The great Christmas pie mishap of 2017 was the most wonderful disaster.
On Christmas Eve I was falling behind in Christmas cooking, so I bought a pre-baked pie crust and I prepped the pie filling, deciding I’d finish it off on Christmas morning before heading to Grandma’s for the big meal.
Christmas morning I popped the pie crust out of the freezer and the pie filling out of the fridge, and poured one into the other. The instructions on the frozen crust had said to set it on a pre-heated cookie sheet. But in my rush I had forgotten to stick the cookie sheet in the pre-heating oven. With a shrug of my shoulders, I slid the pie directly onto the oven rack and set the timer.
Then we rushed around the house in a cleaning frenzy. We scouted out all breakable items and set them on high shelves or counters. We swept and vacuumed and scrubbed the floor until it was clean enough to eat off of. And we straightened up the guest bedroom, emptying the trash, and tidying the beds.
Back to the Pie
The oven timer went off. Time to take out the pie. I grabbed the handle on the oven door and much to my surprise, it came off in my hand. Quick, husband to the rescue. He applied some glue and screwed the handle back on. I open up the oven and snatch the pie. Unfortunately, the pie was not fully baked and half of the filling sloshed over the edge of the crust, splashing and scalding my arm, coating the oven door, and puddling in the bottom of the oven.
While I ran cold water over my burn, I pondered what to do with the pie. If I put it into the oven, the spilled filling would burn and the smoke would make the pie taste funny. If I transported it to Grandma’s, how would I keep it from sloshing around in the car? Once again I called in my hubby to engineer a solution – this time a slosh-proof transportation device.
On to Grandma’s with a half-baked pie. Once there, Grandma graciously made room in her oven for my sorry half-empty pie. We had dinner and shockingly, the pie was still quite tasty. Then for a little bit of socializing.
“How old is the baby?” Grandma asks.
“Just old enough to crawl,” I answer.
“How long will he be with you?” Aunt asks.
“Only for a handful of days,” I respond.
“When does he arrive?” Grandpa asks.
“In just a few hours, which is why we were in such a rush,” I explain.
Yes, we welcomed a baby on Christmas Day into our home. Typically, people mean this metaphorically, referring to baby Jesus’ birth. But for us, it was a real-life baby in foster care who needed a home for a few short days. And I don’t mind for even one minute that the baby’s unexpected arrival had me off my rhythm as we prepared for Christmas. I don’t mind the burn on my arm. For the cutest little guy has brightened our lives and we hope he can find his way home to his family very soon!