Our church's annual Thanksgiving dinner is tomorrow. A friend gave me a turkey to cook for the dinner and I thought this would be an awesome opportunity to have The Daughters cook with me AND learn how to cook a turkey, which really isn't that hard unless you're cooking with The Daughters. Sometimes I do live in la-la land.
Earlier in the week, I began to defrost the turkey by placing it in the fridge. It sat there for the biggest part of this week. All week long, The Daughters have been in and out of the refrigerator getting lunchables, juice, milk, cheese, apples, leftover macaroni - ya know, whatever they wanted for a snack 10 minutes before dinner was actually served. Never once did they notice the turkey. I know this to be the truth because when I pulled the turkey out of the fridge this morning, Daughter 1 commented, "Why is it so white? And big? And why isn't it in a ziplock? The meat market always puts it in a ziplock!"
I explained to the perplexed Daughters that indeed, we were cooking a whole turkey, much as the pilgrims did on that first Thanksgiving Day many a year ago. Well, without the open fire and without having to pluck it ourselves and without having to cut the head off... but, basically everything else is the same!
I cut open the package and The Daughters got their first glimpse of a real, honest-to-goodness uncooked whole turkey. I placed my hand inside the open cavity of the turkey and began to rinse it in the sink. My dreams of creating future Martha Stewarts out of The Daughters were shattered by Daughter 2's screams!
"What are you doing?"
"Rinsing the bird, honey!"
"With your hand up it's butt? That is the butt, right?"
"It's the easiest way to hold it, honey!"
"Well - it's totally disgusting me! And I will NEVER eat meat again. Never!" she screamed, slightly gagging. "Please tell me you will be washing your hands with real soap!" I assured her I would and with that, Daughter 2 declared she could NOT eat a turkey whose butt had been invaded by her momma's hand. Then she stood on the kitchen chairs approximately 20 feet away, letting us know that she was interested in watching what was going on, but was in no way, shape or form participating in preparing a Thanksgiving turkey.
That's ok, though, I still had Daughter 1 by my side. I always did like her best.
Next on the turkey agenda? Removing the giblet bag and neck. This brought even more shrieks from Daughter 2 - still safely positioned out of harm's way. From Daughter 1, it brought a wave of nausea.
"Momma...{heave}, I don't think... {heave} I can {heave} watch this anymore..." and with that she sprinted from the room.
From her perch about three feet above the ground, Daughter 2 declared, "If SHE doesn't have to be in here, then neither do I! And by the way, Momma, you're really disgusting and I'm calling Daddy." And she left me with turkey up to my elbows, alone in the kitchen.
So much for my dreams of domestic tranquility! With a bit of sadness that this was a task not to be shared with The Daughters, I finished prepping the turkey and got it to roasting. As I was scrubbing my hands, arms, elbows and biceps, Daughter 2 came back in - with a little look of worry on her face. Maybe she did want to work with her momma! Maybe she did want to be the next Rachel Ray, earning enough money to see that her momma was kept well on a beach, some where with a cabana boy and lots of fruity drinks.
"Momma?" She questioned, while standing at my elbow, "When you make steaks, you don't have to stick your hand up a cow's butt, do you? Cause I really love steak!"
So - she won't be a complete vegetarian.
Later on that afternoon, Daughter 2's BFF came over. On the way over, The Dad said that Daughter 2 had graphically detailed to her BFF just how I had shoved my hand right up the turkey's butt. "Right up it's butt, I'm tellin' ya!" she screamed at the end of her telling. So, BFF was primed and ready to see just how crazy I had been to the poor turkey. She walked in as I was just finishing carving the poor, molested bird.
She gasp and threw her hand right over her heart. "Oh. My. God." she screamed at me as I was picking up the picked over carcass to deposit it in the trash. "What did you do to that poor chicken NOW?"
She didn't say, but I'd bet money she won't eat any turkey this year either. In the course of one afternoon, I completely turned three impressionable girls off of turkey - maybe for the rest of their lives!
Score one for the turkeys!
And: Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!
