A couple of days ago after I had cleaned the kitchen, I found Tom on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked deep in thought and when I waved a hand in front of his face he blinked and shook his head.
"I'm watching Scrubs right?" he says, gesturing the the screen where the show was just ending. "And JD told this riddle to the janitor. The riddle went like this: 'I have two coins that make thirty cents. One of them is not a nickel.' The problem is he didn't explain the answer to the riddle and I'm sitting here confused..."
I admit, I didn't know the answer either.
I'm awful at riddles.
"Maybe it's some weird coin," I suggested.
"See, that's what I thought. But I can't think of anything. I mean...this is going to drive me crazy all night," Tom said.
I went to the computer to check my e-mail.
"Hey," Tom called out. "Look up the answer. Please. I'm going nuts here."
So I did.
Want to know what the answer was?
In typical riddle fashion, the answer was that the OTHER coin was a nickel. Because it just stated that ONE of the coins wasn't a nickel. The other could be.
Of course Tom and I both felt like we should have known the answer.
Tom felt better though.
"Now I can go to work with my head cleared!" he said cheerfully.
In other news, as I stated before, Thanksgiving turned out good.
Although when I put in the turkey I suddenly remembered I hadn't pulled out the neck muscle. Or whatever the other bag was. I had pulled out the giblets but totally forgot about the other.
"Oh shit," I exclaimed and quickly re-opened the oven.
"What?" Tom asked.
"I forgot to pull out the other bag," I said as I pulled out the turkey.
Tom laughed. "How did you forget that?"
"Well," I fumed. "I forgot. It should say that on the instructions."
Tom picked the instructions up from the counter. "It does," he said, pointing.
"Well," I argued. "It should say it in big bold letters. For the cookers like me who don't know what they're doing!"
I pulled out the bag and put the turkey back in the oven.
Then later I made the mashed potatoes.
I let them boil for 15 minutes like the recipe stated.
But I couldn't get them all to mash!
So there were still some lumps in the potatoes.
And my masher snapped in two.
When dinner was ready Tom came into the kitchen and grabbed a plate.
"Wow," I said, stopping him. "You can't wear that!"
I pointed to his shirt that depicted a photo of a gun with nine bullets in it. The shirt read: "Nine good reasons to shut your f*cking mouth."
"Why not?" Tom asked.
"You can't curse on Thanksgiving! It's Thanksgiving. We're giving thanks. Not talking about wanting to SHOOT people," I complained.
"The shirt is in regards to some of my troops. It has nothing to do with anyone here," Tom said, darting around me and managing to grab a plate.
We were all gathered at the table. Tom immediately started to dig in.
"Ahem," I said primly.
He paused, his fork in mid air.
"Shouldn't we go around and say what we're thankful for?" I suggested with a smile.
Tom finished chewing the bite in his mouth. "Um," he said, setting down his fork. "I didn't know we did that."
"We should," I said brightly. "I'll start. I'm thankful for my family.."
Tom snorted. "Everyone says that."
I gave him a Look. "Well it's true. I AM thankful for my family."
"I'm thankful that the Browns seem to be doing well," Tom said.
"Aren't you thankful for us? Who cares about some stupid football team."
"Of course I'm thankful for you guys. But like I said, everyone says that. I'm also thankful that the Browns are doing well. Oh and for my truck. Love ya babe!" he shouted, pointing towards the front door where his beloved truck sat.
I sighed and then faced Tommy, who was waiting patiently.
"Tommy," I said. "What are you thankful for?"
Tommy drummed her fingertips on the table. "Hmmmm," he said seriously. "Hmm. Let me think...."
A dramatic sigh came from Tom. "Can you think of something today, son? I'm really hungry."
I shot him another Look.
"Let me think," Tommy repeated. "Hmm..."
Apparently I'm the only one really thankful for family. Hmph.
"I like," Tommy said slowly. "I like.."
I was beginning to grow a little impatient at this point. I mean the turkey smelled SO good..I just wanted to take a big bite..
"What are you thankful for?" I said again to Tommy.
"His toys. He's thankful for his toys," Tom cut in and was about to put a forkful of green bean casserole in his mouth.
"Freeze!" I shrieked pointing.
"Oh come on, Amber!" Tom said, setting his fork down.
"I'm thankful for Home Alone!" Tommy finally piped up with.
That's his new movie that he's obsessed with by the way.
But he's thankful for HOME ALONE?
I'm sure Chris Columbus the director is pleased but I am not. Is he not thankful for me, his mother who lovingly pushed out his 8 pound 1 ounce body into the world??
"Great job, Tommy," Tom said and then tried to take a bite.
"WAIT!" I shouted.
Tom looked like he wanted to leap across the table and strangle me. "Now what?" he said, his tone testy.
"Natalie," I said, pointing to our baby girl who was interested in the mound of potatoes I had plopped on her high chair. Her first try of big people food.
"Natalie can't talk," Tom said, irritated. "Natalie is just thankful that she has a 24 hour maid service at her beck and call. She shits, someone cleans her up. She's hungry, she gets a boob popped in her mouth. What service. Hell, I'd be thankful for that."
"Don't say Hell, Daddy," Tommy chimed in.
"I'll say that she's thankful for her family," I said.
Tom sat there, glaring at me.
"Oh," I said, my tone cheery. "You may eat now."
Tom picked up his fork. "Really? Can I really eat now? Or are you going to make us sing a song?" He stabbed some turkey.
"A song! What a--" I started.
Tom gave me a sharp look. "Don't even think about it."
"I can sing!" Tommy shouted. "It's November, It's November, Pilgrims come. Pilgrims come. We have to pick a turkey, have to pick a turkey, Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving!"
I clapped. "Good job, Tommy! What a nice song."
Tommy nodded and took a bite of turkey. And then he promptly spit it back out on his plate.
"Gross," Tom said.
"This tastes different," Tommy said, wiping his tongue off dramatically with his napkin.
"Try some yams," I suggested, pointing.
"I don't like that," Tommy argued.
The only thing he ate was the stuffing.
Instead of eating her potatoes, she threw some against the wall and squealed happily.
"You're actually supposed to EAT those potatoes," I explained to her as she smeared some in her high chair tray with a smile.
Want to see my kitchen when I was done cooking?
A strange liquid appeared on my stove..
Bye bye, mystery liquid. Hello pie.