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Thanksgiving Memories
Pictionary, pickles, persnickety septic tanks — it's not the turkey that makes the day memorable (unless the turkey explodes).
We've started a new, gross tradition: hiding the turkey neck. (We put it in a plastic bag first.)
We spend the evening in front of a fire reading children's books, like Over the River and Through the Woods and The Mousery.
As a military family, we always like to invite soldiers to our house for Thanksgiving Day, with one stipulation: They must prepare their family's favorite Thanksgiving dish. These are usually the hands-down winning recipes of the day — not because they're the best, but because of the memories they evoke for the soldiers (and the stories my kids get to hear).
I run the local Thanksgiving morning road race every year with various family members, followed by my father's famous pancakes made from scratch. Even though my dad is 71 years old, he always finishes at least 10 minutes ahead of me and sometimes runs back around the course to pick me up and cross the finish line (again).
It seems my plan to create a gorgeous baby book for each child somehow never came to fruition — but working together on our memory album each Thanksgiving, reflecting on what we're thankful for that year, is a fun and very doable endeavor.
When I was a kid, my grandma always broke out an old bingo set on Thanksgiving and had little prizes wrapped for us. (Somehow she made it so everyone won.) We all played, even my grandfather, who I'm sure was grumbling inside about being distracted from football on TV.
After dinner, we play Pictionary. The losing team has to do the dishes.
My Aunt Gertrude always had a divided glass dish filled with green and black olives and gherkin pickles (my favorite) at Thanksgiving. My aunt has since passed, but I still make sure I have those gherkins on whatever table my turkey dinner is on.
Once our Thanksgiving meal is over, we set out gingerbread houses and lots of candy, and the kids make our first Christmas decoration of the season.
We spent last Thanksgiving with some family friends. My twins were 4 months old and I wanted to give them a taste of turkey, so I popped a jar of turkey baby food into the microwave without reading the label closely. Everyone was startled a minute later when it exploded. I spent 20 minutes cleaning the microwave, and the twins just had mashed potatoes for dinner.
One recent Thanksgiving we decided to change it up a little and bought a cheap chocolate fondue fountain. Of course, there was a malfunction, and chocolate ended up splattering the walls and everyone's faces. The kids got a kick out of it. The adults, not so much.
After having our third child, I decided it'd be easier to host Thanksgiving at our house. Everything was ready moments before guests arrived … then our septic backed up. (It worked out well, actually: the dirty dishes had to wait, so we had more time together.)
When I was a child, the youngest cousin said the prayer before dinner. He or she was always sure to include a prayer for my steadfastly bachelor uncle to find a wife before the next Thanksgiving.
According to family legend, when my cousin and I were toddlers, he laid eyes upon the turkey and cried out, "Holy s_ _ _, what a big chicken!"
Our new tradition, since moving to Seattle two years ago, is to host a huge Thanksgiving weekend at our house. (My other tradition is to sneak off with my mom and dad to their hotel room to watch Grey's Anatomy.)
My most vivid memory of Thanks-giving is from when my son was nearly 3. We always say what we're thankful for, and he begged to go first. (I assumed he would give thanks for his new twin siblings.) He thought hard, then said, "I'm thankful for my penis!" My husband added, "That's what I was gonna say."
Every year, without fail, my mother burns the yams. Every year.
