So since then I haven't really gone for the whole Thanksgiving thing. Before Max and Zoe, Scott and I would typically go snow shoeing all day, or go out of town to Whistler and just pretend it was a day off. The last 3 years we have gone to a friends house and have spent the entire time trying to stop M and Z from breaking things and playing in the open fire. This year I decided that I wanted a small family thanksgiving at home, where it would be fun to hang out and cook.
M and Z helped me cook the pumpkin pie on Wednesday and they did a good job. That is until the Pixie one scooped out a big chunk as it was cooling on the counter. That was okay though because I don't even like pumpkin pie. The day of Thanksgiving, we headed out below ominous skies to take a walk around Discovery park. This was going fine until it started blowing a hoolie and about 10 minutes after that we were carrying 2 screaming children up hill pelted by driving rain. So I figured things would improve after that.
Not really. As the weather got worse and worse, I started cooking and M and z wanted to 'help'. Scott wanted to play with his new i-pad and have a beer. I wanted to lie on the couch and drink Chardonnay with Bailey chasers (American people call this self-medicating, English people just call it getting drunk) and watch Dirty Dancing on Netflix. I did not want to listen to 2 whiney toddlers, and one grumpy husband. Scott did not want to listen to 2 whiney toddlers, and one grumpy wife. Max and Zoe did not want to be stuck inside with 2 grumpy parents. We attempted play doh and reading but nobody was getting any happier. If it had been a Hallmark made for TV movie, Scott would have taken the children out to look in the window of a starving family. He'd have come back with 2 well behaved children and a loving smile on his face and I would be wearing a dress (not pajamas)and have nice hair and a flat stomach. It was not a made for TV movie.
Dinner was ready at 6 as I planned. Max and Zoe did not like it (except pumpkin pie), I was so sick of cooking it that I could barely taste it. Scott liked it (thank you). After that it was business as usual with bath time and bed. Eventually when the kids were in bed I told Scott that it had been a crappy day. He agreed, which made me mad, which in turn made me blame the fact that it was crap on him, when in fact it was not his fault it was just a rubbish day because all it involved was cooking and trying to entertain 2 very demanding 3 year olds.