Every family has their special talent; we do tacky well, and we’re kind of proud of it.
We planned on being in Vermont yesterday with friends, but the plague took over our house and we were in containment mode.
I’m one of those people who like to have a house full on the holidays. It doesn’t always work out that way for us (maybe it’s my cooking), but we always invite lots of random people, family, and friends. Usually a few show up, like my mom. On a really grand holiday, we may even have a few others sitting around our table.
This Thanksgiving, it was just the four us.
Last week I was planning on cooking nothing for Thanksgiving. Oh, I would gladly do dishes, stir pots, or stay out of the cooks way, but our friends were in charge; however, the other day I realized we were definitely going to be home and the other three people who share my house are going to expect a dinner worthy of thanks.
FringeMan scavenged the woods and brought us home a few turkeys this fall. I had potatoes and a box of Stove Top Stuffing. We were all set.
The First Act of Tacky
My turkey was in parts. Ask Fringeman! It was the first of the season and he was still mastering the craft of turkey plucking/skinning. I took the parts out of the freezer and scratched my head for a minute. This bird was not going to take stuffing unless I duct-taped it together, and I’m not quite redneck enough for that.
FringeMan is, but he wasn’t cooking.
I put the turkey parts in the crock pot, seasoned the heck out of it, added some chicken broth, and flipped it onto “low”.
Then I called my aunt, who said, “Oh, honey. Not the crockpot? You’ve been living in the boonies for far too long. Move back to city.”
But at least I didn’t use duct tape or make mashed potatoes from a box (although I thought about it).
The Second Act of Tacky
My children were desperate for some Christmas cheer. They’ve been talking about putting up the tree all week, so yesterday, in a stroke of parental genius, I said, “We are not putting Christmas decorations in a dirty house. If you want them up, start cleaning.”
I’ve never seen my children work so hard, even the one with the fever. They vacuumed, dusted, mopped, and cleared every surface before I finished one load of laundry.
I wish Christmas was every single month of the year.
Granted, the sum total of our crap is probably hidden under the far reaches of the couch, but out of sight is out of mom’s mind.
We don’t go overboard with decorations. I don’t change out the bedding for red and white striped sheets or line the sidewalk with snowmen and eight flying reindeer, but the holiday decor we do display is nothing short of vibrant.
Not everyone has a plush, fuzzy, hot pink bird nestled in their tree. Neither do they have a pink bottle brush tree on their kitchen counter.
Tacky, it’s the way we roll.
FringeMan said, “Do we always add colored lights to our pre-lit tree?”
“Yes dear, and it’s not nearly enough.”
Then the kids found the brown spot on our white tree.
“What? Why is there a brown spot? My tree is white! I dreamed of a white tree for most of my life and we’ve only had this one for three years.”
“Maybe it’s all the lights.” Said FringeMan.
Personally, I think it’s dust or some other domestic variety of dirt.
We just put a big, bright furry ornament in that space.
Are you shopping on this black Friday?
I would be, but my Christmas shopping money won’t be earned until two weeks from now when I set up a booth and sell Fringe Vanilla at a town-wide Christmas fair.
That means I’ll probably be shopping on Christmas Eve. Truth is I thrive on highly caffeinated crowds of people fighting for the last sale shirt. Call me crazy, but it’s energizing.