We had a mostly quiet Thanksgiving on Thursday. Contrary to what I posted, we actually did make a Thanksgiving meal, not peanut butter and jelly.
My mother always made "Sticky Rolls" on the Holidays when we were kids. Sometimes I make the less sugary version, cinnamon rolls, for my own kids. This year, I made them proper, gooey sticky rolls. My mother woke up at some ungodly hour so that we could eat them for breakfast. I woke up at the normal time and we had them for brunch.
Fritz used some about-to-expire airline miles to get us a subscription to Southern Living magazine. Sort of strange, since neither of us is Southern. (He mumbled something about trying to throw off the data collectors when our first issue arrived this summer.) We decided to cook Thanksgiving dinner from their recipes. Why not, right?
It was fun. We didn't really have anything invested in whether or not the recipes turned out well. Also, no guests, no timelines, no expectations, just some ingredients and us.
Alright, southern friends, what are hearts of palms? This green bean dish was good. But I might skip the hearts of palms next time.
Predictably, the kids were not all into green beans with hearts of palms. In fact, they weren't really into any of the food. They sat at the table for all of 2 minutes (whining about the food) before they started asking to be excused. Eventually, I gave up and just took photos of their untouched, but messy, empty place settings. THIS is eating with little kids in the Wyse home, by the way.
Maybe it would have gone better if I had set the table more beautifully? Or dressed them in nicer clothes?
Even Fritz sort of gave up in the fashion department, while they climbed all over him.
Finally, we just asked them to go upstairs and leave us alone so we could eat.
Five minutes later they returned, hungry.
When are we having dinner? they asked.
Wait a minute, observed Noah, Did we have lunch?
You had dunch. We told them. It's between lunch and dinner and it's called Thanksgiving IF you eat it.
Mattias eyed the pie on the counter. Can we eat THAT?
No, I told them. You need grow food. I'm pretty sure the tortilla chips that followed do not, for one second, count as grow food. But they ate them quietly at their own improvised table for 15 minutes.
Then we had pie.
It didn't go quite as well as the chips.
Later, I took a photo of Mattias' plate while I was cleaning up. See how I dissected the pie into little piles for him? Crust, Apple and Pear, Cranberries, Whipped Cream. Yup. He only ate the whipped cream.
There you have it. We didn't eat peanut butter and jelly. We ate some other stuff. And most of us ate tortilla chips and whipped cream.