The Shorts Are In The Mailbox, The Pies Are In The Trunk, And The Godiva Chocolates Are.....Digesting

Ever since my mom died, our Thanksgiving tradition involves us buying the turkey and all the trimmings, travelling to my Dad's house and having my husband cook for everyone, since he is basically the only one left with the skills (and motivation) to do so.

This year, the 18 lb bird, two ice chests, grocery bags, luggage for 5 people (including Barbies and special pillows), 2 adults, 3 girls (ok Sis is legally an adult, but she's still one of my girls), and our overweight pit bull, piled into the only reliable car we currently own, my Honda Civic. (At this point just envision a can of sardines and you'll get the picture.)

Shortly after we arrive, Husband starts freaking out (I'm not exaggerating) because he forgot to pack a pair of shorts to cook in, and he is certain he will succumb to heat stroke on Thanksgiving whilst slaving over a hot stove if he doesn't have ventilation on his legs. I can tell he's going to drag me all over the city shopping for shorts at this late hour if I don't figure out a solution pretty quickly. I call my sister, and her husband has a pair that should fit fine, however, they are leaving for the evening so they decide to put them in their mailbox for us to pick up at our convenience.

I'm at the point of not wanting to go out at all, even for this little errand, so we call Cam who's in that general area of town, and give him the cryptic message, "The eagle has landed. The shorts are in the mailbox. This is your mission should you choose to accept it." Well, ok, it wasn't that dramatic, but he was very confused at first by our request to travel to his aunt and uncle's house and retrieve clothing from their mailbox.

So, after all my kiddos arrive, I tell them I have to make apple pies for Thanksgiving the following day. Everyone is excited about this and they all pitch in to peel and slice apples for me. My big contribution is unrolling the refrigerated pie crusts into the pie plates and dumping the prepared apples into them. (Whew! Somehow I managed THAT tough task!)

We discover that my dad, known pie hound, has already cut into the pumpkin pie that my sister purchased and (foolishly) left at his house, and I now fear for the apple pies that I'm baking. Sure enough, as soon as the pies are out of the oven he starts hounding me for a slice. I'm not happy about slicing into one of these beauties, but I'm certainly not going to deny my 80 year old dad this little indulgence. However, to protect the uncut one, and insure there is some apple pie for Thanksgiving, I decide the best action to take is to hide the pies. My dad can be quite persistent when it comes to something like this, so I try to think of somewhere safe that he wouldn't think to look...yes, the trunk of his own car. Genius!

At any rate, the pies survived until AFTER the Thanksgiving feast for EVERYONE to enjoy,

my sister arrived despite falling and smashing her face on a brick planter the night before, Nat didn't starve despite the fact that the bird wasn't ready and had to go back into the oven for another hour (!), Mike stayed cool, calm and collected (thanks to borrowed shorts and lots of wine), and I did indeed share the Godiva chocolates (I hid those too) even though I tried to let on that they had already been consumed. All in all, a great Thanksgiving!