Like most folks, we are waist-deep in Holiday-ness. Thanksgiving kicked off a season of food and festivities and family and–even though we’re basking in the light of the Christmas tree, already–I want to share a bit about our turkey day.
It was our first Thanksgiving in our first home. So, that made it particularly special. It was also the first Thanksgiving at which Finn could chow down on a turkey leg. That was pretty cool, too.
My father always comes for Thanksgiving week. He’s what most people would call–how do I say this generously–an anti-social hermit hippie. Thanksgiving is the only holiday he even acknowledges, and it’s the only one we spend with him. But that also means that we generally cater to his wish to dine with only us. While there’s something nice about have a low-key dinner with Sona, my dad, and I all sitting around the table unshowered and in our PJs, there’s also something convivial about having a larger group, especially now that Finn is in the picture.
It’s important to me that Finn remember that holidays were full of loved ones. I grew up in a pretty insular family, and I don’t want Finn to remember small, tame holiday meals. I want him to remember large, raucous, sometimes maddening, but usually wonderful, holiday memories.
So, this year, we invited some of Sona’s family, too, and we were excited to host a small house full.
I got a fresh turkey from our favorite neighborhood deli.
The thermometer broke; the turkey was still one of the best, yet.
I made Sona iron napkins.
Finn slept through the first half of the meal, which is exactly what we’d planned, despite Pap’s protest. “Do you want his mothers to enjoy the meal they labored over for two days or not?”
When he did wake up, Finn ate Thanksgiving dinner like it was his job. And then he did again for two more days.
We had the kitchen cleaned in record time.
Also, GRAVY. I was thankful for a lot, this year, but maybe most thankful for the gravy.
