It’s all the rage in pop culture today to discuss team pie vs. team cake. Or at least it was two years ago. Now it’s probably team cake pop vs. team whoopie pie or something. Regardless, I think it’s pretty obvious that I am on team cake, like any normal, sane person with taste buds, and an appreciation of fine desserts and and aversion to hot fruit. So you can imagine my horror when my beloved son joined team pie. When I found out, my emotions ran the usual spectrum, denial, anger, acceptance. Somewhere along the way I questioned whether I knew before I agreed to marry him, that Dave once requested a birthday watermelon instead of cake.
But here we are. Days before Thanksgiving, with a fully realized menu that does not include pie. In fact, I make pumpkin cake. What to do? I spent a lot of time thinking of future Luke complaining to future friends about how he loved pie, but his mom refused to make it. Or future Luke bragging about how his mom’s pie was the highlight of Thanksgiving. Obviously, I want to come across as the best mom ever in Luke’s future memories. But I don’t actually want to make a pie this week. What to do? What to do?
Then I started wondering why I care so much about future Luke’s memories? He really doesn’t have that good of a memory. It’s possible, that as an adult, his only memory of a childhood Thanksgiving will be the time he narrowly avoided being sprayed by Jack’s vomit, because he had the foresight to prop up a big pillow between the two of them for germ free football watching. In fact, that may currently be his only childhood Thanksgiving memory. I saw myself developing a plan. A compromise of sorts.
People. I bought a pie. Not even a fancy pie from the local organic pie bakery. It’s a frozen pie.
Luke saw it and jumped for joy.