So I mentioned that Thanksgiving wasn't going well for us. My Grand-Aunt saved the day, but it was nearly a disaster.
[Cue wavy video with descending audio scale transition to flashback to Thanksgiving Eve....]
First, I baked the first apple pie, and then threw the turkey in, thinking I'd bake the splenda pie when the turkey was done. Forgetting, of course, that the turkey was an all night, right-up-til-dinner thing.
No prob, I'd have the pie ready and waiting to go in as soon as the turkey was done, and it could bake while everyone was eating (it takes 50 minutes).
In the morning, Kate says to me, "Hey, did you know your pie is hard as a rock?"
Sure enough, I poke the crust and it's like steel. Break-your-teeth-on-it kind of hard.
Forgot to butter the crust before it went in the oven. I'm a little rusty, since I really haven't been doing any baking in several months.
Ok, no prob, I'll toss it and make two pies and bake them both while everyone is eating.
Just then, BANG!
There's some kind of small explosion in the oven. Big enough that the oven door blew open a little.
I look in, and the lid to the turkey pan, which is pyrex and was made to be and has been used in the oven half a dozen times before, is nothing but the metal frame. The fracking thing had shattered. All over the turkey.
I'm in tears, just hysterical. Now we had planned to go to Aunt Helen's anyway because her dinner was going to be around 1, but we were going to have our own big dinner later because it's our first since we bought the house, and we wanted to have our first Thanksgiving in OUR house, y'know?
Problem with just going to Aunt Helen's is that there is a young Marine fella living next door whose wife is bi-polar and just left him to go back to her family in Seattle, and he's left here all alone with his two year old daughter. The guy's helpless. He can barely cook a hot-dog. We had invited him to have Thanksgiving with us, because we feel so bad for him. He's a little off, and like I said, helpless, but he's a good kid.
Aunt Helen's met him a few times at our cook-outs, but we could hardly just invite him over to someone else's house.
Fortunately, Aunt Helen has a soft-spot for Marines, having been one herself back in the late 50's. (She was discharged after about 6 months because she got pregnant. They really used to do that!)
Kate drove over to talk to her about it, and of course I'm further upset because I'm feeling like she bailed on me in my hour of need.
Anyway, Aunt Helen says it's OK, and she would have invited him anyway if we weren't having our own dinner, and eventually I calm down and all is well. We had made so much stuff, that we had to take my car over with Dave (the neighbor), his daughter, and me, while Kate took her car, loaded down with food.
Of course, Aunt Helen has her three kids, their spouses, and her two grandsons and one grand-spouse, along with Uncle Luis (Aunt Helen's ex-husband) and has more than enough food to feed us all without our food. I think we could have fed an entire batallion of Marines with just the left-overs.
It's all good now, but it was quite the mess at the time.
I'm glad it's over.
Hope yours was less stressful.