Let me just start by saying that my partner, Dave, is the absolute worst driver. Seriously, he has a knack for getting distracted by every little thing except for the road. A rare bird? He’ll spot it. A yard sale? He’ll fixate on that too. Meanwhile, I’m in the passenger seat, using my best “Nagging Partner Voice” to yell, “Focus on the road! Watch the yellow line! Don’t you dare hit that mailbox!”
Now, before I had a family, the kitchen was more of a no-go zone for me. My culinary repertoire consisted solely of take-out menus. So, it’s no surprise that I found myself in the kitchen one Thanksgiving, with Dave on my case, using the Nagging Partner Voice to remind me to “Pay Attention!”
It all started last Thanksgiving when I insisted we host the holiday at home, dreaming of a Norman Rockwell-esque celebration. I envisioned waking up early to stuff the turkey, donning an apron while sipping on wine, and sharing motherly wisdom about the secret to the perfect candied yams with anyone who ventured into my kitchen.
With Martha Stewart and Pinterest at my disposal, I was convinced this would be a piece of cake. I pulled out old Martha Stewart Thanksgiving issues, scoured Pinterest for holiday recipes, and opened a bottle of wine. By the end of the night (and the bottle), I had curated a truly ambitious, albeit misguided, menu.
Fast forward to the day before Thanksgiving: I had spent $389.00 and was ready to go. The catch? I was completely clueless. What would Martha do? Pour a glass of wine and tackle the easy stuff, right?
I kicked things off by opening a can of cranberry sauce and plopping it into a fancy bowl. What a stellar start! Until…
Dave: “Did you start the pies yet? Where’s the turkey?”
Me: “Hey, chill out! I’ve got this. Look! I made cranberry sauce!”
Dave: “Sweetheart, it’s the day before Thanksgiving; the cranberry sauce can wait.”
Me: “Trust me, I’m fine. Now, please go do something else, okay?”
Dave: (rolls eyes and leaves the kitchen)
Six hours later, I had burned two pies and accidentally swapped salt for sugar in my pumpkin bread. We only discovered that mishap during dinner the next day.
Thanksgiving Day arrived, and it was time to prove Dave wrong.
- 4:30 AM: Alarm goes off. Hit snooze… multiple times.
- 8:45 AM: Wake up, realize time, and nearly jump out of my skin.
- 8:53 AM: Coffee brewing, Pinterest fired up, and Martha’s magazine opened to page 87.
- 9:15 AM: What the heck? The turkey is still frozen!
- 9:42 AM: Run a lukewarm bath, toss in the plastic-wrapped turkey, and pour myself a glass of wine while praying it thaws quickly.
- 9:47 AM:
Dave: “You forgot to thaw the bird, didn’t you? I told you to remember!”
Me: “Just let me drink my coffee in peace.”
Dave: “Honey, it’s not that serious. Let me help.”
Me: (tapping fingers on the counter) “Hand me that knife, please.”
10:31 AM: The turkey is floating in the bathtub. Poking it, I decide it’s thawed enough. I wrap it up and haul it to the kitchen.
According to Pinterest, stuffing should be made separately. I slathered the turkey with butter like it was sunscreen and shoved it into the oven.
Dave: “Did you double-check that the bird is completely thawed?”
Me: “Of course! I’m not a novice. Can you please just pass me the recipe?”
Dave: “Wait! You know you have to cook the sausage before adding it to the stuffing, right?”
Hot dang, I had something to prove!
- 12:00 PM:
Dave: “What’s for lunch?”
Me: “Huh?!”
Dave: “Never mind.”
Me: “What the—?! I forgot to turn the oven on. Son of a gun! I FORGOT TO TURN THE OVEN ON!” - 12:05 PM: More wine.
- 12:06 PM: Turn the oven on. Keep a watchful eye for Mr. Know-It-All.
- Poke the turkey again. It’s still frozen in the center. I think to myself, “No one needs to know. I’ll just shove it in the oven and pray for a miracle.”
I was sorely mistaken.
6:57 PM: After burning the pies, partially baking the breads, forgetting about the rolls, and cursing Martha Stewart countless times, dinner was finally ready—five hours late. The turkey was burnt on the outside and still raw inside. I claimed it was a new Cajun style. Dave, bless him, didn’t dare remind me that he had warned me.
Next year? We’re celebrating at my in-laws’ place. (Trust me, I’m serious about this one!)
If you want to read more about the ups and downs of parenting and cooking, check out this post on home insemination. Additionally, for a great resource on fertility, visit Make A Mom. Another superb site for all things pregnancy and home insemination is Kindbody.
In short, Thanksgiving cooking can be a chaotic adventure filled with mishaps, but it also brings a lot of laughter and memories. Sometimes, it’s best to leave the cooking to someone else!