Turkey is for family

I often tell my kids, my friends, my family, anyone who will listen to me, that the hardest part of being married is the holidays.

In fact, the holidays may be the hardest part of life in general (other than major illnesses and tragedies, of course).  Or unless you're a man.  For us womenfolk, the holidays are all about planning, shopping, cleaning, cooking, baking, worrying, obsessing, perfecting, stressing, decorating and, oftentimes, peacemaking. Sometimes, there is drinking. For men, it's usually about the football.

That's because we're all trying to achieve the impossible -- we're either trying to recreate the perfect holidays of the memories of our youth, or we're trying to invent the ones we never had. The ones we see on TV, that mythical perfect holiday dinner with the turkey in the center of the table with the white table cloth with everybody smiling and happy.

Isn't that how your mama or your grandmama did it?

I have wonderful memories of Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners at my Grannie's house, which was next door to our trailer. Grannie had a huge oval wooden table that she set meticulously with the lace tablecloth hand-crocheted by Grandpa's sister, Aunt Irma Lee, her fine china and silver that had been passed down for generations and crystal goblets. A plantation child, Grannie also had cool little antique gadgets, like a crystal knife rest which kept the butter from getting on the tablecloth, and individual salt and pepper wells.

The adults would drink wine (probably Boone's Farm, but OK), and my brother and I would get grape juice to pretend. Grandpa would repeatedly warn us not to back our chairs into the glass china closet, and we would eat our turkey, cranberry jelly, sweet potatoes with the little marshmallows melted on top, Grannie's oyster dressing, cornbread dressing, peas, fruit salad and brown and serve rolls. My sister, the oldest, would make cherry pies that my brother and I loved.

And yes, I have tried to recreate those meals in my own house with my own husband and children. I have Grannie's lace tablecloth, but it's too tattered to use anymore. And I set my own meticulous table with my own wedding china and crystal and my great-grandparents' silverware. It's my version of Norman Rockwell.

But when my daughter was about 6 or 7, she asked us why we don't put the turkey on the table all pretty like they do on TV. It was our custom to bring the turkey slices to the table on a large platter, after my father-in-law had taken it the bird into the laundry room to carve it up with the electric knife. So we humored her. The Coach brought the big, brown beautiful bird to the table, we oohed and aahed for a moment, then Pappy took it to the laundry room to cut up.

Of course, when it comes to the holidays, the most important thing is family. But that's also the most difficult part of getting, being and staying married. Just like on your wedding day, sides must be chosen. Lines must be drawn.

At whose house are you going to eat on Thanksgiving? On Christmas? Where will you eat dessert? And it starts even before the wedding. I've seen my stepdaughter and stepson sit at a table already rubbing their too-full bellies because they're trying to give a little to everyone and make everybody happy. It can't be done.

I can clearly remember the last time I had a holiday dinner with my own family -- my mom, my stepdad, my sister and her husband, my brother, his wife and their children. It was November, 2000. The woman who had promised to let us adopt her child had just reunited with her boyfriend. Our nursery was all decorated, but remained empty.

My family, feeling sorry for me, came to my house and let me cook for them. It was nice. We all got along. We made wonderful memories. We were blessed with our baby girl just two months later. But my brother would not live to see another Thanksgiving.

All the others have been about my husband's family -- his parents, his children. And, because that's the way we decided to roll, his ex wife, her husband, his children, Later, it came to include my stepson's wife and her parents.  Yes, they'll all be coming to my little house on Thanksgiving. We'll go to the ex wife's house on Christmas Eve. Last year was the opposite.

And I realized the other day that this holiday season will be my first. I mean, "mine." For the first time in more than 20 years, this will not be my mother-in-law's holiday where she dictated all the rules -- what to cook, when to eat, what to eat, how to eat. Where to eat.

In the early days, I capitulated. I let her have Thanksgiving at her house in exchange for Christmas. That was fine. My mom even lived in the same town in Mississippi, so it was easy to go there. Except for Lora's first Thanksgiving. She needed a nap before the big meal. The mothers refused to allow it and repeatedly questioned why in the world I thought my child should take a nap. They found out when she fell asleep at the table during dinner.

They would then come to my house for Christmas. But of course, it was still "her" holiday. She actually said that one time. "This is MY Christmas." The "not yours" was left unspoken. So we cooked her way. We went to church at her time (4:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve, which I hated). We woke up when she decided. And we ate what and when she demanded.

Then Hurricane Katrina hit and the in-laws lost everything and moved in with us. I still did my best to let her have "her" holiday.

Now I don't have to.

My Thanksgiving will be in my house, cooked in my tiny kitchen (without a dishwasher mind you) and served on my table with my china and silver -- just like my Grannie used to do. I'm trying to create memories for my daughter, traditions that she will want to carry on to her family -- but probably have to give up once she gets married.

That's just the way it is. Pick your battles, hon.

Thankful

As the Thanksgiving holiday approached, a lot of my friends have been using their social media accounts to proclaim that for which they are thankful.

I didn't do that.

Oh, on Sunday I told the world that I was thankful for the man who brought me coffee, the Sports section and breakfast in bed, then went downstairs to take care of his own damn mother.

And today I said I was thankful for my husband's ex-wife because she is cooking Thanksgiving dinner for us and all the kids tomorrow. All we have to do is bring the turkey, because the one thing my husband learned from his father was how to cook a fabulous turkey.

Frankly, there hasn't been a whole lot of stuff to be thankful for this past year or so, since I lost my job, my identity, my livelihood and much of my self esteem.  Since then I've been taking care of my mother-in-law on a daily basis, feeding her and dressing her and arguing with her as I drive her to dialysis three days a week, failing the math portion of the Praxis, trying to do freelance work for anyone who wants me to, waiting for those checks to come in, counting pennies to come up with the monthly car payment, living with broken heaters in my house and in my hot tub, reusing my daily-use contacts, dealing with kids who have gotten themselves in trouble and tried to deal with an estrangement from my own mother.

Basically, the last year has sucked balls. Big ones. And still does sometimes.

And while the rest of America is spending this week gathering around tables with their families and friends, I am not. My family doesn't do that. Not anymore.

But I can still find things for which to be thankful. Like ....

My husband, who loves me, who treats me like a queen, who cheers me on, who encourages me when I'm down, who picks me up when I fall, who always -- and I mean always -- takes my side, who believes me and believes in me, and who tells me, "Yes! I feel that new muscle in your leg." and "Yes! Your knees are getting prettier."

My daughter, the light of my life, who spends too much time in her room and needs to learn how to clean it, who cooks her own macaroni and cheese,  who is smart and funny and talented and sarcastic, who loves real books from Barnes and Noble, and alternative music, who draws kooky pictures, who can sing beautifully (but won't because it makes me cry), who writes beautifully, who gets up a half an hour early every morning so she can come upstairs and cuddle with me, who made my life the other day when she told me "You're the strongest person I know." Who knows I did what I had to do.

My stepchildren, who include me as part of their family, who claim me as their stepmother, who didn't need any therapy because of me, who make me proud to see them all grown up with wonderful careers and full, rich lives and who back me up when they need to. And my new step grandchild, who doesn't cry when she sees me anymore.

I'm thankful for my sisters. I'm thankful that I had a brother once. I'm thankful that I have a bunch of cousins that I've reconnected with on Facebook and some in real life. I'm thankful that I have a whole bunch of nieces and nephews and grand-nieces and nephews.

I'm thankful for my friends, who listen to me, who laugh with me, who cry with me, who give me advice, who know my stories, who drink with me, who take me to lunch. Who believe me,  and know I did what I had to do. Who believe in me and give me chances to do new things.

I'm thankful for my husband's ex wife, who agreed from the beginning that we were going to play nice, for being a friend and not an adversary, for sharing her children with me, for accepting mine into her her life, for all the wonderful keepsake gifts she has made me over the years, for going with me to see Donny Osmond, and for cooking Thanksgiving dinner so I didn't have to! And I'm thankful to her husband for being such a cool guy, too. And his kids.

I'm thankful for my dogs, who think I'm just the cat's meow.

I'm thankful for my walking shoes that allow me one hour every morning to dance down the street and clear my head and strengthen my body and give me prettier knees.

I'm thankful for the iPod portion of my iPhone, which holds more than 400 songs for me to dance to.

I'm thankful that, even though the newspaper took away my job, it could not take away my ability to write. And I'm thankful that other newspapers have given me the opportunity to use my talents to continue to tell stories.

I'm thankful for this blog, which allows me to write and tell stories and share our adoption journey with so many people. I'm thankful for each and every person who follows it, who subscribes to it, who has hit upon it accidentally while searching for "Mardi Gras and big tits" and "50" -- thinking it had something to do with "Fifty Shades of Grey."

I'm thankful for my pool. I know it's silly, but I dreamed of having a pool when I was a kid living in a trailer by the bayou in Houma. To me, it was the ultimate luxury. Now, I just love having it, looking at it, listening to it. It soothes my soul in ways I can't even describe.

I'm thankful for Pensacola Beach. And boiled crabs. And rib eye steaks. And chocolate covered cherries. And snowballs in the summer. And peppermint bark at Christmas. For Vodka. And Margarita daiquiris. And my two DVRs. And OnDemand. And my computer. And the Internet. And my cell phone. And SiriusXM radio. Any my piano. And MusicNotes because I can download sheet music anytime I want. And Amazon.com. And my Kindle reader. And my hair straightener. And Facebook and Twitter, because that's where I get my news nowadays. And football. And baseball. But not for soccer.Or mosquitoes. Or train crossings. Or hard freezes.

I have my health. I have all my senses. I have a family to call my own and people who love me.

And that's really all I need.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

My little turkey.

Thanks

It's Thanksgiving eve.

Well, since it's after midnight, technically it is Thanksgiving Day.

In just a few hours I will have to rouse myself from my soft, fluffy bed, get myself beautified, then spend the morning slaving over a hot stove, cooking seven different dishes we each will take one spoon of and then eat one bite of before we're full.

But, we gotta have it all. The turkey, Grannie's rice dressing, Jane's sage dressing, the cranberry sauce that comes out of the can with the little ridges on it, sweet potatoes with burnt marshmallow on top, mashed potatoes with lumps.

And peas, dammit. I want my peas.

They should call this "Starch Day" instead of Turkey Day.

I also bought a frozen Mrs. Smith's apple pie and a pumpkin pie -- because Lora Leigh has never had one and she wants to try it.

I'm so thankful to have a child willing to take a bite.

And that's what this holiday is supposed to be all about. Thanks. Giving it. Expressing it.

So...

I'm thankful for my wonderful family. My supportive husband who stood by me as I hemmed and hawed over this buyout decision and promised to support me no matter what I chose to do.

I am thankful for my adorable, special child, who came to me in the most wonderful way and lights up my life every second.

I am thankful for her birth mother, who chose me.

I am thankful for my stepchildren, who have let me call them "mine," and made me so proud so often.

I am thankful for my sisters, even if I only talk to them on Facebook. And I am thankful for the nieces and nephews (and grand nieces and nephews) they have given me.

I'm thankful that I had a brother at all.

I'm thankful for my friends, the ones I've known forever and the ones I've found along the way.

I'm thankful that I still have my health.

I'm thankful that I still have my mother.

I'm thankful that I once knew a man named "Pappy."

I'm thankful for my beautiful house, even if it is old and creaky and drafty and falling apart.

I am REALLY thankful for my pool!

And I am thankful that the Saints are winning!

And I am thankful for my dogs, my Durango, my computer, the Internet, Facebook, my iPod, my iPhone, my hair straightener and Oil of Olay.

I'm thankful for the talents that God has given me -- my ability to put together words over and over again, my ability to create a little out of nothing, my determination to do and to finish.

And my ability to beat my sister in Scrabble.

And I am thankful that I have a place to use my talents -- still.

I am thankful that I did not take the buyout offered to me by my employer. I am thankful that I will get to continue doing what I do, what I LOVE to do.

I am thankful that I will continue to get paid for that.

I am thankful to be a Times-Picayune sports writer. After this week, there are fewer of us. And there are fewer reporters in the news room and fewer photographers in the lab.

One by one they've disappeared from our ranks, going off with fear and hope to try something new -- or try nothing new.

And we gather together to pat them on the hiney, and thank them for all that they have done, and send them off to their futures, while we stay behind and eat their cake and hope for the best.

But we're really starting to hate cake.

Words of Wisdom from Lora Leigh

It's Thanksgiving Day. I have pulled out all of my wedding gift china and my silver passed down to me from my great-grandmother. The table is gorgeous. I am very proud. I know my grandmother would be proud.
Lora Leigh says: "Mom. It's a little much."
*********************
Santa Claus has gone to Lora Leigh's school for pictures. She gets all dressed up and goes. She comes home:
Me: Did you see Santa?
Her: Yes.
Me: Was he nice?
Her: Yes.
Me: Did you tell him what you wanted for Christmas?
Her: No.
Me: Why not?
Her: Because I knew that wasn't the real Santa. That was just some guy in a Santa suit.
****************************************************
Lora Leigh would love to be on TV someday. She wants to sing and act. She says to me, "Mom. I'd love to be on a TV show one day." Me: "You would? What kind of show would you want to do?" Her, "Full House."