So, I really haven’t told you anything about our Thanksgiving yet. Probably because there’s not that much to tell.
I’d hate to bore you with tales of our lying around on the couch for six hours watching football.
Or of my making homemade Chex mix and basically just leaving the pan on the counter all day. “Enjoy your lunch, dears!”
Or lifting my head up from my position in the family room to see who’s wandering through the kitchen.
Yep, that pretty much sums up our Thanksgiving.
I did not cook since it was just our little Party of Five. Just saying it . . . “I did not cook” . . . brings shivers down my spine, because you all know how much I love to cook. And to not cook Thanksgiving is kind of a travesty.
But I’m getting over it.
Four years of going out, and I’m finally getting over it.
Besides, as I told the mailman on Monday (and pretty much anyone who would listen), I cook a lot—A LOT—during the rest of the year. I guess it’s O.K. for me to take Thanksgiving off.
Maybe in about 25 years I’ll actually believe that.
But the fam didn’t mind, so I played along. Someday we will have another family, oh heck, even another person, to cook for and I’ll love every minute of it. But as long as it’s just the five of us, it’s best to go out since I’d be crying in my sweet potatoes if we went to all that fuss at home only to have just us five sitting around the table. That's just depressing if you ask me.
Enough about the meal or lack thereof.
There was a little matter about the hubs being on T.V. that morning and the two of us having to get up really early to head into Chicago for him to be interviewed and the two of us sitting in the “Green Room” which was really the restaurant of a fancy hotel and the Harlem Globetrotters were there, along with Miss Illinois (woo hoo! a brush with fame!), and then B getting interviewed and forgetting everything he was supposed to say even though he had practiced a million times all week long. It’s one of those real-life nightmares he would rather forget.
Except that it will now be preserved forever on this here blog. And our DVR.
The best part about being in Chicago that morning, aside from the truly awesome-for-Thanksgiving-Day kind of weather, was that when crowds gather the whackadoodles come out. We’ve seen them before. It’s not the first time.
But this crowd’s whackadoodles were special. Because they were “Christians.” Yelling really loudly into a bullhorn something about how everyone in the crowd was going to hell.
Really! You can’t make this stuff up.
And they were carrying signs. We were being rushed across the street for B to do his interview (on LIVE T.V.!!!!), so I didn’t have time to get a picture of the whole thing. But I do remember one sign that said, “Your child needs Christ more than Nintendo!”
I can't argue with that.
But this sign . . . THIS sign . . . really helped me out. I have always wondered how I could be a better mother, and now I know thanks to the bullhorn-toting-really-loud-yelling-hellfire-and-brimstone whackadoodles.