For the past twelve-plus years, I’ve been the host for our family’s Thanksgiving feast. In the beginning I loved it, but over time I’ve gone from being the hostess with the mostess, to the beastess with the leastess. What a luxury it must be to show up at someone else’s house with rolls. To not have to clean, shop, organize, decorate, and clean again, is a gift in itself. And since it’s tacky to mention money, I won’t. Forget I said a thing about that.
This year at dinner I announced it was my last year to host. Next year we will be going out of town…or out to dinner…or to someone else’s house. The news was well taken. Everyone was appreciative of years’ past and didn’t blame us one bit. Laughter ensued as we ate the spoils, but I felt bad that somewhere along the way, Thanksgiving had become thankless for me. I have so much to be thankful for. And it’s one meal per year, big deal. Build a bridge and get over myself.
Here’s a disastrous thought: what if one year no one comes over? What if, by accident or natural disaster, we had to spend that day alone? How sad would that be? It’s so much more fun being in a room filled with laughter, with people who essentially get me, so aren’t I the lucky one?
As I ate the turkey, ham, brisket, green-bean casserole, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, stuffing, rolls, and apple pie, listening to the different conversations taking place, I had an epiphany. Everyone was enjoying themselves in my home. My house provided the backdrop to this wonderful meal in a casual atmosphere with friendly banter. No one got drunk and stupid. No one got food poisoning. And nothing caught fire. The day was a success!
So, I have this theory about Thanksgiving and childbirth. You may say you don’t want anymore, but a year later you forget all about the pain and are ready to do it again.