This Thanksgiving we are traveling to Arkansas. Now providing we actually make it there - doubtful as this will be the Mr's first 10 hour car-ride with the boys in, oh, two years - I'm going to be confined in a house with a 3yr old, a 5yr old, and two 6yr olds, my semi-anal-retentive husband, my step-father, my sister, my mom who will have been cooking for the previous 32 hours, and anyone in Polk County my mom talked to within the last week and a half. Which of those do you imagine I fear most? I'll give you a hint, I get crabby baking a single pie.
Every year my sister and I tell our mother Just buy some damn store rolls. We don't need 4 different types of stuffing. For the love of God, mom, one of each kind of pie is plenty! And every year she says Yeah, maybe I will. And this year, like every year we walk into the house and she is, well, like this
surrounded by 14 pies, 3 pans of rolls, a gallon of mashed potatoes, and a turkey the size of a small horse. She will glance over at us and without uttering a word very clearly say I might kill somebody and it is up to you to save their lives and ultimately your own. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen, I'm trying to cook. We will back away slowly and hide until she calls for someone to set the table and find 16 extra chairs to seat everyone.
Eventually she'll emerge from the kitchen having shed her psychosis and we will devour the best damn yeast rolls on this planet, perfectly whipped mashed potatoes with just the right amount of lumps, and chocolate pie that will make you see God.
While we really meant it when we told her we didn't need all this food, it was mainly said to spare her the mental and physical breakdown that comes with creating the meal because we truly don't want to live in a world where my mother's yeast rolls aren't on the Thanksgiving table. Sure I'm thankful for my kids' health, friends and family, safe traveling and all that jazz but damn if I'm not thankful for those yeast rolls. Yes, I'm thankful for yeast rolls.