I'm hosting Thanksgiving tomorrow at our small townhouse with our giant family. Luckily, nine people can't make it so there will only be eighteen of us. Eighteen people. And only three of them are from my side of the family. That's what happens when you marry into a family of eight siblings. In a townhouse. It's not like I have a whole lot to cook, I only have to do the bird, throw some crescent rolls in the oven along with three boxes of Trader Joe's sweet potato pie bites. But just making sure the house and everything is in order is tiring. Our house is a mess most of the time, but when I'm having people over, it has to be spotless. Weird. I have a headache and I'm exhausted and I can't think right now, so I leave you with this:
I was on the phone with my dad yesterday and he said, "So what's for dessert on Thursday?" And I said, "Pumpkin pie, apple pie, and cookies." He didn't say it, but I know he was hoping a pecan pie would be making an appearance. He's from the south, and pecan pie is a staple there. So I trekked out to the store, bought a bag of pecans and some corn syrup and got to baking. Yeah, that's a homemade pie crust, no big deal. He should be pleased.
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