Husband’s surprise guests at Thanksgiving caught me off guard. With my mashed-potatoes barely mashed and the turkey still in the oven, I tried to take a sip from the coffee that stood on the counter too long to be near warm as I like it. But, my daughter’s eagerness to paint on the walls stopped me from doing anything else than saving the walls one more time. “Emma, honey, we don’t paint on walls,” I said with a smile, trying to preserve the Thanksgiving spirit.
In the other corner of the room, my son Jake was grabbing cookies and crumbling them on the rug. “Oh, Jack, please put the cookies down,” I yelled, but he already put some in his mouth, with the crumbles getting all over his face.
I love Thanksgiving, but even the thought of not having everything done perfectly dreads me. Between making sure my kids don’t make a complete mess out of my living room, and setting the table in the spirit of the tradition, I barely have a moment to catch my breath. Yet, the end result always feels like a special accomplishment.
