Story time.

Several Novembers ago, when I was young and naive (never mind that our children were grown and married), our family spent Thanksgiving at a ski resort in Tahoe. (Full disclosure here… this Home-ec major has never baked a turkey.) Practical me decided that, instead of adding to the list of to-brings, like a turkey pan, spices, thermometer and of course a how-to-cook-a-turkey-for-the-first-time guide, we’d simply order a take-out turkey and all the fixings for Thanksgiving day. Convenient. Play all morning, pick up the meal, and feast all afternoon. Meal ordered! Thankful!

Problem. The play-all-morning thing made for an I’m-hungry-now thing. Let’s call and see if we can pick up the main event early. Yes? We can? Perfect! Problem solved. Go get it.

While Bill and Jordan traveled the 20 minutes to retrieve our Thanksgiving in a basket, the girls and I set a festiveish table. Chatter and anticipation, minus the delectable smells, filled the kitchen. Thankful!

Bigger problem. Jordan calls from the turkey counter, “Mom, the turkey is frozen.” Silence… like, what did you just say? “No, it isn’t.” “Yes, mom, it is. The whole meal is frozen.” One of the girls caught the phone as it slipped from my hand because I pretty much collapsed. Promptly escaping to the bedroom, I buried my face in the pillow and wailed. I not only failed the can’t-bake a turkey, I failed the can’t order a hot turkey test. Day ruined. Not thankful anymore.

My family, this family of mine, has teased me ever since. I love it. Looking back, it became the sweetest, bond-together, rescue-the-turkey-and-the-mom Thanksgiving. They made it happen anyway with grace and love and lots of it’s-oks. And my Bill, and my boys… they have made the Thanksgiving day turkeys ever since. Whew! So so thankful.