooster, at least according to Wikipedia. Why did I think he was a turkey? I have no idea. Do I really care? No; my turkey looks like a Foghorn Leghorn therefore, he is) out of his salt bath. I’ve got the base of my stuffing ready to go so; I’ll just have to add vegetables, butter and broth to it before shoving it all up in Foghorn’s bidness and throwing him into the oven.
While he cooks, I’ll bake my rolls (double ovens, oh how I love thee!), prepare mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and sweet potato casserole. Also, during the day, I plan to watch the Macy’s parade with the kids while we decorate our Christmas tree. I’m also going to set up the rest of my decorations and, if the stars align just right, to take Christmas card photos of the kids. Really, though, since it will just be Hugh, the kids and me for dinner, I’m looking forward to it being a relaxed day.
And I’m thankful for that.