Doo and I survived Thanksgiving! Thirty-three people, 11 bottles of wine, five tons of mashed potatoes and two turkeys came together for an afternoon of family, feasting and competitive charades. At. Our. House.
My two-part strategy was simple. First, have everyone bring a dish so that I only had to provide one of the turkeys and my specialty, canned cranberry sauce. I nearly botched the main attraction because I got caught up in four episodes of “Parks and Rec” and completely forgot to put our bird in the oven. Luckily, my 4 p.m. dinner plan was too early for most, anyway, so the hour delay worked out well. More wine for everyone!
Second, shove all children and teenagers in the basement for the entire evening. Our main floor is wide open with only one sitting area, and sound reverberates like shotgun blasts in an operating room. There was no way I could handle 20 kids “up in my grill” while trying to orchestrate the perfect Thanksgiving meal. As expected, ping pong and Xbox entertained the boys for most of the night, and the door kept the noise to a minimum. But in a surprise development, my daughters lured the girls upstairs for magical makeovers. I can’t say I approved of the heavily lipsticked tartlets that went through the buffet line, but they were happy and quiet, so mission accomplished.
Did I enjoy a relaxing time with parents, sisters, in-laws and nieces/nephews? No. The night was a blur of hostess-ing activity. I don’t even remember seeing one of my own sons. But when tears and drama are confined to charades, that’s a great Thanksgiving. Peace out.
