I can't imagine how self-satisfied normal people must be because when I achieve even small feats of domestic goddess-dom, I feel so insanely proud of myself. The other day, after we went apple picking, David and I decided we would make an apple pie RIGHT THEN AND THERE, that VERY day. Usually we keep the apples around for weeks, vowing to make an apple pie and not doing so, until the sight of them feels us with such guilt that we come to resent them. We wish we'd never have picked the damn fruits in the first place. They are a slap in the face. We are lazy and the apples make this impossible to ignore. Sometimes we pull ourselves together enough to make the damn pie, but usually we screw this up in some way, like when after laboring to slice all the apples and get the pie in the oven, David forgot to put a tray under to catch the juices and the run-off dripped onto the bottom of the oven not only causing a COLOSSAL sticky mess but worse, setting off the fucking fire alarm after bedtime. Basically, my whole life after bedtime revolves around making sure loud noises, such as a blaring fire alarm, do not disturb the fragile fabric of my children's sleep. So, the apple-pie-mishap was a setback.
But this year, we decided why not avoid the weeks of guilt and resentment by making the freaking pie RIGHT AWAY!
David ran out to get the ingredients and a frozen pie crust -- indispensable to our enterprise -- and the kids even helped. Within a few hours we had a kick-ass, steaming pie cooling in the kitchen which made me feel like Mother of the Freaking Year. Then we ate the pie, a la mode, and the kids were raving about it. Poor souls, they are so unaccustomed to having freshly-baked homemade goods, even our little pie wowed tiier socks off.
"This is the BEST PIE IN THE WHOLE WORLD!" Seconda exclaimed.
"It is even better than the one you get at the pie shop!" Primo added and then, "Hey! we should start our OWN pie shop!"
I didn't want to dash his dreams by pointing out that it had taken us six year to work up the energy to make a decent stinking pie. I didn't think a baking biz was in the works. Still, it was nice to see their enthusiasm.And it was nice to feel like a domestic goddess for once.
The good - and bad -- news is that, even after making the pie, and eating a few apples every day for a week or two, we still have enough for like three more pies. So I haven't avoided the guilt and resentment altogether. But maybe we'll outdo ourselves this year and make a second pie. I can dare to dream.
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