They wouldn't touch any of it. Not the turkey, the stuffing, the carrot casserole, the scalloped corn, the mashed potatoes or gravy. None of it.
Except Nonna's amazingly yummy pumpkin desert. Of course. It's desert.
It wasn't surprising that Beatrice wouldn't eat the Thanksgiving food; she's quite the picky eater these 3-year-old days. But Bryce, who usually eats a little bit of almost everything wouldn't touch any of it either (although the day after she did eat two bites of turkey).
Nope, they were more interested in splashing in the rain puddles earlier in the day. A puddle is like the fun black holes of kid world -- no child escapes its gravity. Oh it's wetness, which is a bummer when you don't bring clothes for your kids to change into after they're wet.
All afternoon while the girls napped, the turkey that this daddy proudly prepped roasted in the oven while Nonna made some side dishes and then I added a couple at the end. The delicious smells of our cooking and the many phantom family meals of Thanksgivings past mingled together in the warm air, causing a mild tryptophan-laced melancholia.
What was, that will never be again, to what is now, that becomes tomorrow, that will never be again.
Hey, there were a lot of phantoms in the air.
Then, while the Mama, Nonna and I sat playing Scrabble, we dug into our Thankful Box. Inspired by another daddy blogger last year, we started own box that gets filled with "what we're thankful for" notes throughout the year to then be read on the following Thanksgiving.
That perked me up; I'm so thankful for the lovely B-hive!
But they still wouldn't touch any of our Thanksgiving meal. Only watermelon, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pumpkin desert.
We might as well have served toast, popcorn, pretzel sticks and jelly beans.
Queue the music.