Saturday, 11/26/2011 - 2:47 p.m.
Conversation with my mother Wednesday night:
Her: So how much do you have left to do?
Me: I'm done. I've gone as far as I can go for tonight.
Her: What? Is the bird ready?
Me: Yep, according to the poundage chart he's gotta cook for 4 hours or so at 350. He's washed and done.
Her: Well, if your turkey has to go for 4 hours, then you'll have to put it in no later than 7:30 so it's done for sure by noon.
Me: Yep. He's ready to go in the oven - buttered, seasoned, bag floured, in the correct baking pan. All I have to do is turn the oven on and shove him in.
Her: You know you'll have to put it in by 7:30, right, if you want him -
Me: Mother, the spinach casserole is made, the strawberry salad is made, the Oreo Mud Pie is made, the giblet gravy is made, the sweet potatoes are made, and the goddamn bird is prepped. Can I be in charge for a while?
Her: {massive suck-in of air} {silence for about 15 seconds} It does sound like you have everything under control.
And that was the end of it. She could not have been more gracious and pleasant on Thursday and not once did she nag, criticize, or scold me about anything I made or the way I made it. I even had extra pans of food set aside solely for her and Tattoo to take home with them.
And truth be told, I enjoyed the heck out of cooking on Wednesday and Thursday.
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