This morning

I am thankful to be reunited with my kitchenaid

(gorgeous isn't she?)

together we made two pumpkin pies that are cooling on the counter

two deep-dish and stacked-high apple pies that are dripping all over my oven

(let them drip, the juicy darlings...

I'll take care of it on National Clean Out Your Oven Day)

and one chicken pot pie that just went in, because I said as long as we're making pie,

let's make one we can eat today

and she agreed

(brilliant isn't she?)

the new Christmas CD is playing in the stereo,

my house smells like I am a genius with cloves and cinnamon,

(let's face it, I am)

and in a few minutes I will drive to the school where my nine-year-old will put on a play about the First Thanksgiving and I will be filled with wonder at their courage (the pilgrims') and her beauty (my daughter's).

And a few hours after that,

after I have folded wontons and wrapped smokies and dipped pretzels

my darlings will burst through the doors, the anticipation coming off them in waves,

and then David will arrive home and we'll do a little passionate necking right in the middle of the kitchen,

in the middle of all those smells and cooling pies and fruit of our loins,

and I will be thankful, thankful, thankful.