As I may have mentioned, last year Mother Nature took a good look at the plans The Fella and I had made for Thanksgiving and sneezed all over them. While not particularly fancy, they were our plans for our first Thanksgiving together, and having to throw away all of our perishables due to a lack of power instead of happily nomming pizza we had made together was, well, kind of sucky. We ended up having a lovely, cozy time, but still.
This year, we decided to have a mildly more traditional Thanksgiving, albeit one sans turkey (which probably causes everyone who read this to breathe a sigh of relief) with stuffing and veggie dishes and mashed potatoes and pie. It's like a no-carbs left behind nom-fest.
So, casting one wary eye on the weather report, I went in search of side dish ideas while The Fella declared that he makes really good cranberry sauce from scratch and did I like homemade cranberry sauce?
Homemade cranberry sauce?
My kind of cranberry sauce comes out of a can, I said. Like ... um ... cranberry jello.
He looked at me with horror.
I bet I'll like it, I said quickly. I mean, I'm sure I will! Please make it!
The only problem is this: I am crazy. CRAZY. Like, "some of my friends call me Martha Stewart" crazy. As in, there is no way he's making HOMEMADE cranberry sauce and I'm not making something equally amazing. Because COMPETITION (and, uh, did I mention that I'm crazy)?
I found some fancy schmancy recipes and went grocery shopping. Of course, by "grocery shopping" I really mean "Lost my mind at the grocery store and spent too much money and had to make four trips to haul my treasures into the house" because that's what happened. That was the first sign that I had lost my mind.
The second (and probably more telling) sign happened as I found myself scolding what might be the largest head of cauliflower that I have ever seen because it wouldn't fit in the crisper. "YOU ARE RUINING MY MOJO," I hissed at the vegetable as it continued to jam in the drawer. "YOU ARE STUBBORN AND I HATE YOU."
I heard myself saying it.
Then I sat down on the floor and started to laugh. Okay, and cry a little. The cat climbed into my laugh while I giggled and snorked at the same time. I patted her fuzzy head until I regained some semblance of composure.
Here's my problem: I want to have a magical holiday where I create something super impressive because ... well, to be honest I don't know. To prove I can? To demonstrate to everyone that I have mastered Adulting?
But the truth? The truth is that it doesn't matter if the damn cauliflower fits in the crisper, or if I make food that looks and tastes like a professional chef has made it (although that would be nice), or even whether or not we have electricity or heat.
The truth is that the fact that I get to spend this or any holiday with The Fella makes it pretty freaking magical.
For that, I will always be thankful.