Is there anything worse than returning home from a trip to the grocery store for last minute ingredients and finding your husband "the Toolman" has disassembled the door to your oven?
We are not a "carve at the table family." As much as I love the Norman Rockwell painting, past family experience has turned us into a "just serve the slices" bunch. (The bird "looked done" but it was still a bloody mess inside--not very appetizing to see when cut into)
So I had cooked the turkey earlier and when the Toolman went to remove it from the oven, the pan juices had sloshed all over the door. In order to clean it thoroughly, he had removed the door and taken it apart. I didn't even know you could do such a thing. The door was spotless, but he was having a little trouble figuring out which way the side pieces attached. I sat on the floor, prepared to "hold this" and "don't push that" and assist in whatever capacity I could. My mind was preoccupied with contingency plans for how to cook and heat everything else with the microwave, crockpot, and other means.
I'll give credit where it's due--my husband doesn't give up or do a job halfway. We got the door back on and the next day I was able to finish my dishes and heat those my 14 friends and family had brought.
***Incidently, I learned there is something worse than seeing your oven disassembled the night before Thanksgiving. My aunt saw flames in her oven Wednesday night. She turned it off and let it cool and went to clean it (thinking it was a grease issue) when the coil in the bottom just broke in half. She had to scrounge up some replacement recipes that could be cooked on the stove top.
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