You know, I didn’t even burn anything…

Sometimes I amaze myself.

I really do.  Now, I know that I just just said that I didn’t burn anything, and I didn’t…there was a close call with the biscuits, but that’s neither here nor there.  That crisis was averted.  I don’t know about you, but I can’t EVER make them without burning them on the bottom.

But I was somewhat nervous about cooking all that stuff.  After all, this is the woman who burned dinner the night before.

Reading a recipe is apparently very hard for me…as in, for whatever reason, I just want to take everything that’s on the ingredient list and throw it in the bowl at one time.  I have to get better about reading the instructions and adding things as I’m supposed to.  I didn’t make any huge mistakes yesterday, but again, like the biscuits, there were some close calls.

And I do have a question for you.  My sweet potato casserole said to cut 6 marshmallows in half and add them to the mix.  That would’ve been fine had I bought the big marshmallows, but I didn’t.  I bought the small ones.  How many mini-marshmallows do you think make up a big one.  There was a pretty big discussion about it yesterday.  I can’t, for whatever reason, fudge a recipe.  Like I have to measure everything.  When recipies call for a pinch of this or a dash of that…I melt.  I need to know.  So it was bothering me that I didn’t know how many mini marshmallows to put in the stupid bowl.

I determined, after placing them in my hand and asking for a general consensus, that 10 mini ones make up a big one.  And then, I had to count out 60 mini marshmallows.

I can assure you, a cooking show is not in my future.  Emeril and Rachel Ray don’t have to worry about any competition.  No, seriously.

And the turkey?  Oh.My.Word.  Now, I can’t do much in the kitchen confindently, with the exception of cooking a ham and a turkey.  I can’t take credit for the concoction as my mother taught me how to make a ham and the BFF’s husband (who really needs to blog more) told me how to make the turkey.  But my turkies are PHE.NOM.I.NAL.

Seriously.

Only I didn’t make the turkey yesterday.  The boy asked if he could.  Apparently he is just as confident as I am in the turkey making department, and truth be told, just because I can make a turkey doesn’t mean that I WANT to make a turkey.  But I will… if it means not having my children deprived of a proper holiday meal.

Ok, that’s a lie too.  Last year we had Christmas dinner at iHop but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to cook.  Ok, so that’s a lie, too.  I didn’t want to cook.  But it didn’t matter.  When you’re shuffling kids back and forth between houses on Christmas Day and it’s only the three of you that are going to eat, and one of you will only eat mashed potatos and stuffing, it seems pointless.  So iHop seemed like the answer.

Anyway.  The boy’s turkey was out of this world.  Like to the point that I would keep him around based on his turkey making skills.  Seriously.  It was that good.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a holiday without something going awry.  Come on now.  You know how I operate.  There’s always something that happens that makes people laugh.

When peeling the potatoes, I suggested that we peel them in the sink.  The boy has a garbage disposal and that’s what I always did as a child.  (I’m insanely jealous that the boy has a garbage disposal.  And a dishwasher.  And a kitchen that doesn’t house his washer and dryer.)  That was all fine and dandy, but apparently there were too many peels and the sink got stopped up.  So while I’m transferring the sweet potatoes from the bowl to the casserole dish for the sixth time (no, I’m not exaggerating.  Between the boy and I, we had two baking dishes.  Two.  And I didn’t quite plan what should go where very well.) he’s trying to unstop the sink.

He’s over there with the plunger and I’m frustrated because I just want to be done with all this cooking stuff so that I can sit down and all of a sudden there was water in the sky.  It was like Old Faithful right there in his kitchen.

There was water everywhere.

And he, with his little boy charm, exclaimed “Now that was cool!”

And I suppose it was.  Of course, by then, the wine was calming me down and anything and everything was funny.

Note to self (and to the boy):  Heather should never be given wine on an empty stomach and even on a full stomach, proceed with caution.

But everything was wonderful.  The pies, the sweet potatoes, the green bean casserole, the mashed potatoes, the company… everything.  I even got to hang out and chat with Sis.

So all in all, it was a darn good thanksgiving.

How was yours?

Until next time…