Thanksgiving has come and gone and we’re all 2.6 pounds heavier (give or take a pound depending on how much stuffing you consumed). I’m pretty proud of myself for only eating a total of two slices of pie – one cherry and one pumpkin; however, I did polish off the entire bowl of fruit salad. I know that sounds angelically whole-food-worthy, but the salad consisted of sour-cream, cool-whip, and mini marshmallows. I think that cancelled out any and all nutritional value in the maraschino cherries buried under the fluff, but it sure was good.
Not counting the two minor stove-stop fires I started, the cooking went smoothly. My mother ran my kitchen like an army sargeant runs a crew of men. I’m a little slow in the mornings, but she kept cracking the whip, moving me from one main course to another. I didn’t even cap any pumpkin pies with a lid. There’s nothing story-worthy to tell.
My only mishap came in the form of a can of pumpkin. The can jumped up from the counter and sliced a gash in my hand. After squelching the red fountain on my lower fore-finger knuckle, FringeMan saved the day with a trip to the store to replace my pumpkin. I still have a gaping hole in my finger, but it goes nicely with the four fresh burns from the woodstove. By spring I’ll either get the hang of handling fire or I’ll have no hands left. Hopefully my learning curve isn’t as curvy as my jeans.
Sales starting at midnight Thursday night squashed any desire to save money and fight crowds on black Friday. I could have woken up at 4 a.m., but I’m mostly a social shopper and no-one else would wake up. By Friday afternoon that cost me an extra $4 on my son’s jeans. I contemplated not buying him denim until next black Friday, but the success of his sixth grade year was at stake. FringeMom did manage to snag a printer/copier/scanner for twenty bucks and I bought a red microwave named Ken.
We played Scrabble the rest of the weekend. And went to see the Muppets, because Kermit is dear to my heart. The kids liked it, but it was a FringeMan favorite. I think I saw a tear in his eye when the chickens started clucking in harmony.
Now we’re eating turkey morning, noon, and night and trying to be thankful for the twenty-two pounds of stuffing still in the fridge. It was a good holiday.