Everything was edible.
Oh, sure, I didn’t have the easiest time preparing the meal. I had lost my glasses, my kids caused trouble, and the cat kept jumping on the counter, sure that he’d find a piece of turkey waiting for him.
But it all turned out.
Thanksgiving 2009 was a success.
We didn’t eat until 7. That’s when Tom came home from work.
“Do you have the stuff?” Tom asked me as he took off his coat.
I lifted the bottle. “I have the stuff.”
No. Not wine. Sparkling juice. Because Tom and I? We have the maturity level of a twelve-year-old and apparently the tastes of one too.
The sparkling juice went into my special Titanic glasses. I mean, they weren’t found in the wreckage or anything, because ew corrosion. They were bought at a Titanic store, you see. I’ve always been interested in Titanic—I think I have a White Star Line plate somewhere.
We gathered around the table. Tom lifted his fork to dig in.
I raised my fork to ding my glass. I expected it to make that nice tinkle sound you hear in movies when characters ding their glass and say, “I’d like to propose a toast.”
But when I went to ding my glass, it sounded like THUNK THUNK THUNK and no one even heard it.
Where was my tinkle sound?
Oh well. No tinkle. I stood up and said, “I feel like I should give a speech.”
Tom groaned. “Not this again.” Last year I made us go around the table and say what we were thankful for. I figured it would be a nice thing to do, you know? But we’re just not the type of family to do that I guess.
“No, don’t worry, you won’t have to—le gasp—share your feelings, Tom, don’t worry. I won’t put you through that again,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Thank God,” Tom mumbled, setting his fork down.
“I just wanted to go around the table and say what I love about each and every one of you. Tommy,” I said, looking at my seven year old son who was busy trying to pull out his loose tooth. (Ew!) “You never fail to make me laugh. You’re a great kid who never gives up. I’m proud to be your mother.”
Tommy didn’t even appear to be moved. He continued to wiggle his tooth.
I looked at Tom. “You’re a wonderful provider and husband and father. Sure you may not be the cleanest man but if you were clean, what in the world would I blog about?”
“You’re welcome,” Tom said dryly.
Then I turned to Natalie, who was playing with her mashed potatoes.
“Natalie. My daughter. You...” I struggled for a few seconds and pictured her latest temper tantrum. She wanted the couch cushions on the floor and I said, no, sorry, the cushions go on the couch. She cried for ten minutes about it. Sometimes I don’t understand her logic. “You keep things interesting around here. You speak your mind and—”
“Can we eat now?” Tommy piped up.
“Son, Mommy is giving a speech. Hush,” I said, waving my hand at him. I stared at Natalie again. “Thank you for letting me dress you up.”
“Potatoes!” Natalie shrieked, rubbing some on her hair.
Why wasn’t anyone getting moved? In the movies, characters always tear up when someone gives a moving speech about them. But my son was too busy working on yanking out his tooth, Tom just wanted to eat, and Natalie was confusing mashed potatoes as shampoo.
“I’m done,” I said, sitting down.
We all dug in.
Afterwards when I was cleaning the kitchen, Tom came up behind me and put his arms around my waist.
This would have been a romantic moment but I’m quite jumpy. So I shrieked and whirled around with the kitchen sponge in my hand. I nearly clobbered Tom’s head with it.
“Geez. Can’t a man hug his wife?” Tom asked, hands up. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m thankful. For you.”
“See? Aren’t feeling marvelous things?”
Tom looked a tad uncomfortable. “Sure...” Then he cleared his throat. “Well. I’m going to go feel like a man again. I have a base to defend.” He headed for the computer.
“Tell the rest of the Call of Duty nerds that I said hello!” I called out.
As I said before.
Thanksgiving 2009 was a success.