We Are a House Divided - NaBloPoMo

There were no recipes. No measuring spoons. Just a mish-mash of ingredients that went in the stuff. We used our senses: did the veggie pile look like another celery stalk should be added; did the dressing feel too mushy when you stirred it; could the sweet potato pie use a little more vanilla when you tasted it?

The heat, the stirring, the tastes of my childhood Thanksgiving followed me into adulthood.

And then I got married.

Of all the things people tell you about marriage, the thing they don't tell you is about Thanksgiving -- or more specifically -- Pumpkin Pie v Sweet Potato Pie. My husband and I can handle the black/white thing. We can handle the financial thing. We can even handle the division of labor thing.

But Pumpkin Pie v Sweet Potato Pie? That's another matter entirely.

Our first Thanksgiving, we found ourselves in the midst of an escalating war of the pies.

Him: Um...why don't you have pumpkin pie written down on the Thanksgiving menu? We always had pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving when I was growing up. (This was back when I took the time to actually write the menu down because, newly married and idealistic, AKA stupid)

Me: Um...why would your family make a tradition of eating slimy pie...my love? But we shall carry on your slimy pie tradition and I shall make the slimy pie and forego the sweet potato pie that civilized people eat. (Because stupid.)

Thanksgiving rolled around and in my sweet potato pie's absence, I'd watch, while suppressing my gag reflex, as people scarfed the pie down. I felt sorry for them. But more sorry for myself because I didn't make my pie.

I vowed right then that the next Thanksgiving would be different.

As Nature intended.

The next year on Thanksgiving eve, sweet potatoes simmered on the stove while I happily fetched the condensed milk, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, sugar, vanilla, eggs and the big bowl to create my Thanksgiving, when:

It's getting late. Do we really need another pie.. we already have pumpkin.
AS IF PUMPKIN'S A REAL PIE.
LIKE IT'S A THING.

In the split second before responding I prayed,
Lord, please help me help him understand that for the past thirty years he has been eating slimy, tasteless gourd pie befitting of Pilgrims at Plymouth who could do no better.

My prayer was heard and the only thing I uttered was a side-eye, lips-pursed YES.

And it's been that way ever since: he asks for pumpkin pie, and I buy it (Because, not stupid anymore); then he complains about the extra effort I take into making a sweet potato pie on top of everything else I'm making, and I don't even answer (Because, not stupid anymore.)

And we have a glorious Thanksgiving, even though we are a house divided.

But seriously, when has pumpkin pie inspired people to SING about it like this?




I thought so.
Point: Sweet Potato Pie.