23 November 2013

The Countdown

There are two things people ask when looking at our Thanksgiving plans.  Why? and How?
The why is a complicated answer, and mayhaps I'll get to it soon.  But the how is much more straightforward, and I have to write it out anyway, so no reason not to go ahead and do that here.  Also, it will help me next year as it's always easier to edit than it is to write from scratch.

The two keys to the how, I've found, are clear plans and lots of help.  As my helpers have gotten more able, our feast has gotten more complex.  We surely love the week of Thanksgiving - even Paul, who doesn't generally love things he deems to be less than necessary, has learned to love it.

So, the countdown involves times, days, and names of doers.  

Usually, this countdown is on notebook paper or notecards, but this year, I shall be official.

18 November 2013

How often do infant turkeys eat?

Paul and I were married in April of 2006.  That fall, I decided I wanted us to host Thanksgiving.  We haven't looked back.
This is Thanksgiving numero ocho.  I haven't missed hostessing one yet.  I have a bit of pride in that fact - both the good kind of pride and the kind to keep an eye on - but this year, there is this small speed bump.

Her name is Elsa Gray Forster.  She's 12 days old. 

I am a calendar girl.  I don't know if I had something approximating the Best Day Ever when they covered calendars in first grade, or if it was watching my mother write in red pen and white-out mistakes when things were wrong on her paper calendars every day of every month of every year of my life, or if it's just part of being a J on the Meyers-Briggs, but I love a calendar like white on rice.  (Butchering of similes abounds in my world.  I was the child who readily pronounced "I can read you like the back of my hand," and "I know him like a book," with all amount of confidence.  I treat similes like e. e. cummings treated parentheses.)

So, Paul and I discovered in February that we were unexepectedly (as is Forster tradition) expecting.  And the first thing I did, naturally, was retreat to my calendar. Such comfort in 30 little square boxes.  Such comfort indeed. (I'd say I have a problem, but I think it's more of a solution....)

And I saw that due date, proverbially circled in gold, 2.5 weeks before Turkey Day.  And I quivered and shook and even quavered a bit.  Whatever shall we do.