It was going to be just a quick little task, getting a couple pie crusts whipped out and ready to go. I’ve made a lot of pies in my life, so I happily volunteered to make some for both our Thanksgiving meals — but “happily” would not be the most appropriate word to use for the way I was going about actually making them. Both the dough and I were getting a little too worked up.

In theory, it was as easy as cake, except easier because it’s pie, and just the crusts for now. Simply throw the stuff in the blender, process the butter into perfect crumbs in thirty seconds, quickly roll out, ease into the pans, and toss in the fridge to chill. I’ve done it more times than I care to try and count up.

But these days, if I so much as stand too near the kitchen counter, Benson becomes desperately convinced that I’m going to be cooking and that he absolutely needs to help me. We had an eight-year-old foster kid for the week for respite (respite is providing short-term care while the actual

foster family travels or something), and when she got wind that I was about to do something in relation to pie, she became very invested in the situation as well.

I love getting kids involved in the kitchen, so this was all great — until it wasn’t.

I was trying to do too big a batch at one time in the blender, which was extra frustrating because I wasn’t even supposed to be doubling the recipe. But somewhere between the tween’s constant chattering and the one-year-old’s quick dives into any and all available ingredients, I confused myself.

I had a little too much help measuring the flour so it was getting dispersed all over the counter, and all the little things that could go wrong did. I finally gave up on the blender, deciding to cut in the fat and stir in the ice water by hand — but Benson apparently thinks “by hand” means “use your hands to grab clumps of dough and shove them into your mouth.”

By this time, the eight-year-old didn’t think it all looked much like pie, and I wasn’t convinced that it would ever become that either. I decided both the dough and us needed some time to chill before rolling it out.

This was not a debacle by any means, but it was definitely neither the cutesy cooking memories nor the perfect pie crusts that I had been hoping to whip up. It was a messy kitchen with a train wreck of a floor, with a frustrated momma and some crappy pastry to show for it.

But honestly, it’s even moments like these that I’m thankful for. Last week I was a little silly with my turkey article; Thanksgiving to me, however, is lightyears above being simply “turkey day.”

I’ve always appreciated the gratitude inherent in the celebration of the holiday, but there is a deeper layer to the day now. Four years ago my husband was in the hospital trying to survive after a horrific farming accident, and on Thanksgiving we were again in the dark valley of the shadow of death. I remember literally choking down a bite of sweet potato casserole dear friends had brought to the ICU, thinking what an ironic and cruel day. Because of those traumatic experiences, though, I know that my thanksgiving cannot be tied to my circumstances nor is it limited to one day a year. I am thankful for the God who was with us in the hospital, and I am thankful we’re not there anymore. I try not to wait for something big and bad to remind me that the little moments of daily grace, in all their various forms, give me so much to be thankful for.

Even, or especially, including moments like these, when the kitchen, children, and pie dough are all a wreck. If that’s what I’m looking at, I have a lot to be thankful for.

No-Corn-Syrup But Extra-Pecans Pecan Pie

For dessert’s sake, I’m also thankful the pastry dough somehow worked out, and we had pies. I made a couple chocolate-laced sweet potato pies, which I expected to be my favorite, but the pecan turned out so well that I had to share it with you. I know, I know, maybe last week before Thanksgiving would have been a better time for a pie recipe — but let’s be honest, sometimes the week after that much time with family calls for another round of pie.

Prep tips: use your favorite pastry crust, or I can lend you Benson and he can help you make one “by hand.” I like chopped pecans here for ease of cutting and eating, but you can use whatever size you like.

2 eggs

1 cup dark brown sugar

¼ cup white sugar

pinch of salt

8 tablespoons salted butter, melted

1 tablespoon flour

2 tablespoons heavy cream

a splash of Mexican vanilla

1 ¾ cups chopped pecans

Whisk eggs until light and foamy. Whisk in sugars, salt, butter, flour, cream, and vanilla until totally combined; stir in pecans. Pour into an unbaked 9” pie shell (top with even more pecans, if desired).

Bake at 400° for 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 350° and continue to bake for about 30 minutes, or until pastry is golden and center of pie is set.

Amanda Miller lives with her husband, almost-two-years-old son, and whoever else God brings them through foster care on the family dairy farm in Hutchinson. She enjoys doing some catering, teaching cooking classes, and freelancing, but mostly chasing after her kid(s). Reach her at hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.