Maggie pulled a pound of butter out of the refrigerator and opened it and pulled out one of the sticks.
“How much do you need?” I asked.
“Two tablespoons,” she answered.
“Is that our last pound or is there another?” I asked.
“Last one,” she said.
I closed my eyes and started counting. Almost everything I make for Thanksgiving requires butter.
“Is it ok?” she asked.
“It’s going to be close,” I said. “Do I need to put sticks of butter out with the bread?”
“Maybe one stick,” she said.
I thought another minute and then said, “oh”.
“What?” she asked.
“I was going to make mom’s favorite pie for Friday. Maybe I’ll run out for butter.”
I didn’t want to run to the grocery store on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
My brother texted to see if we needed anything. I told him we could use a pound of butter.
Maggie went to work last night. When she got done she texted me at 11 to say she was stopping to get some snack food.
“Want anything?” she texted.
“Something chocolate,” I texted back. “I’m going to bed.”
When I came downstairs there was a bag of Hershey’s Kisses on the coffee table in the living room. I went to the kitchen to make coffee.
We toast bread in the oven using the broiler. I opened the oven to put the bread in. The top rack was one setting too low. I took it out and put it back in.
Maggie had cooked something.
I opened the refrigerator to get the butter and jam. There was a second pound of butter in the refrigerator with a stick missing.
I looked on top of the cabinet.
The container of Chex Mix had been moved.
Maggie had made a batch of Chex Mix last night after midnight and had cleaned up nicely.
She’d stopped at the store at 1130 for a pound of butter.
To me that’s good parenting.