Letting Go...of the Pie

Autumnfest. A celebration of autumn, harvest, community and food.

The words heave dread into my belly even as my eldest excitedly jumps around, waving a piece of green paper pulled from the bottom of her backpack and explaining how she signed up to make apple pie. Surely, that can't be good.

It's 7:30pm on a Sunday night and the children are checking their bags and gear while I watch and occasionally question the crumpled bits of paper, no wait...homework, pulled out of pockets or comment on the half eaten sandwiches. I'm completely taken off guard by the sudden enthusiasm and squealing coming from my 10 year old.

As G gives me a rapid fire account about pies, food drives and contests, I peruse the wordy document that is essentially telling me that this concoction is due two days from now. There are some complicated rules about the massive dessert being homemade with no parental help and points being awarded, but I ignore this. G has never made a pie, so obviously I am going to need to help. At this point, I can only focus on two things: the kitchen calendar that has the next four days blocked out solid with hastily scribbled shorthand and the realization that I may not have time for a shower let alone make a pie or figure out how to bake it in an oven that is as moody and temperamental as my well meaning, but overbooked "tween".

Are you feeling my stress yet?

So, doing what I do best, I begin the process of shutting it all down. I carefully, quietly, but without any hesitation begin to list the reasons why I do not have time to make the pie. G becomes very quiet herself. Trouble is brewing, but still being very new to having a 10 year old (she was just 9 a few months ago!) who has taken the Kelly Clarkson song "Little Miss Independent" more literally than I would wish, I miss the subtle signs.

I keep talking, reiterating how busy we are this week with my heavy work load and their heavy school/soccer load. I can hear myself talking more quickly, more loudly, even a bit hysterically as I begin to psych myself out in front my three kids who are shuffling their feet and wondering why I keep babbling about dirty laundry, tours, grants and yoga. G takes a step toward me, with a look of barely contained exasperation.

"Mom. Mom! Can you just stop talking for a minute? I've got to tell you something."

I don't hear her because I am still muttering, but this time about schedules and showering and my youth slipping by.

"Mom. Did you read the rules? I HAVE to make the pie by myself. You CAN'T help me."

That caught my attention.


"What do you mean, I CAN'T help you? You've never made a pie before and believe it or not, turning ten years old does not make you suddenly able to snap a pie out."

I can feel her infamous stink eye burning a hole in my back as I stomp into the kitchen to see whether I have the apples we'll need to turn out the pie. I ignore the feeling of guilt because frankly, I won't have time to stop in the store if I won't have time for a shower. Frankly, it will be a miracle if I can find the time to dress myself in the morning or eat a meal, so frankly, we better have the apples if there is any hope of getting this pie made in time.

"Mom," G has followed me into the kitchen. "I can scramble my own eggs, make pancakes, cut anything with your big knife and I always clean up after myself. I think I can turn out a pie." Now it's G's turn to stomp off.

Damn. I blew it. I'm pretty sure I heard a quaver in her voice and with that I realize what an ass I'm being. I pull in a deep breath, mentally kick myself for my reaction and seek her out in the back room where she has pulled out a book by the fire while the youngest two have dutifully started brushing their teeth during my previous rant.

I try to hug her stiff, resentful body, squelching the sad feeling I get when she puts me off like that and gamely, apologetically, ask her if we can break the pie making up into two nights: prepping crust the first night, cutting apples and baking the second. The task feels more do-able like that, but I still dread finding the time and energy to push what will surely be a cranky, tired kid with the best of intentions but with only so much reserve. G immediately softens, hugs me back and bounces into the kitchen to look up a recipe. I follow, shoo her back into the bathroom because no matter what, it is bedtime and promise that we'll find the perfect recipe tomorrow.

I head back into the kitchen then, picking up dishes as I scoot my slippered feet toward the sink and all at once, I realize it's going to be OK. I need to let it go, get it done and get the hell out of my head. I feel a weight drop and my neck relax. I prep a cup of tea.

Although I don't know it yet, it turns out that I will find the time to get to the store to pick up a bag of apples. I will find that the enthusiasm of my well intentioned (and tired!) child really can carry her through two pie making sessions in spite of her very long, very full days. I will find that I have to let go of my idea of pie and let her create her own, even when I feel like she is overworking the dough. I will find that the same child can not only make a beautiful crust and learn to peel an apple, but then inspire her younger siblings to do the same. I will find that in spite of being too hard on myself and on my daughter, she'll not only forgive me and love me, she will not let it deter her from her own inspirations.

I also find that I have time not just for one shower, but two.