Adulting is hard. A lot of time, I feel like the monkey in the middle that just can’t quite reach the ball. Today is Thanksgiving and I couldn’t even pull together two pies to take to our family meal. I did not have all the ingredients. Why? Because I have so many things in my brain that things I am supposed to remember, fly out all willy nilly. And because I live with little monsters.
So the story is, PLAN A was to make a banana cream pie. You know, the good, old fashioned kind where you make the custard with heavy whipping cream. I BOUGHT bananas but needed heavy whipping cream. And then my kids ate the bananas. Right. My kids who avoid fruit like the plague suddenly ate 5 bananas in 3 days. Ok, so now I needed bananas AND heavy whipping cream.
But I forgot. And forgot, again.
Because I am a fighter, I tried to pull a hail mary where I sent my loving husband to the store for bananas and heavy cream on Thanksgiving morning. Negative. Our little grocery store was closed. I sent him to the open mini-mart, too. Negative.
Me on the phone: “No? Oh crap. Okkkkkkkk…… let’s try a pecan pie. Pick up some pecans and I can make one of those. I have an extra pie shell.”
And you know what he comes home with? A BOX OF BROWNIES. He tells me that the mini-mart was like a wasteland and the shelves were bare. There were nary any pecans to be had and he had to go rogue and just brought me any desert so that I wouldn’t come to Thanksgiving empty-handed. I thanked him but kept trying.
PLAN C: I had a pie crust and a can of cherry filling. But no time to make a pie crust for the top.
PLAN D: I had a graham cracker crust before the before mentioned banana cream pie. So maybe I could whip up a chocolate pie. It called for 3 eggs. I had one. ONE. Seriously, I can not believe I keep three small humans alive. It called for whipped topping. I had none. I am seriously feeling like Old Mother Hubbard at this point.
Then my saving grace walked into the kitchen, puts his hand on my shoulder and with kind eyes says, “Sorry, I couldn’t find anything. Let’s go buy a pie.” For the love of goodness, this guy. This guy goes out on Thanksgiving to buy ingredients that I FORGOT to buy, can’t find anything, and then decided to apologize to ME. And then gives me permission to quit, to fold and just relax in the reality that I am not, in fact, a domestic goddess and must buy a store-bought pie for Thanksgiving.
Gosh darn, I love that guy. Luckily, our thanksgiving meal was in a town twenty miles away with an open grocery store AND a bakery.
PLAN E: I waltzed right in, bought a pecan pie and a tub of cool whip. Best $10 I have ever spent.
