For Thanksgiving dinner, I was assigned to take rolls, sweet potatoes and dessert.
These were all things I thought I could handle. I make bread every livelong week. I have made rolls fairly often. My love affairs with sweet potatoes and dessert make them familiar undertakings around here.
I made the rolls Wednesday afternoon. I quadrupled the recipe. Last time I made rolls for a family gathering, they were a fail. I am trying to perfect a perfect whole wheat roll recipe and they're not...perfect yet. It seemed to be going better this time. I thought I had a better merger of the wheat flour and gluten and lecithin. Then, since it was a quadruple recipe, I put them in 9x13 pans so I could bake more at once. (I can fit two of those pans in my oven, but not two cookie sheets.)
This was a mistake.
The tops (and bottoms) were nicely browned but when they were cooled, I realized they were not sufficiently cooked inside.
So I called my mom. (What else?)
She said to try baking them some more. I did. But I felt demoralized. All that work and I didn't think the rolls were going to be all that good.
Adam (a.k.a. the fixer of demoralization) took me to the store with him after the kids went to bed. First he bought me a pumpkin pie milkshake at Jack in the Box because he knows my currency. By the time we'd wandered the store and bought Brussels sprouts for Adam's creative contribution to Thanksgiving and yogurt just because we're impulsive like that, I was cheered up.
Thanksgiving dawned with promise and I donned an apron and got to work. I planned to make pumpkin spice whoopie pies for dessert...something different. There's Jill, my across the street bestie and then there's Jill whose blog I've recently found and enjoy. The blogging Jill posted a recipe that I decided to try. I thought they'd be a nice contrast to the actual pies.
I was humming along and then I realized that I had messed up. Again. I'm really pretty lousy at following recipes. If I'm doing anything like talking on the phone or am involved with peace talks between warring children or the like, I usually mess up something. Adam responded to my cry of anguish and came into the kitchen. "What happened?" he asked. I told him that I was doubling the recipe. It called for 1/2 cup of milk and I'd put in 2 cups of milk.
He said, "How did that happen?" He seemed incredulous. I think it's a kind thing to seem shocked when someone does something stupid. Much better than if he'd acted like he expected me not to be able to add 1/2 + 1/2. (By the way, can you do me a favor and not mention this to the Snohomish School District? If they learn what a dolt I am, they will come and take Mark away from me and not let me homeschool. And I would really miss that guy.)
Pumpkin Whoopie Pies turned into Pumpkin Cakes. I used the maple cream cheese filling for frosting and it was lovely. I still want to try the whoopie pies someday. I'll have to build up my courage.
We went to Adam's mom's house for Thanksgiving. It was a terrific day. Adam's cousin Kristie was there and I had a great visit with her. (I had no idea when I married Adam that I would like some of his cousins so very much.) Braeden got to laugh with his uncles, Emma was happy with girl cousins and Kristie's sons provided fun for Mark. Adam chatted with his cousins (who are older) and learned things about his grandfather, who died when Adam was only seven. It was altogether nice.
As is our custom, we went to the movie in the evening. We watched The Muppets.
All five of us loved it! I can't recommend it enough. It was funny and sweet and there were lots of '80s references that made me laugh. You should see it.
Late last night when we crawled into bed, a little jittery from the big Diet Coke we'd shared during the movie, I slid my ice cold feet over to Adam's warm feet which he never minds.
I thought about our day. I thought about all that I'm blessed with in my life, all that I'm grateful for. I realized something.
On my list of things I'm thankful for, Adam's the first ten things. At least.