Thursday, November 22, 2012

Twas the Day before Thanksgiving...

Twas the day before Thanksgiving, when all through the house,
The kids were all playing, thank God there was no mouse.

Mama was in the kitchen, ready to bake pies with care,
In the hopes she could produce a most scrumptious fare.

The two youngest children were asleep in their beds

While visions of pies and turkey danced in our heads.

Mama was frantic; her recipe was lost
She had to find it, no matter the cost

She searched the internet trying to find what to do
Then posted online to see if they had a clue

What if the a new recipe was the absolute worst
Why hadn’t she just scanned it on the computer from the first?

When out in the kitchen there was such a sound
Papa and teens came from all around

Away to the kitchen they flew like a flash,
Tore open the baby gates and jumped over the dog as he decided to dash.

The counters in the kitchen was covered with books,
 With mama all worried about the pie recipe crook.

When what to our wondering eyes did she do?
But she picked up the phone and called family too.

After the call mama breathed a sign of relief
The kids walked out quickly and didnt give any grief.

Papa helped peel the apples with care

Since he knew in moment mama could be pulling out her hair.

More rapid than eagles, her pies they all came,
And she cheered and she smiled and she tossed ingredients without any shame.

“Now,Apple! Now Cinnamon! Now Lemon Juice too!
On Sugar! On Flour! On Nutmeg!
To the inside of the pie! To the top of the heap!
I’ll stay up if I need to, I don’t need  to sleep!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So into the oven, the pies they all flew,
I think they just wanted to escape from her too.

And then in a twinkling I heard from the stove
Mom muttering about recipes that needed whole cloves.

As I peeked from the sofa and was just coming round,
Out of the kitchen Mom came with a bound.

She was covered in flour from her head to her foot,
And her eyes were all wild with recipes to cook.

A bundle of pie pans she had flung on her back,
She looked like a woman about to attack.

Her hair was so wild! Her eyes were so scary!
Her cheeks were aflame, her nose covered in cherry!

Her droll little mouth was drawn tight with no bow.
And the sugar turned her fingers the color of snow.

The stump of a mixing spoon she held tight in her teeth,
The smoke from the flour encircled her head like a wreath.

She was muttering to herself and consulting her books,
I could see right away she was a very good cook.

She was chubby and plump, and could be a jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself.

A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
She told me to be smart and get ready for bed.

She spoke many words, while she went about her work,
Then turned around with a quick little jerk

And laying a pie pan along side the stove,
And giving a nod, out the door she dove.

She sprang to her car, to Papa gave a whistle,
And away they flew, like the down of a thistle.

But I heard her exclaim as they drove out of sight,
“Next year I will start earlier and not be blogging to the middle of the night!”

No comments:

Post a Comment