And so it begins. Tonight, I have cut up two loaves of bread into tiny, one inch cubes which are now spread out on my dining room table to sit overnight and go stale. It just looks like Thanksgiving in here.
I do this so that I can make the stuffing tomorrow. Actually, I’ll make a lot of stuff tomorrow and then put it in the fridge so that on Thursday I won’t be overwhelmed with things to do. The day before, I tend to put together the casserole’s… green bean, sweet potato… then I make the breads… zucchini and banana or pumpkin. Everything else gets done on the day of to include the pies and the mashed potatoes, the fresh veggies and of course, the turkey!
I’m a straight up traditional type of girl. I don’t like my stuffing to have any crazy shit in it like sausage or mushrooms or walnuts and I loathe cornbread stuffing. I think it tastes like poo. My stuffing recipe came from my grandma as far as I know. Maybe t was her mom’s or maybe even her grandma but I only remember as far back as my own.
I remember the first year I cooked Thanksgiving for Dean. He had never had home made stuffing because his parents made Stove Top which I find bizarre. Maybe Stove Top with your pork chops on any random Wednesday… but for Thanksgiving??? Blasphemy. At any rate, he giggled at my efforts and snickered at my insistence that home made stuffing beats the snot out of Stove Top any day and it was only a second after he put the first bite in his mouth that he was eating his words. Now, he won’t have it any other way which is fortunate because I am not making fucking Stove Top on Thanksgiving.
My mother ran the holiday kitchen like a friggin’ drill sergeant. A drill sgt. with a constant glass of bourbon slushie in her hand starting at six in the morning. I run my kitchen a bit more relaxed and usually let the kids help me with certain things. Last year, Owen and Olivia made the green bean casserole all by themselves and they did a lovely job. Tonight, they helped me hack up the bread and spread the pieces out to dry.
Tomorrow, I’m going to take them out to hunt for pine cones which will be not so much of a “hunt” per say as it will be a gathering. There are pine cones all over the place outside and so I’m going to get them to collect some up so we can make some little pine cone turkeys out of them. I figure maybe we’ll hot glue gun everyone’s names to them and they can stick them on the table at each person’s place. As if we’ll have so many people that we’ll need assigned seating. Whatever. But, they love to glue shit to other shit and so it’ll be something fun for them to do.
Maybe while they’re at it I’ll have them make some Christmas ornaments, too. Why the fuck not?
That’ll be my day. After making turkeys we’ll have to make our traditional Indian garb that we’ll wear on Turkey day. This typically consists of vests and beaded necklaces and head dresses. No one dresses up like pilgrims because we are anti pilgrim. Pilgrims suck.Plus, they dressed funny.
On a far more disgusting note, Emi has the shits. This is due to her incessant drooling which comes on the ass of her teething. She swallows a ton of drool and then shits herself silly for a week straight. I’m not kidding, either. I will change this baby’s diaper and before I have her pants back on she has farted and shit herself. I’m up to my elbows in baby poop.
I don’t much care about the actual poop itself but it hurts Emi’s ass. She’s got major assburn happening and just when I’ve got it all fine and dandy again, she’ll crap like a donkey right in the middle of the night and then sleep in it. Come morning time, her ass is as red as a fire truck, the poor thing.
This sucks because now we are even waking up a few times in the night and trying to change her a lot. It does no good. Unless I sit on ass-duty all night just staring at her butthole for signs of impending bursts of nastiness, she’s going to wake up with a sore tushy.
I don’t know how I miss it any how. When I say that she is shitting her brains out, I’m not kidding. It’s like, the minute I shut my eyes at night, I hear it. Head on my pillow and all I can think about is the fact that she has once again unleashed a monster on me and it has to be taken care of. Off I race to get another diaper, the wipes, the Desitin, the baby powder and just about everything you can possibly put on a baby’s ass to try to protect it from itself. It’s insane.
The best part of Thanksgiving is that I will be on kitchen duty and Dean will be on ass duty.
It’ll be great.