My First Thanksgiving

It's no secret that I love holidays.  And I love the traditions that come along with each holiday even more!   But now that we live on the opposite side of the country from my entire family (and Hubs' family isn't much closer in the Mid-West), we knew it was going to be just us on Turkey Day this year.  So all those yummy traditions of November?  It was up to me to make it happen this year.

For the first time ever!

That's right folks, I've never made Thanksgiving all by myself before.  I've never done all the cooking.  I've never made a turkey.  Or an apple pie.  I've certainly helped my mom and other ladies of the family in the kitchen for as long as I can remember.  And since I've moved out of my parents' house I've contributed to the meal.  I started with dinner rolls (pop open the canister, throw 'em on a baking sheet, brush on some melted butter and poppy seeds, and bake) before moving on to the only slightly more difficult frozen corn sauteed in butter before I was finally confident enough to tackle sweet potatoes and my grandmother's country fried green beans (ya know, with bacon and onions?!).

Friends, I had no idea that I'd ever have to make Thanksgiving totally on my own.

But you and Hubs were/are both military and you've lived overseas before.  Surely you didn't forget that being away from family comes with the territory?!

Yes.  I've been around the military in some capacity my entire life.  My family certainly enjoyed each holiday more than once without extended family around.  I was simply ignoring that fact and hiding from the idea that I might ever be in the same situation.

I admit it.  I was afraid of Thanksgiving.

So I made lists.  I called my mama over a month ago and asked her for recipes and the menu plan of all our favorite dishes to make sure I didn't forget something.  I called Hubs' mom to make sure I had all his favorites.  I scoured the stores looking for the proper ingredients and searching for the same brands my mom uses.  I bought more butter than I've ever had in my fridge at one time.  And brown sugar too.  I made no less than three trips to the grocery during the last two weeks before Thanksgiving, buying everything in stages, to ensure the stores didn't sell out of what I required, but also guaranteeing that my produce would be as fresh as possible.

Then I made more lists.  Lists of ingredients.  Lists of dishes in wish I'd serve each side.  Lists of when to cook what, at what temperature, and for how long.  Lists of other chores to accomplish before the big day.  Lists of lists.  My mom mailed me the elusive apricot jello I couldn't find in any of the stores here.

Somehow, I got it all done.  I made the pies, cranberries, and apricot jello salad from my grandmother's family the night before.  I cleaned the house.  I did laundry and load after load of dishes.  I went for a three-mile run.  I let the wine "breathe".  I set the table and lit the candles.

And it was the best Thanksgiving dinner I've eaten in many years.  Hubs told me that it was too good.  That there was too much flavor.  He told me that turkey was supposed to be dry and flavorless.  I felt like Monica in that episode of Friends when Ross insists she make lumpy mashed potatoes because that's the way their mom did it.  Yes.  Apparently my Thanksgiving was too good for my husband.

It was a great meal.  A wonderful day.  We let Bunkey taste grown-up mashed potatoes.  We skyped with my mom and brothers.  We took dessert across the street to share with our neighbors.  We went to bed with full bellies and thankful hearts.