I hated to do it, but I texted my children this morning and told them that we're not doing Thanksgiving dinner at my house this year. (One of the smartasses replied with a picture of Jeffrey Dahmer that said, "Nobody's going to tell me I how many of my family I can have for Thanksgiving this year.")
It probably didn't come as much of a surprise to them, for we've NEVER done Thanksgiving dinner at my house (okay, maybe once). For the past few years, my sons have spent Thanksgiving with their wives' families, and The Husband and I have done Thanksgiving with my siblings. I and my siblings are wary of hosting or attending extended family gatherings this year because of covid. The Husband and I may have a meal with Nanny, if she wants to eat with us.
To tell the truth, I'm not all that upset about it. Holidays are hard on those who do the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. I bet I'm not alone in feeling a little relief over not having to do it this year.
We have a smoked turkey breast in the freezer. I'll probably stir up a small pan of cornbread dressing, and open a jar of good home-canned green beans from our garden. Might even make a pecan pie.
I'm dreading the decision about Christmas. Ever since The Husband and I have been married, Nanny has hosted a big Christmas breakfast at her house, with all the kids and grandkids and anybody else that wants to join us. Christmas breakfast at Nanny's is a big deal. It will break Nanny's heart not to do it, but we are going to try our best to talk her out of it.
On a happier note, it looks like my embroidery machine is finally fixed. The old man from the repair shop called Monday and said it was ready. The Husband picked it up for me Tuesday so that nobody would go to jail. I set it up yesterday and tried it out, and it appeared to be working right. Before bedtime, I whipped out three of the dozen bags left to do.
But that particular repair shop won't be seeing my face anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment