I love Thanksgiving. Reasons why: mashed potatoes and gravy is delicious, the bros come home, my kids love it more than Christmas I think (not really, but it’s close), I get to have people to our house, and it’s on a Thursday so the weekend seems REALLLLLY long.
We’ve been hosting at our house for a few years now and we love it, mostly for selfish reasons. We don’t have to choose which parents to have dinner with (Danny’s or mine), the kids can run amok in their own house and make huge messes and the homeowners don’t get nervous, Franci can go to sleep whenever she’s tired afterwards (or substitute any child for Franci) and I can escape for minutes of quiet here and there. We start the day really early with something in the smoker. And by “we” I mean “Danny” because he does all the cooking. No exaggeration.
And at some point we make our way to Lala’s to make cookie turkeys and drink hot cocoa.
And we scope out BINGO prizes because Lala knows what’s up.
And eventually we make our way back home to get the house and table set up.
A few dishes are finished up, take-away bags are painted, plates and bowls are labeled, kids are ready, and people start arriving.
We eat and talk and play BINGO and it’s a pretty swell time.