Thanksgiving is on THURSDAY! Oh, baby! I’m so excited! A holiday devoted to overeating and family awkwardness….what could be better?
And I have to admit I’m glad that Baby Jesus doesn’t have any part of this holiday. Not because I’m against Jesus, it’s just that I can’t stuff my face guilt free if I’m thinking about salvation and world peace. No. This holiday is about guilt-free gluttony pure and simple. And pie. It’s also about pie.
I’m making the traditional stuff, and a three-tiered chocolate ganache and mousse cake. More about that in a later post. You know, an appetizing post.
We were watching "The New Girl” last night and they had their Thanksgiving episode on. It reminds me that everyone pretty much has a Thanksgiving Disaster story. Mine happened several years ago when I was married to the kids’ dad. The kids were two and one and I had decided to cook a traditional Thanksgiving meal for his parents who were coming down from Canada. That’s always awkward because Thanksgiving is all about celebrating being American, and Canadians don’t like that sort of thing. They like to set themselves apart from Americans…so much so that they have Thanksgiving too, only in October so they can beat us to it.
The week before Thanksgiving, the kids had all been hammered with the stomach flu. I won’t go into too many details but let me just say A) toddlers can puke an amazing distance and B) you can’t catch it in your hands, even though impulsively you may try.
By the time my in-laws got to the house, everyone was feeling okay, except the flu finally caught up with me. I spent a day running to the bathroom and trying to throw up QUIETLY so as not to disturb anyone.
Then my mother-in-law decided to help out and cook for everyone. She made an enormous pot of pasta with spicy sausage, green peppers, onions, and tomato sauce. The house smelled like hot meat and garlic. It did not suit my stomach AT ALL.
Then I recovered. The next day, my then-husband was sick….only he’d sadly eaten a ton of that spicy meat pasta the day before. Then my father-in-law got sick. It was horrendous. And there’s nothing worse than listen to the beast sound of men puking. Seriously.
Then our sewer backed up, and my one-year-old daughter fell down the stairs. She rolled down the stairs, we looked at her in horror, and then she started crawling around like nothing had happened. I’m still in therapy over it.
Two days later, it was Thanksgiving. We were pretty much all battered and bruised. My father-in-law shook his head and said in his heavy French Canadian accent “Oh, Tanya, that was terrible. It was like that song. A ring of fire.”
Turkey and mashed potatoes soothed our broken bodies.
I laugh about that Thanksgiving now, but it was truly terrible.
I’m really looking forward to this Thanksgiving. I’ve got Kealoha, his family, my sister and her family, my mom, and kids. And hopefully no one will suffer “The Ring of Fire”. I’m hoping we all just get indigestion from eating too much. You better believe I’ll be wearing my yoga pants. God, I love those things. In fact, I hope everyone comes in yoga pants: kids, women, and especially men. It just would intensify all that family awkwardness.
Have a Thanksgiving Disaster? Please post it here in the comments. Don't have one? Don't worry. Maybe this year is the year for you.