Cooking Pants

Each year, the day before Thanksgiving, Daddy and I dice, peel, and mash late into the night as we make Pennsylvania Dutch stuffing. Witnessing this labor, Libby puts on her “cooking pants” and becomes an expert cook, giving fake advice and thumbs-up. Looking silly in her flannel pajama pants, we oblige her odd little joke which she unexplainably plays whenever we undertake big cooking projects. But as we read the recipe written in Poppy’s handwriting, we must be thankful that although she never touches a kitchen utensil, she’s still there, taking part in the family tradition of cooking this meal.