after the eating

The most glorious thing about having Thanksgiving at my house is the actual state of my house. The floors are all clean, the laundry room is neat, the granite in the kitchen is polished to a high sheen, and there are even tablecloths on both my tables. There is no dust, grit or grime to be found. Even the children's bathroom is still in a state where I will use it in a pinch. That, my friends, is saying something.

Last Sunday, I made a big meal for my side of the family. And I do mean big. There are five of us, plus my parents, my brother, and his girlfriend. I roasted a 17 pound turkey, made stuffing, three side dishes, cranberry sauce, gravy, and two pies. I worked for two days. Due to unforeseen circumstances, my brother and his girlfriend did not attend. I managed to not kill my mother. I was quite proud of myself. We had enough leftovers to feed a small army. The children happily ate leftover turkey, dressing and such for two or three days.



On Wednesday, the older two kids left for San Antonio, and I started cooking again, this time for hubby's family. I scaled the turkey down to twelve pounds, made a wonderful dressing with roasted garlic and mushrooms, changed the sides up to suit his family, and left off the baking, since hubby's mother brought lovely Marie Callendar's pies. I served it all with a bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle Riesling and two bottles of Georges DuBoeuf's Beaujolais nouveau. Talk about wonderful. I fell into a pleasant stupor from the combination of turkey and wine. We watched Dirty Jobs, stared at Mike Rowe (well, we girls, anyway) and laughed a lot, then watched the Cowboys play the Seahawks. My lovely MIL cares nothing for football and was quite annoyed that we chose to watch the game. SIL and her husband are Seattle fans, while hubby and I and our nephew all pull for the Cowboys. Obviously, half of us were very happy campers when the Cowboys ran away with the game.

After everyone left and the leftovers were safely stowed in the garage fridge, hubby and I opted for naps. He woke up sick. I mean sick. I spent the last two nights sleeping in middle son's bedroom to avoid the plague. At least I think that's what he's got, based on the sheer amount of whining, moaning, and pleading coming from my bedroom. Of course, this raging sickness has given me the perfect excuse to avoid shopping for anything at all during the nuttiest shopping days of the year!




I have learned several things from this experience:

Number one: always, always offer to cook for Thanksgiving. No travel and a sparkling clean house are included.

Number two: middle son's bedroom is actually quite nice, and his bed is incredibly comfortable.

Number three: sleeping alone is preferable to sleeping with a sick, whiny, snoring man. I actually slept through the night, in the perfect temperature, without waking once because of snoring or a big hand being draped over my chest. I even read in bed until I fell asleep without once hearing, "What time is it? Aren't you sleepy?"

Number four: always, always offer to cook for Thanksgiving, because of leftovers. I haven't cooked for two days!

The dogs and the cats have been in hog heaven, too. Turkey! Stock poured over their kibble! Strange, wonderful people to scratch their ears and their bellies. Sleeping in middle son's bed with the mama! Who could ask for more?

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and avoided all of the stores on Black Friday. Now I plan to sit right here on my sofa and pretend that Christmas is still more than a month away. I think I can get away with it until at least December 12th. But when our lovely daughter's birthday is over, I'll probably have to face up to reality and start decorating and shopping like the rest of the free world. Bah, humbug.

too many days of Christmas

After making my blog rounds yesterday, I feel quite lucky. Over at Laurie's, I read about P. Miller's life-threatening blizzard ordeal. Almost the entire family was sick at the Nekked Lizard household, and poor Jenny spent a couple of hours sick in a gas station just to travel home and find out her adorable offspring contracted double conjunctivitis. My little cold is hardly worth mentioning.

The little guy still believes in Santa. I think. The alternative is that he knows the truth and is playing along for effect. Or he may possibly be gathering intelligence. He left Santa a note. It was simple, a question about the order in which the reindeer are harnessed to the sleigh. After consulting hubby, I disguised my handwriting to the best of my ability, answered his question, and put the note down next to the empty milk mug and a plate containing the last snickerdoodle, half eaten. I stuffed the stockings and left unwrapped gifts from Santa for the children in front of the fireplace before retiring for the night: jewelry for our lovely daughter, a stereo for the big guy and a Nintendo DS Lite for the little guy.

We got up very early Christmas Eve morning to the Santa presents and bulging stockings. We celebrated early to accommodate Christmas Day travel. Last year the family came to us, so this year, it was our turn to do the drive on Christmas morning.

After tearing through the wrapped packages, we had our traditional baked French toast for breakfast with a side of the chocolate candy that Santa left in the children's stockings. It was a lovely, leisurely day. The children enjoyed newly acquired Christmas gifts while hubby and I lounged on the sofa. We ate when we felt hungry and slept when the mood struck.

Christmas morning found us on the turnpike, driving to the home of hubby's sister. We arrived with presents, food, children and dogs in tow. Jack and Maddy went straight to the backyard, to avoid my sister-in-law's newly laid wood floors (which are indeed quite gorgeous). Present opening was the first item on the agenda. The older children are getting hard to by for, and my in-laws opted for gift cards and Amazon Wish List items. The little guy is still tons of fun. He got video games, lego sets, and multiple nerf weapons. When the nerf guns were opened, we ran the boys, young and old, outside to shoot each other with abandon. Afterward everyone but me settled down to watch a movie. The weather was beautiful. My brother-in-law built his wife a lovely covered patio this summer and equipped it with a stereo, sun blind, and comfy furniture. I sat in the shade, had a drink, and watched Jack and Maddy run through the back yard in the sun.

My brother-in-law grilled prime rib and we had all the trimmings along with it for our Christmas dinner. My contribution was dessert: crustless brownie pie and Southern pecan pie. Everything was delicious. A wonderful Christmas, wouldn't you agree?

But we're not done. My father volunteered to work Christmas Day. There are younger mothers and fathers in his department, and since we became adults with families of our own, he frequently takes holiday shifts to give those parents the holiday with their children. He works for an airline on systems that support an important computer resource for the industry, something that runs 24 hours per day, seven days per week. It is sweet of him, but not altogether altruistic: he receives extra pay and once the holiday has passed, extra time off the job. As a result, we aren't celebrating the holiday with my parents until tomorrow.

Saturday will be our third celebration. The sheer volume of presents that my children receive is unbelievable. My husband has one nephew who is twenty-one years old. My brother has never married and has no children. The adults on both sides shower my children with an obscene amount of Christmas loot.

I am holidayed out. I dread the drive to my parents house. My husband and I will be trapped in our car with two teenagers, a suddenly whiny nine year old, and two schnauzers for just over two hours. That is not the worst of it. My parents want us to stay overnight. I suspect that a tour of the ice damage is planned. I would rather have every tooth in my head pulled. Sans sedative. This tour would involve approximately 1,000 acres. Daddy thinks he lost trees that will translate into twelve ricks of wood once he has converted the fallen trees into neat stacks of firewood. I love my parents. But I am living proof that you can take the country out of the girl.

On the bright side, I do have to say we have had a few quiet, relaxing days. One day my husband and I spent the bulk of the day sitting on the sofa watching the snow fall softly on our backyard. It was quite a pretty sight, especially with a fire roaring in the fireplace. Yesterday I caught up on my Tivo viewing while hubby played his favorite video game. The boys are so engrossed with their Christmas loot that they aren't fighting, and our lovely daughter has been busy working, sleeping, and doing whatever 17 year old girls do. If Christmas celebrations were over, life would be pretty perfect.