Thanksgiving was unforgettable. We had 20 of our dearest friends and family come join us, and while usually this would cause my head to spin and my nerves to fray- this year it didn't. I've been married for 13 years, and of those 13 years, I think I've cooked 10 turkeys. This year, I got my act together early- made my pies and messy stuff the day before, wiped down the kitchen, set the table, packed up the kids and dog and headed to my folks.
My Dad made dinner for everybody the night before (did you know they sell more pizzas the night before Thanksgiving than they do on Superbowl Sunday?) and on early Thursday morning, I left the kids with Grandad. My mom, and sister-in-law joined me at my house. We had Christmas music on. We had the turkey in the oven. There was always someone to stir your pot, or wipe down the counter. We laughed. We joked. More importantly, we did not freak out. By 3pm, everything was ready to go, and my Mom and I were sitting in lounge chairs, outside (it was 80 degrees people!) drinking orange Pellegrino spiked with gin. Here's a picture of the kids, not drinking orange fizzy gin, but having fun all the same:
Dinner was great, the company was better. We stayed up until 1am playing poker, and my stomach ached from laughing so hard. At least, that's what I thought. The next day, my older brother was felled with violent stomach issues. Then, my next brother, and my sister-in-law. Then, my nephew. My niece. My mother. My husband. My aunt. My dear friend from high school. And finally? Yours truly. Somehow, I don't think I'll be cooking anybody turkey anytime soon.