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I’ve got high pumpkin pie, in the sky hopes

I’m sure we all remember my bake-or-buy birthday cake dilemma earlier this year…good times. So, as the year comes to a close, I found myself facing the same question, this time in regards to the pumpkin pie I signed up to bring to Baby #1’s Kindergarten Thanksgiving Feast.

I have to admit, I was pretty jazzed about the feast from the moment I heard about it. Baby #1’s class would be representing the Indians – complete with construction paper feather headdresses, and another Kindergarten class would be the Pilgrims in homemade paper hats and vests. Baby #1 had enthusiastically shared with me how the two classes would be sitting in a pattern: Indian, Pilgrim, Indian, Pilgrim. I was completely smitten with the irreverence with which the two classes were putting aside all politically correct nomenclature, and ignoring the violent truth of 1621. It reminded me of my own early education on the subject – ah, nostalgia.

As I said, I signed up to bring the pie. Now, I am well aware that most people would hop on down to Dupars or maybe even Vons and buy the first pumpkin pie they saw. I think we all know, I am not that person. Instead, I would make the pie.

I have long loved making pies, and my newest obsession, Top Chef Just Desserts, has only added fuel to this fire. (I know, I need to lay off the reality TV.) And so, I decided that instead of using the organic canned pumpkin that I have long used in my pumpkin pie, that this pie would be 100% from scratch. This turned it into a two day project. In between school drop offs, picks ups, etc. I prepared the pumpkin on day #1. Seriously, it wasn’t hard…I doubt I’ll ever use canned again. You just cut it in half, clean out the inside and bake it for an hour and a half. Then, after it has cooled down, scrape the pumpkin from the skin and mash it up. No biggie. On Day #2 (the day of the feast!) I got the pie crust made before we left for school, then dropped Baby #1 off, and returned home to put it all together. No problems here either. In the end, the pie was stunning if I do say so myself and ready to go a whole hour before feast time.

The only downside to this pie making experience has been Hubby #1’s strong belief that I’ve gone round the bend. I can’t count how many times he has told me that “Kindergarteners don’t care,” and questioned if I didn’t have “better uses” for my time and energy. Obviously, this is ridiculous since the time and energy spent to make the perfect pie for 48 five and six year olds is well worth it. I will, however, admit that as I painstakingly placed little pie crust pilgrims around the crust of the pie I did pause to accept the irony that my own little squaw doesn’t like pumpkin pie.

Then, at the feast, a true Thanksgiving Miracle happened. Baby #1 was served a piece of my pie and, after someone covered it with some sort of repulsive aerosol whipped topping, she ate it! I mean, she ate almost all of it. At least 3/4 of it…maybe 2/3, but still – she ate it! I felt fulfilled. I felt like the mother I’ve always dreamed I could be. If only I’d worn heels and pearls, the moment would have been complete. Hubby #1 was wrong. Every second spent was well worth it. Not only had Baby #1 eaten the pie, I’m sure that somewhere deep down she was proud that her mother had been the provider of the truly homemade Thanksgiving delicacy and that she would forever have moments of the wonderful day.

EPILOGUE
On the way home from school, still glowing from the success of my pie, I commented to Baby #1 how happy I was that she liked the pie I made. She nonchalantly replied,
“I didn’t really like it, I was just being nice.”
I was speechless. Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me! Oh well, at least I didn’t also take the time and energy to put on those heels and pearls.

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