I made two pumpkin pies yesterday morning with Caitlin. It wasn’t so much the bit of guilt over bringing in a store bought pie for her Thanksgiving luncheon at daycare, when the teacher requested homemade, but more that I really wanted to make a holiday recipe with her because she loves to cook. She did not inherit that trait from mama. Usually the hubby can whip up something from scratch for dinner whereas I’m happy to sit on the front row of the cooking short bus.
(Yeah, yeah I’m getting to the hurling part.)
I had all the ingredients anal retentively lined up on the counter but as we started to make the pies I realized the recipe called for a small amount of salt and that the only salt we had in the house was a smidge in the bottom of our salt shaker. I opened the top and saw there were a few grains of white rice mixed in it to deter moisture. I grabbed an unused in years flour sifter to separate the salt and rice and thinking I was a flippin’ culinary genius I promptly dumped the salt into the sifter while I held it over the sink only to realize I forgot to put a bowl under it and the salt sifted straight down into the wet, filled with dirty dishes from breakfast, sink. Pumpkin pie tastes fine with no salt, just FYI, but in my baking insecurity I just knew I had ruined the pies.
On to the hurling…I woke up feeling under the weather yesterday with a slight sore throat but once I got ready and going for the day felt OK. My brother ended up driving me home from my mother’s house after lunch and I threw up several times in the car after feeling like my temperature shot up about 4 degrees while whizzing down the interstate (thankfully I did not throw up in his SUV but in a plastic top to a cake holder.) I went straight to bed while the hubby and girls enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner at his parents. I felt like I had the flu. Today the sore throat is worse but I’m off for the day, it’s gorgeous out, and I’m popping Tylenol because I refuse to be sick for my three-day weekend.