I got so consumed last night with the pureeing and the mixing and the steeping and the stirring that I fell into bed without so much as a flicker of a NaBloPoMo thought.
I'll write about the food another time; it was good, not my best, but good. But the day was one of the lesser Thanksgivings in my life, with lots of anxiety, mine and others', and a wee bit of drama I could have easily lived without. By the end, my feet hurt, my eyes were tired, and I just wanted to lay on the couch and cover my face with my hands. But baby girl was having none of it, and she crawled right up on top of me, her face still smeared with chocolate from the chocolate pecan pie.
"More pie?" she asked brightly. It wasn't so bad after all.