Picture this. It’s Thanksgiving Eve, and 14 guests will be arriving tomorrow — for a total of 20 including my family. It’s a beautiful, warm day. And instead of just being content with the Turkey and mashed potatoes, and the pumpkin pies 7 of us would win (hopefully) in the Turkey Trot Race the next morning — I couldn’t just let it rest. I had to “get the kids involved in the kitchen” and teach them how easy it was to make a pecan pie, and make a surprise lemon meringue pie for my brother. (In honor of what my Mom would have done for him.)
An hour later, the warm pecan pie is on the floor upside down, the meringue is bubbling over on the stove, and my 3-year old, wanting to be a part of the action, had pulled his stool over to the sink and broken the faucet. Water is spraying on the ceiling. The part, Kohler said, “would be delivered by Saturday.” (Do you have any idea how many times I had to mop the floor just to get the gummy syrup off the floor?)
Yes — I screamed and yelled.
As my husband’s car pulled into the driveway, my 3 year old said, “I’m going to tell on you for yelling at us.” And he did.
Thanks to my husband, my mother-in-law, my mop and my convivial guests — it all turned out OK.
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