Last week, my husband's family called to give cooking assignments for Thanksgiving dinner. I quickly announced that I would be running a half marathon the morning of Thanksgiving. But, I offered to bring whatever they needed me to. (Secretly I was hoping for things like cranberry sauce, spinach salad, corn, pies, etc.) They asked me to bring mashed potatoes.
Regular mashed potatoes for 19 people. Uhg.
Don't get me wrong - I actually do like to cook. The anxiety stems from the requirement to cook something a certain way. My husband likes things the way they have always been. I asked if we could mash sweet potatoes instead. He said no. I asked if we could mash red potatoes (healthier). He said no. I asked if we could mash cauliflower (it tastes the same). He said no. I asked if we could leave the skins on the potatoes (a tad healthier and, I think, yummier). He said no. So, since I couldn't mix it up a bit, make it a little healthier than the usual mashed potatoes, (which I am not a big fan of, can you tell?), I tried not to think about it all week.
When I mentioned to my mom that I was planning to run the half marathon, she said, "Well, that's one way to show people that you don't want to cook for Thanksgiving dinner." I smiled but reminded her sarcastically that it had not worked. I later realized there was so much truth in that statement - more than I ever could have imagined.
The morning of Thanksgiving came. I had been stuck at home for three days due to the snow/ice/freezing temperatures. (My husband has chains on his car so he can get to and from work.) Unfortunately, the snow storm caused too many problems when it came to traveling for us and our babysitters, not to mention the race running trail was covered in snow and ice, so we decided not to run. I was crushed. All morning I moped around, laying in bed reading and pouting, desperate for any way to escape actually making the requested "normal" mashed potatoes.
Am I so immature?
Eventually, my husband started peeling the huge russet potatoes that he had bought from the store. Then he cut them up, boiled them, strained them, put them into the kitchen aid mixer, added milk, butter, salt and pepper, and put them into a huge bowl and covered it.
Wow. During those unforgettable moments Thursday morning, I fell in love with him. all. over. again.
I still ended up preparing food for Thanksgiving dinner - but food I was excited about: raspberry banana cream pies (my aunt is famous for these), and poppy seed apple spinach salad. For some reason, I didn't dread preparing these at all. Weird. Very weird.
Here is a picture of a car that slid down our street and directly into the tree in the middle of the island in our cul-de-sac. The weather was incredible this week.