A Family Holiday
"So are you headed back to South Dakota for Thanksgiving?"
"No -- my parents are actually going to be here for the weekend."
"Oh! Are you nervous?"
I have had this exchange with people probably twice a day for the last week -- and each and every time it makes me smile. I am a little nervous, but it's not what they think; my apartment persists in being a disaster zone (probably because I find myself blogging instead of cleaning) and, although I tend to be a cleaning miracle worker when it comes down to the wire, I'm not certain it'll be in quite good enough shape before the fam appears.
That and I can't find my salt and pepper shakers. Small difficulties.
In any case, I'm actually pretty darn psyched about my family coming here for the holiday. I love hosting events. It's a little weird, really. I just love having people around, getting to feed them, and the shenanigans that inevitably result. I'm looking forward to the late nights and the card games and the movies.
Then there's the food. This is what people are usually asking about when they ask if I'm nervous. Am I nervous about having to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for my family? Absolutely not. Because that's just not how we roll.
It'll start early. The turkey will be the first thing cooking, in the roaster that I need to remind my mother to pack. Then Dad will probably make breakfast and we -- at least, those of us who are up and functioning -- will sit down and eat, maybe turn on the parade if I get an antenna before then. (I'm planning on it.) Mid-morning, after the breakfast dishes are done, everything else will start to come together. Mia Sorella, Mom, Dad and I will stand around in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables, mixing everything as necessary, talking, telling stories, and trying our hardest to wait until noon to crack open the first bottle of wine. In the meantime, Shorty will be hard at work on his pies.
An hour and a half before, Mom or I will mix up crescent rolls and I'll roll them out.
Then, crunch time. One of us kids will set the table while the other two and Mom are mashing potatoes, making gravy, and transferring everything to serving dishes while Dad starts carving the turkey.
And then, in an entirely unceremonious manner, we'll all pull up a chair, say grace, and dig in.
That, my friends, is what makes me completely relaxed about Thanksgiving. There is no "flying on my own" with the meal, just as my mother has not had to handle it all herself -- well, ever, I'm assuming, although particularly not since my sister and I have been old enough to reach the counter and do the menial tasks. In a family that enjoys food as much as we do, there is no sitting idly by and waiting for things to be done. We'll all jump in.
Until then, I'm going to order a pizza and try to convert this beautiful, chilly, incredibly messy apartment into something I'd be proud to show my mother.
Wish me luck.
"No -- my parents are actually going to be here for the weekend."
"Oh! Are you nervous?"
I have had this exchange with people probably twice a day for the last week -- and each and every time it makes me smile. I am a little nervous, but it's not what they think; my apartment persists in being a disaster zone (probably because I find myself blogging instead of cleaning) and, although I tend to be a cleaning miracle worker when it comes down to the wire, I'm not certain it'll be in quite good enough shape before the fam appears.
That and I can't find my salt and pepper shakers. Small difficulties.
In any case, I'm actually pretty darn psyched about my family coming here for the holiday. I love hosting events. It's a little weird, really. I just love having people around, getting to feed them, and the shenanigans that inevitably result. I'm looking forward to the late nights and the card games and the movies.
Then there's the food. This is what people are usually asking about when they ask if I'm nervous. Am I nervous about having to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for my family? Absolutely not. Because that's just not how we roll.
It'll start early. The turkey will be the first thing cooking, in the roaster that I need to remind my mother to pack. Then Dad will probably make breakfast and we -- at least, those of us who are up and functioning -- will sit down and eat, maybe turn on the parade if I get an antenna before then. (I'm planning on it.) Mid-morning, after the breakfast dishes are done, everything else will start to come together. Mia Sorella, Mom, Dad and I will stand around in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables, mixing everything as necessary, talking, telling stories, and trying our hardest to wait until noon to crack open the first bottle of wine. In the meantime, Shorty will be hard at work on his pies.
An hour and a half before, Mom or I will mix up crescent rolls and I'll roll them out.
Then, crunch time. One of us kids will set the table while the other two and Mom are mashing potatoes, making gravy, and transferring everything to serving dishes while Dad starts carving the turkey.
And then, in an entirely unceremonious manner, we'll all pull up a chair, say grace, and dig in.
That, my friends, is what makes me completely relaxed about Thanksgiving. There is no "flying on my own" with the meal, just as my mother has not had to handle it all herself -- well, ever, I'm assuming, although particularly not since my sister and I have been old enough to reach the counter and do the menial tasks. In a family that enjoys food as much as we do, there is no sitting idly by and waiting for things to be done. We'll all jump in.
Until then, I'm going to order a pizza and try to convert this beautiful, chilly, incredibly messy apartment into something I'd be proud to show my mother.
Wish me luck.
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