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To baste, or not to baste

By Sally Pla
Monday, Nov 17 2008, 06:02 PM

Well, it’s almost Thanksgiving, the horror, the horror. For those of us moms who don’t particularly enjoy the culinary arts, this time of year can have its special challenges. Personally, I’d almost rather be in Target at 6 am Friday morning than in my kitchen at 6 pm Thursday evening.  The enormity of the turkey dinner task weighs heavily upon me.

It didn’t always. I used to enjoy fussing in the kitchen. But I’m old and cranky now, I have a busy life, and I am dead sick of my kitchen.  I’m burned out on short-order cooking all the pancakes, grilled cheeses, casseroles, chicken dishes, burgers, spaghetti dinners, waffles, mac’n’cheeses, sandwiches, omelets, stir fries, stews, soups etc.etc. that my revolving door crowd of growing men seem to constantly request.  

I’m forever dealing plates out over the counter, setting ‘em up for another meal.   Always shoveling massive quantities of food into their terrible gaping maws, only to be confronted with calls for “More, please! ” and “Mom! I’m hungry again!”

Again?” I whimper, depleted, exhausted.  Three teenage sons grow like weeds, you know?  And now I have to put on a whole Thanksgiving dinner, too? I am the only female in our household, and hey, I can only do so much. What kind of sick chauvinistic joke has my life turned out to be, after all?

My family would argue just the reverse. According to them, I hardly cook at all. Or, at least, I don’t cook a proper dinner nearly often enough.  To which I reply: Hey, just how many things can one woman do in a day?  So sometimes I just don’t get around to the dinner portion of the evening. No one’s exactly starving in our family. If you’re worried, take a vitamin, okay?

But tonight, I have to concede that they may have an actual point.  As we were ordering pizza, my fourteen year old son informed me of something that happened, er, the last time we ordered pizza.

We’d forgotten to turn the outside lights on so the driver could find the house, so when my son answered the door, he apologized to the driver for the dark driveway.

“That’s okay, kid,” said the pizza driver. “I know the way to your house. “

 “In fact,” the delivery guy added, “I've pretty much watched you grow up.”

 Just let that sink in for a moment.

Has anybody got any good pumpkin pie recipes?  

 

 

 

--Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.


 
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