I think it's called fried

Oh man, y'all. I am struggling. My body is a million silent screams pleading for quiet. Begging for the questions and demands and narration and bicker to just stop. We have been blessed, this holiday, with the most glorious weather. With family and friends, good food and movie-watching, laughter and a Christmas tree.

But.

The omnipresent "but." That lurker extraordinaire. That nugget of grim reality in even the shiniest of lives. That weighty ball that just can't always be kicked to the curb. 

This is hard, this parenting thing. On Thanksgiving, as several members of my extended family leaned across a kitchen counter, and we talked about a cousin's new baby, I recounted a story from Jack's early months.

One night, he must have been four or five months old, Tom and I had gotten him to sleep and were downstairs relaxing. Tom said, "Honey, wanna walk to Ben & Jerry's and get some ice cream?" And I thought the following: 
How lovely
and
Clearly, he is not cut out for fatherhood because we have a baby sleeping upstairs. 

What once welcomed spontaneity now required a babysitter or at least the daylight hours other than the work and nap ones, of course. And such has so often been the case for the nine years since. 

Mostly, this is swell. It's not like we ever said, "We'll have kids and nothing will change." Because that's malarkey, plain and simple. And neither of us are delusional. And we happen to like our children.

But sometimes, after you give and give and wipe and feed and listen and bandage and read and bathe, you just really want everyone and everything to shut the eff up. For real. Total quiet. Like you all took a vow of silence and meant it.

Sadly, thinking that's possible is too often the damn delusion. 

Because you probably have not only children but also a goddamn dog. Who is as needy as any child ever was.

Said dog is aging and getting mouthy in his years. Barks are for everything now, not just the mail carrier and others who approach your front door. No. Barks for cartoon dogs, real dogs, animals on TV who resemble dogs, animals on TV who do not appear to resemble dogs, hunger (real or imagined), the times you don't get to the porch door before dog's first bark has finished reverberating (you slow, slothlike, shitty dog owner!). Dog is never too tired to bark. No sir. Never. And if you put him downstairs, he will pee on your couch with pissy abandon.

These are reasons #902 and 903 that Percy is our first and last dog. And why I do not recommend having both dogs and kids. Unless you hate silence and never want it in your midst.

Sometimes I think, If I can't beat 'em, I might as well join them. So I'll turn on the music for a dance party -loud enough to drown Percy's inevitable barking because he hates things like other people dancing and hugging which tend to happen when music is played- and not four minutes later I'm panting and exhausted because people, please. I have been up since 6am and haven't sat or stopped doing since then. I don't feel like dancing. Don't feel like noise. And Percy becomes downright certifiable. 

Is it any surprise that I find such comfort in my cat? My sweet purring independent kitty who is quiet 98% of the time and tends to put his bum in Percy's face. That guy is my dream come true. He is no nonsense to the max. He just wants a morning snuggle (awesome), some food (understandable), and plenty of time to prowl the alley (whatever).

It is not any surprise to me.

And so, as this "vacation" comes to a close, I wait for Monday, as I so often do, with unbridled joy and anticipation.

I will release my screams into the vacuum of an empty home and then I'll sit in front of my sparkling Christmas tree and think about Oliver saying "Oh man, this tree makes me so happy!" and smile over his happy outlook on life.

 I'll look at the Periodic Table ornament Jack painstakingly crafted from so many individual Perler beads and appreciate his dexterity and curiosity.

I will brush the cat and walk the dog and distribute the folded laundry and make muffins to refill the freezer store. 

The stereo will remain quiet. Natural lighting will suffice. And I will join myself in peace and replenish as best I can.

Making Meaning

Despite my love of cooking and eating, I have never been a big fan of Thanksgiving. It feels like fast gluttony, and I have taken to thinking of it as little more than a speed bump on the road to Christmas. 

That said, the Louisiana celebrant in me hates the thought of a wasted holiday (which is one reason I go gangbusters making pies!). I am also assertively in gratitude's corner and like to take and make opportunities to express thanks. Those two things can gleefully go hand in hand, and so, for the past couple years, I have worked hard to reframe what Thanksgiving means to me and my family as well as the ways in which we celebrate.

Last year, I was lucky enough to spend Thanksgiving as an expat in Italy. I'd gone to meet my new nephew and help my sister and brother-in-law in any ways I could. Because TG is only a US holiday, my sister has crafted an American-Italian version of her own, and I dare say last year's celebration was one of the happiest I've ever spent.

Yes, there was a beautiful new baby to love and be thankful for, and yes, Italy is pretty magical anytime, but there was something marvelous about that Thanksgiving. Something unique. And I think it was that celebrating wasn't an assumption or an expectation but the very purposeful taking of time to come together and share a meal. 

In essence, that's what Thanksgiving here is and should be. But because of the manic preparation, travel challenges many face, and underlying feelings of obligation and materialism (Black Friday!) that I attribute both to crowd think and marketing, I have generally closed Turkey Day with a sense of sad underwhelm and emptiness. As if it were a wave that rushed our shores and quickly left, leaving nothing but stuffed, exhausted people and emptying wallets in its wake.

Surely there's more to this day of thanks, isn't there? Or couldn't there be?

Last year, my sister and I strolled the baby to the Mercato Centrale where we had fresh mozzarella and wine before picking up the turkey. You have to order turkeys in advance there because literally, the turkeys must be found. It's not like there are turkey farms with birds just lining up to give themselves to your meal. No, you call ahead and a guy goes to a farm that does have turkeys but they're wild and he shoots one and there's your dinner. 

Italians cook turkey breast and cutlets but the whole-bird thing is rather a novelty. And I am telling y'all, I have NEVER had a more delicious turkey than we ate last year. Lawd a mercy that was a flavorful beast.

My sister's Italian family came over for the meal. Prosecco corks popped, the baby was passed around and cooed over, someone accidentally turned the oven off, so we cobbled together an appetizer round of leftover farro and beet salad I'd made and turned the oven back on. It was utterly relaxed and happy. 

There were no expectations either, and I do believe that was an enormous part of what made it so great. Expectations are often a bust. Have you ever read a movie review that is just off its head with praise or disdain for a film and then you go see it and realize that it could never live up to or disentangle itself from the expectations of it you had going in? That right there is why I have completely stopped reading movie reviews until AFTER I've seen the films. 

Expectations set the bar in a biased place, which likely means that your experience will be either disappointing or wonderfully surprising. Who needs it?!

I also believe that while it’s always lovely to spend time with and thank family (what is more darling than watching little cousins reunite and play for hours?!), it’s also important and meaningful to connect more deeply with our communities. How can we give thanks to and help friends? Strangers? The needy? 

Within those communities is likely more diversity of experience than many of us know: socio-economics, education, heritages, struggles, loss. Things that are celebrated but also things that sometimes rest or are hidden under the surfaces. I always feel that the riches lie beneath.

An awareness of the many shades of gray in both our own families and our communities has such potential to lead to greater appreciation and with it, respect. For all we are blessed with and for what too many do without. 

This is why the annual Turkey Trot For Hunger, organized by the excellent group, So Others Might Eat, is my little crew’s favorite Thanksgiving tradition. Many hands make light work, the adage goes. This is one way we can offer our hands to help lift up others in our community. Today’s race, early on this beautiful day, was such a happy, energetic place to be. We loved every minute of it! Tens of thousands of DC-area folks were there, and SOME raised over $630,000 for the hungry and homeless here. 

I'm thinking a lot of all that right now, as the materialism of Black Friday sweeps in before Thanksgiving's door has even fully closed. I'm thinking of how my boys don't know what it is to struggle, that I'm grateful for that, but that it's a bubble. I hope that by celebrating in additional ways (beyond our family), they see how many others do struggle and are in need and realize concretely that giving thanks also involves giving back. 

I’m feeling not glum but meh about this day. It’s just not my favorite, and that’s ok. Our family traditions are evolving as are we.

In the meantime, CHRISTMAS!!!!!!! AAH!!!!!! Carols, stockings, ornaments, sparkly everything. I love it!

Happy Thanksgiving

Because of extended family travel schedules, we celebrated Turkey Day today. These were my dessert contributions and a stuffed-family aftermath pic. Gobble, gobble. 

TG 2015 apple pie

TG 2015 pecan pie

TG 2015 blackberry pie

TG 2015 bourbon-caramel pumpkin tart

My boys and me

Tomorrow morning? The Turkey Trot For Hunger downtown and then, a day of rest, more turkey and togetherness.