(story by Mir, from Woulda Coulda Shoulda)
I know that holiday mishaps are the things family memories are often made of. Heck, you see it in the movies, read about it in books, and everyone's got a story or two about the time so-and-so passed out cold in a plateful of mashed potatoes or some relative took a wrong turn and by the time they showed up, the turkey was a charred hunk of sawdust. Holiday disasters are pretty much the reason they invented the phrase, "Someday we'll look back and laugh."
But my family never seemed to look back on holiday mishaps fondly, growing up. We most often traveled over winter break to see relatives, which meant spending a lot of time in airports on some of the busiest travel days of the year, and for Thanksgiving we usually stayed at home and had a traditional dinner, just the four of us. Only, instead of dinner being cozy, it was usually incredibly stressful.
My mother—who is probably reading this right now, and is poised to be embarrassed by something I say—is actually a really good cook, but she doesn't like to cook, and didn't do it very much while I was growing up. Our regular dinners were casual, to say the least, and why my mother took it upon herself to make a giant fancy meal once a year when we rarely even ate together remains a mystery to this day. And have you ever been around someone who doesn't like to cook who's slaving over a giant meal? Not the very most fun day ever, is my point.
When the time came to sit down with the food and discuss being thankful for things, I can remember often feeling like other people must be grateful for all sorts of things, but I was mostly grateful that it was almost over.
There was a number of years where each year, the turkey was bigger than the one from the year before. And it finally culminated with Tom, the Turkey That Would Not Defrost Properly. Tom must've been 25 or 26 pounds, which is a ludicrous amount of turkey for a family of four, but that was not the point. The point was that Tom was frozen solid and the entire week leading up to Thanksgiving involved discussions of whether or not he would fit in the fridge, and would he defrost in time, and how long could he sit on the counter or in a water bath before cooking, plus how long does a turkey that size need to be cooked, anyway?
In the end, the turkey spent the bulk of the day first in the sink and then in the oven, and… it was still frozen in the middle. My mother was furious; there was not a lot of gratitude happening, that year.
(After that, we switched to ham for many, many years. I'd say it was a good decade before I discovered that I actually liked turkey, provided it wasn't either frozen, overcooked, or both.)
There was the year the popovers burned. Popovers aren't all that hard to make, but they're kind of fussy, and we only ever had them for Thanksgiving. There was the double-whammy of no popovers plus my mom's frustration with the oven, that year, and while it wasn't a big deal, I do remember it as The Year The Popovers Burned, soooo….
There was the year I drove home from college in near-whiteout conditions, white-knuckling the entire drive and wondering if I should turn back, and then finally arriving home and just being profoundly grateful that I was out of the car.
Now I have my own family, and we're getting ready for Thanksgiving. I didn't know it at the time, but those years of Thanksgiving mishaps actually prepared me well for parenthood, where—I'm learning—things hardly ever go according to plan. Usually we have a houseful of folks for the holiday, but this year it'll just be the four of us. Either way, the kitchen is loud and messy, and everyone helps, and sometimes something burns, and I often forget something, and the day is not without squabbles. (Example: The first year my daughter was a vegetarian, she just ate everything but the meat, and that was fine; but the next year she asked for a Tofurkey, which we purchased… and she then declared disgusting.)
I never do give thanks for a perfect day or a perfect family or a perfect meal.
I give thanks for perfect moments, fleeting though they may be… and for all the deeply flawed moments that wrap around and between them, making up a life that is sometimes heartbreaking, depressing, and maybe even not at all what I thought I wanted. I especially give thanks for the gift of knowing that perfect isn't all it's cracked up to be, anyway. We look back on the year of Tom The Frozen Turkey and we laugh, now. The frustrations of today do sometimes melt into the fond memories of tomorrow.
So do me a favor, if you find yourself caught up in family drama or an uncomfortable, interminable dinner this week: Remember that things don't have to be perfect to be good. (I might even argue they're better when they're not.) There's always something worthy of gratitude, somewhere, and if you end up getting a giggle out of it, too (now or later; either way), so much the better.
From my imperfect family to yours, I'm hoping you have a memorable—and grateful—Thanksgiving this year! Hit me with your Thanksgiving disaster stories, won't you? I think a stroll down Catastrophe Lane is a great way to get ready for the big event.
(read more Mir, who's but one of the people we're thankful for, here)
Are you ready- it is a Christmas memory- one of the first (and ONLY) years I spent Christmas with my husband’s family- one of his cousins decided to light a fire in the chimney- without opening the floo. As smoke started pouring in the house, the fire alarms went off, his uncle stepped on the dog, his aunt yelled at the uncde for stepping on the dog, my FIL yelled at the cousin for not opening the floo, the uncle yelled at my FIL for yelling at his kid, The cousin started crying (he was at least 16 at the time!), my MIL yelled at the FIL for yellign at the cousin, the fire department shows up…my husband and I ran for our coats, grabbed them and spent the next several hours with friends. God, that family!
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We don’t really have any memorable mishaps, but the most memorable Thanksgiving was the year my aunt, her husband(2nd one and was 18 years younger and only 5 years older than me. Couldn’t call him uncle) and 3 kids came to our house and my mom and Aunt got drunk on wine and argued over a prom dress. That is the only time I know of my mom having a hangover and we have never let her forget it!
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Growing up, every Thanksgiving was spent at Aunt Kay’s–aka Betty Crocker. I can’t recall a single mishap.
.
I have *once* hosted Thanksgiving and done the whole shebang. My mom, bless her, came out to help (I live 6 hours from my family) and we cooked for a day and a half. I *like* cooking. I do not *like* cooking for a day and a half. I held it together until about 2 hours before the company was due and then I started to lose it–everything wasn’t going to be done on time, the kitchen was a mess, the house wasn’t perfect, and probly other stupid stuff that doesn’t even matter. My mom had been all about staying out of the way and letting me direct the show, until that moment. She sent me to take a long shower (don’t come out until you’re calm again!!), recruited my brother-and-sister-in-law (who were living with us at the time) to clean, and set DH to washing dishes. And everything worked out perfectly
Now the in-laws have their own house and SIL *loves* doing Thanksgiving. All we have to do is show up. And that totally works for me!
p.s. I did love the actual hosting part of Thanksgiving, tho. So I think I could do it again as a potluck.
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I love this. No major mishaps to share, but plenty of stresses over the years. As it’s the first holiday since my dad’s death, I’m expecting a fairly bumpy ride this year….
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When I was growing up, we always had to attend two Thanksgivings. One took play earlier in the afternoon and stretched into the evening and was a giant shebang hosted by my maternal grandmother. It was insane and super fun from a small child’s perspective. There were tons of cousins and homemade food everywhere.
Afterward, my family would go out to fancy restaurant to have dinner with my paternal grandmother and great-aunt. Of course, we’d already be stuffed from the first Thanksgiving (even though we went to a family-favorite place with fantastic food), and my brother and I would be FULL OF ENERGY, but we weren’t allowed to run around or play with the fancy velvet ropes hung up from the poles. I do have plenty of good memories from the second Thankgivings (such as learning the trick of ALWAYS winning Tic-Tac-Toe) and getting a chocolate turkey (ha, chocolate-shaped animals, not just for Easter).
By the time I entered high school, Thanksgiving had become a much more subdued holiday. Both of my grandmothers had passed away by that time. We’d just go out to a restaurant nearby for dinner.
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I wasn’t born at the time, but we always retell the story of the time my great grandma served creamed turkey on toast for Thanksgiving. My grandpa (her son-in-law) was particularly horrified. In my family we call that meal S.O.S.
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No major disaster stories, but I’m grateful that hubby and I spend Thanksgiving at home. Together. Alone.
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My family is pretty off-beat and we have no real attachment to Thanksgiving tradition… we didn’t start having TG dinner until I was 9 or 10, and we’ve never done it the same way 2 years in a row. Last year my sister cooked a whole host of Mexican dishes for a spicy Thanksgiving smorgasbord
The year before it was half traditional Thanksgiving food and half Indian dishes. Half of the family is vegetarian so we have fun with it all, inventing new dishes and such. Honestly, through all the tears and disasters of all the Thanksgivings in my life, I look back on all of them and smile. We have a good time over a good meal, each year, and that’s what sticks with me the most 
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I am expecting this year to be the disaster Thanksgiving story as I have decided not to sit biting my tongue and eating my heart out as my aunt gives her opinion on all the ways I am living my life wrong. I have decided she is rude and while I will not pick any fights, I will not hold my tongue when confronted anymore. It has already started when she assigned me a lemon meringue pie, asked if I had ever made one (I have) then told me all the ways I could screw it up and how to avoid those mistakes I was sure to make. These instructions included ways to bake the frozen crust and to read the lemon box carefully. I answered as snottily as possible that I make my OWN crust and will be making the filling with these weird yellow fruits that grown on trees. Lemons I think they are called. Now, all I have to do is not eff up that pie. Please God, of all the pies in all the world, let this pie be the pie that turns out perfect and shuts her up.
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I’m wishing you success. I’m the youngest and my family (older sisters) talk about my inability to do stuff while I’m sitting there in front of them.
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There was this one year where my cousin, whom I don’t get along with too well, was invited and I was firmly reminded by my parents to be nice. (We were both in our late 20s at this point.) So, I offer him some of my beer when he gets there to be friendly and he ends up having about six of them and making a total ass of himself. After that my father asked me please to not offer my cousin beer in the future, which I found rather amusing for many reasons…
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I’m grateful for the kind of family that stays pretty casual about Thanksgiving! There have been overcooked and undercooked turkeys, forgotten essentials, etc., but nobody here makes a big deal of any of it, so none of the “disasters” stand out as particularly memorable.
I remember being grateful for that at wedding time too, after seeing so many people whose big day is “ruined” because they have the wrong bouquet or whatever.
I can’t operate like that, too much stress!
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Brigitte, I was about to mention my wedding — it was a comedy of errors all around, but the emphasis is on comedy. I didn’t care whether anyone found the flowers or not or if Uncle Joe was tailgating with bourbon in the church parking lot before the ceremony of if Cousin So-and-So was filling up the guest book at the sanctuary door with names like “Hugh Jass” and “Ben Dover” — at the end of the day, I would be married and leaving on a lovely vacation with the hubs. So we were laughing about all of it already as it unfolded. Of course, the marriage itself didn’t last, but the memories of the wedding are still pretty funny.
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The first thanksgiving my now husband spent with my family was probably one of our more memorable ones. It was my parents, myself and the boyfriend. We had dinner on the table, all ready to sit down and eat…and the doorbell rang. It was two of my uncles and the one uncle’s wife. They saw dinner on the table and said, “Oh go ahead and eat. We’ve already eaten. We’ll just sit over here and read the paper.” Every time one of us at the table said something the wife popped up and said, “Speak louder. We can’t hear you over here!!” And then it turned out our turkey was still frozen in the middle. My husband and I still laugh over that one.
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The first Thanksgiving after I was married, my former brother-in-law uninvited me (and only me) as we were about to head out the door. My ex-husband went without me. It’s just as well, they seemed to have this strange notion that being disabled was an optional thing and that I should just get over it and play nice while the family was together.
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There was the year the turkey was too big for the oven – thank GOD for best friends who live across the street and don’t think it’s weird when you call her up, hysterical, and ask if she’ll switch turkeys with you. There was my first Thanksgiving with my husband-to-be when it took me six containers of crisco and countless batches of pie dough before I could get four (patched up and extremely ugly) crusts slapped together. And then there was this year, when I started an oven fire and somehow lit my coffee on fire, had Thanksgiving a day early, and then the girls only ate two bites – but I laughed so hard at myself that it was kind of the best Thanksgiving ever. The ability to laugh at yourself, I’ve found, is kind of the best. quality. ever.
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