Folgers commercials have ruined me, namely their holiday ones. Where people wake up in beautifully decorated houses and celebrate the holidays together perfectly. I want that. I dream of that…um, yeah, that never happens.
Especially not on “that” Thanksgiving. The Worst. Thanksgiving. Ever.
We drove 12 hours to spend Thanksgiving with family. My kids had been looking forward to it for months. My husband has a big family and my motto is the more the merrier! When we arrived after driving all night long, my mother in law was in a compete frenzy. She hadn’t completed all of her preparations and was in an all out sprint to get things ready in time.
I went from the van to the kitchen in 10 seconds. Not quite how I wanted to start my day, especially after 12 hours in the van with little sleep, but I wasn’t hosting so I needed to at least co-host since I was crashing at her place for the next 3 days. There might have been eye rolling on my part when I was asked to dust the light fixtures and clean the windows (which would promptly be ruined once the 8 little grandchildren arrived, but whatevs.) Somehow it all gets done and the rest of the siblings-in-law begin to arrive.
Within seconds, my daughter has nailed her 9 month old cousin in the head, sending the new mom, and sister-in-law #3 into protective mode.
As I am trying to implement some sort of punishment to my daughter while apologizing profusely to sister-in-law#3, my son runs inside with blood dripping down his face. As the cousins were throwing rocks over the side of the hill (WHAT?), he was somehow nailed in the head. We decide no stitches are necessary, but now I’m mad at sis-in-law #2’s kid for throwing that rock! I looked around for reinforcements – seems all the men are enjoying a drink around the TV watching the football game and totally oblivious to the fact that the women are tending children, juggling hot dishes out of the oven, and drying tears.
Somehow we all manage to eat, between spilled drinks, MORE crying, and the child who locked himself in the bathroom. Two helpings of pie and three cups of coffee make everything better. We tell everyone goodnight, send them on their way, and I start the bedtime routine which never goes the same at Grammy and Papa’s house.
My son then tells me his stomach hurts and I assure him its due to overeating. Ten minutes later the vomiting begins. Thirty minutes later daughter #1 follows suit. Thirty minutes after that, I am leaning over the toilet while handing daughter #2 the trashcan and we are throwing up together in a mother/daughter bonding moment.
For the remaining 3 days of our vacation, 4 out of the 5 members of our immediate family spent all of our time either in the bathroom or in our beds. We were well just in time to make the 12 hour trip back home. On the bright side, my husband thoroughly enjoyed his 3 day visit with his family.
Worst. Thanksgiving. Ever.