December 20, 2006


Gobble Gobble

When you have small children, they tear around the house from the day after Halloween telling you how many more sleeps until Christmas. The upside is that you have a walking, talking, squawking calendar that never lets you forget. Of course, that's also the downside.

As the boys have gotten older (15 and 12 now), there isn't such an urgency. They put in their request for some overpriced gadget, remind me not that socks and underwear do NOT belong in a stocking, and generally carry on with their lives. In the middle of the night, I sat bolt upright and realized it is only 5 more sleeps until Christmas.

I am in charge of the turkey. Before you make cannibal jokes, you should be made aware that I can actually cook a turkey. I mean, I get loads of help from my sister, and my other sister directed me one year to the fabulous practice of brining a turkey. It makes it goof proof. Which is another joke that writes itself.

But I like fresh turkeys. That means you have to plan a little ahead, in order to get one big enough. You should probably be planning while the thing still has its head on.

I called the store this morning. The kindly man in the meat department started laughing. When he realized I was gently weeping, he stopped laughing. I told him I needed a 22-25 pound bird. There was silence on the other end of the phone.
"Do you know Christmas is on Monday," he asked me.
"It's not my fault my sons are teenagers," I replied. It made sense to me.

He trundled off, and came back with the Christmas Miracle. He found a 22 pound fresh bird hiding in the corner of the fridge. He told me he had affixed my name to it, and I could get it on Sunday.

Somehow, it seems appropriate that there is a turkey somewhere with my name on it.

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