Hosting Thanksgiving: Recipe for Success

This year was a newbie wed first: Hosting Thanksgiving! Danny and I had never even had a Thanksgiving off together before, much less been responsible for welcoming and serving guests in our home. Here are the ingredients that made our holiday a success:

1-3 Cups of Coffee

It’s going to be a long day, so start it off right. For us, that meant a steaming mug of French Vanilla creamer, with a little bit of coffee thrown in. The fact that our creamer looks like R2-D2 is an added bonus.

2 Delectable Appetizers

Deviled eggs are a must. Super simple, and super scrumptious.

Our second hors d’oeuvre: baked potato nachos. A great choice if you, like me, want to save the time and energy it takes to mash ’em.

(Though I do confess, I may bring mashed potatoes into the game at my next opportunity. I definitely missed smearing my turkey in that cloud of fluffy, butter-drenched goodness.)

6 Fancy Shmancy Place Settings (More or Less to Taste)

We don’t have real silverware or fine china, and we had to substitute paper towels when we ran out of cloth napkins, but work with what you’ve got. It creates a nice atmosphere that you’ll enjoy as much as your guests.

1 Stress-Free Turkey

“Stress-free” is open to interpretation. If you like pulling out the turkey’s innards and slicing the meat off the bone, more power to you. Personally, having never cooked a turkey before, purchasing one that I could just pop in the oven was more than worth it. Especially since it turned out to be delicious.

3 Scrumptious Sides

Green bean casserole, buttery biscuits…

…& stuffing, which I think is gross, so it isn’t pictured here. It’s apparently a big hit with everyone else though.

2 Delightful Desserts

We had two cookie varieties. The ones pictured above are little drops of heaven: peanut butter cookies topped with Hershey Kisses. The others were sugar, with turkeys pictured on each one, courtesy of Pillsbury. I found the cookies, while informal, were very handy to munch on while we sat by the fireside and watched Home Alone together after our meal.

 Our second dessert was actually a surprise brought by our friends, who work in a bakery. These layers of cheesecake, pumpkin pie, and whipped cream, sprinkled with roasted coconut shavings, are almost certain to slip you deep into a food coma. Thus, we recommend waiting at least 1-2 hours after dinner before indulging in this dessert.

& Finally, the Not-So-Secret, but Most Essential Ingredient…

Duh, folks. These cuties. The people you love. Mine happen to be particularly fantastic.

That’s why I adore the holidays, and no Grinch lecturing me about America’s commercialism (which is very real, I know) can shake my spirit.

Because the season is what we make it. We can make it about the stress, and having the nicest things, and making everything perfect. (Believe me, those are my own tendencies.)

Or, we can make it about the people. Yes, we did our best to make our home warm and inviting for our family and friends. But I know, if I had them sit on the floor and eat off paper plates, our Thanksgiving still would have been magical.

That’s just the kind of people they are. My true reason to be thankful, on Thanksgiving, and always.

Giving Thanks

I suspect it will be a short post today. In part, because I have little to say, and in part, because we’ve spent the greater part of the day cleaning, and what small token of energy remains to me is hardly enough to fuel any profundity.

There has been a lot of rain these past weeks. Welcome to Autumn in Washington, I know, I know. On my way to work, nestled in the warmth of the bus, I’d watch red and yellow leaves drip from brittle tree limbs and dapple the sidewalk, bright colors soon curdling to brown. The sun and ragged patches of blue sky would appear in short gasps every few days or so, as if in stubborn declaration, We are still here.

The rain is expected to return on Monday, but we’ve had a brief hiatus, this weekend.

Listen to me, chatting on about the weather. Danny and I are fine. He’s teaching me to play World of Warcraft. My older brother and his wife are coming over for Thanksgiving. I’ve never hosted a holiday before. It will also be the first Thanksgiving Danny and I get to celebrate together without one of us having to leave for work. It should be all sorts of fun.

And I’m thankful, oh so thankful. When I return to bed after getting up to pee in the middle of the night, and I see my husband lying there, the sweet, sweet curves of his face just pierce me, and for a second, I feel in part the weight of what I have to be grateful for.

Thoughts on Saving Money & Parenting

Within days of learning the cost of a bus pass through my work was the same price I currently pay for on-campus parking, and that there was a direct bus route from our apartment to UW Tacoma, I decided to become a bus rider.

I’ve only ridden the bus a couple days so far, but I’m confident it was the right decision. It saves money, reduces stress, and gives me extra time to read, write, and chat on the phone with my mom.

…

As autumn swiftly tapers to its final frigid month, it brings with it a dark that lingers through the morning and rears overhead by late afternoon. The bus combats these shadows with strips of dull red light that run along the length of its interior–bright enough for reading, but easier on the eyes.

The seats are comfortable enough. Space is a little tight, but there’s a strict yet unspoken rule that no one sits next to anyone else unless absolutely necessary.

Thus far, I haven’t seen it become necessary.

…

Besides the bus, we’ve been trying to conserve money in other ways, as well. All the furniture we’ve purchased has been from Craiglist, or, as in the case with the new dining room table we received, was generously given to us. We switched phone plans, and will now hopefully be paying about a third of what we were previously.

Saving money is great. It feels really good. But it doesn’t mean much unless you’re saving for something that matters. I hope we’re saving for something that matters.

…

I’ve been thinking a lot about foster care and adoption lately. I’ve read articles, watched videos, and even on occasion perused the Northwest Adoption Exchange website to see the faces and read the stories of kids in Washington who are waiting to be adopted.

I am quickly overwhelmed. There is Daniel, a 15 year-old who wants to be an engineer and is hoping to be adopted by Christian parents. Kyrie, a 9 year-old who by an unnerving coincidence looks like she could be my husband’s daughter, and who loves reading and being outdoors. Because of her past, she has developmental delays, a therapist, and is undergoing medication therapy. Josiah, an 8 year-old pictured in a Lego superhero t-shirt, is also undergoing counseling and medication therapy due to past trauma. He enjoys building forts, art, and singing and dancing in Sunday School.

I want to help them all, but I’m not even in a position to help one. If we had an extra room in our apartment, I just might do it. I’ve even imagined sectioning off the dining area to fashion a makeshift room. I envision introducing them to our church family and surrounding them with positive influences.

Then I think of the flip-side and am completely terrified. I don’t know much about raising a kid, especially one that has suffered more deeply than I will probably ever understand. And I know I hardly have a clue of what it means to commit to a child who will likely be emotionally, behaviorally, and/or mentally underdeveloped. I know it will require a sacrifice of money, time, and energy greater that anything I can currently comprehend.

But then I return to the adoption website and look at their faces again. The timing may not be right yet, but I believe one day it will be. And if I say no on that day, there will come another day, when I’ll have to stand before God and tell Him why.

…

Friday evening, bus ride home. My right hand is still chilled and stiff from holding the umbrella. Then again, my left hand is cold too, though it had remained snug in my pocket during the wait.

I knew I should have worn a hooded jacket when I left the house that morning. I wore my gray pea coat instead; it matched my boots.

…

The Douglas firs are black imprints against the cloud-soaked sky, a deep, pearlescent blue. The horizon glows a little brighter, subtle reminder that it is only evening, barely 5 o’clock.

My pencil is in my hand, but I keep staring at the window. I’m too tired to write today. I close my notebook and wait for home.

…

When I step off the bus, Danny is waiting for me, huddled against the drizzle. I smile, because I know this is love.

Mercy

I’ve been kind of a pain to be around lately. Between my inability to find a couch to upgrade our living room from its current status of glorified storage area, and the sneeze-snot-cough-inducing cold that has been plaguing me since Wednesday, I’ve done enough whining and pouting to send even the bravest into a misery-clouded stupor.

Miraculously, my husband is not only still smiling, but also still loving me.

…

I was doing alright at the wife thing a week ago. On Sunday, Danny had been invited by one of his coworkers to a Super Smash Bros. video game tournament. I knew he’d enjoy it, so I agreed to go, and even encouraged him when he had doubts about facing competitors of unknown strength and skill.

When we arrived at the house, we were welcomed into a living room crammed with about 15 males, 1 sullen female (who I eyed for a time with interest, until I learned that instead of competing, she intended to pass the evening sitting limply in the corner with no apparent interest in her surroundings), 4 televisions linked to video game consoles, and a mildly distasteful odor comprised of pizza, beer, and weed.

It was great fun. Though it was clear that there was quite a range of personalities, everyone I met was very kind, and, other than the occasional curse muttered during gameplay, they were all exceptionally courteous with one other, shaking hands after each match.

Danny also came in 4th place, which made the night all the better.

…

The week slowly deteriorated however, dragging with it my once shining, wifely goodness, until my behavior more closely resembled that of a spoiled brat than a 25 year-old adult.

Yet Danny has continued to be patient, and gentle, beyond anything I deserve. It’s a little annoying, really–after all, how can you dump all your ugliness on someone who is being so infinitely, infuriatingly sweet?

But at the end of the day (or days, as the case may be), I am overwhelmingly thankful. Because his love makes me believe things can get better. That I can get better. Having that kind of hope, on my worst days, is truly a miracle.

And these words are a little about my husband, but mostly about God.