Reason 4,095 for what we do

The house was full of wonderful smells. Kat had been baking all day - pumpkin pies, stuffing, mashed potatoes, carrots, corn, yams, green beans, olives, pickled beets, deviled eggs, and of course, the crowning culinary achievement, a 23-pound turkey, sealed in a plastic Reynolds baking bag (still the best way to cook a bird, we reckon).

The bird came out of the oven around 4:30 or so, and my mom-in-law Eva and I partook of our annual ritual of lifting the bird out of the roasting pan by the turkey lifter Kat bought at a bazaar some years ago and, before placing it on a cutting board, slicing the bag so the juices can pour out into the pan to make gravy with.

The girls had been engrossed in playing Mario Party 6 on the GameCube, and hadn't paid much attention to what was transpiring in the kitchen (except for Nikki, who helped Katrina with the pies in the morning). Once the bird came out, however, they put down their game controllers and wandered into the kitchen to stare, goggle-eyed, at the steaming, golden turkey on the cutting board.

The innocent question came after about a minute of watching me carve the bird with the electric knife.

"Is that a real turkey?" came the question from one of them. Emily, I think.

"Uh, yes it is," I responded, somewhat incredulously. "Why do you ask?"





"Because we've never had a real turkey at Thanksgiving before."

***

Please, if you're able, consider adoption, especially of older children. There are thousands of kids out there just like my girls who need love, who need families, who need homes, who need real turkeys for Thanksgiving. Peace.