The good news is, the Miller household survived Thanksgiving in tact. Our rug, however, is a different story. This is a good lesson in not buying your floor coverings at the same place you purchase bulk cleaning detergent, cat litter, and frozen chicken. But let it never be uttered that we don't know how to throw one heck of a holiday hootenanny. My oyster dressing may have been less like stuffing and more like...I don't know...mashed potatoes?? And the ribs weren't exactly falling off the bone...but who cares when the boxed wine is free-flowing and the Wii is on. Actually, I learned 3 important facts about my family on Thanksgiving night:
1. My cousin is very competitive.
2. She apparently gets it from her mama.
3. And my husband will let me play Wii tennis for almost 2 hours without once mentioning the impending day-after-disability if I continue. I don't think about these things after a liter of Yellowtail chardonnay and about 4 mimosas. I just know that I'm winning and denim is very, very hot.
The day after looked like a bomb had exploded. The carpet had come apart in tumbleweeds of wool and there were at least 3 crockpots soaking on the counter. I was in no mood to deal with any of it. Fortunately, the more sober Miller was kind enough to clean the cookware, empty the dishwasher and start the laundry that I had seemingly loaded the night before. When? Who knows. But whatever it was, it required stain removal, stat. Friday morning, we laid in bed watching Dexter until my aunt called. They were shopping. So, like a good Halcomb, I put on my big girl panties and my UK hat and met them all at Target.
Yes, it was a good time and I did a fantastic job of suppressing all holiday emotion with grapes and grain. But then, there's always the morning after. It was officially Christmas and I couldn't hide from it anymore. I am usually a whore for Christmas. I start listening to carols on our satellite radio as soon as they dedicate a channel to it. I dig out the tree and decorate with gusto before night has ever fallen on Black Friday. My hand-made Christmas cards are in the mail shortly thereafter. Not. This. Year. Baby blues have settled into my bones, making it difficult to decorate or sing or remain vertical, for that matter. And for someone who is already traumatized by winter, baby blues + nightfall at 5:30 pm + days and days of clouds and rain = IV of vodka and a house full of Halloween decorations. I knew it was going to hit, I just had no idea how hard. So, here it is...and suddenly I understand why so many in this world wash their Lexapro down with a martini.
And then...screeching and scratching as the needle is snatched from that record. Homey don't play that in 2009! Yes, this year sucks...but last year sucked SO much more. Let's see...there were Skype calls from the desert that sometimes only lasted 45 seconds before getting dropped, there were coming-home plans made and then changed and then made and then changed, there was Christmas Day with 2 bottles of champagne and a Chuck Norris marathon... The bed was cold, the house was quiet and I still managed to pull it together...at least enough to put up a tree and bake some cookies. So, I can totally do this...if not for me, then for us...for the year that we are together because who knows what next year holds. Will he be counted in with the other 29,000 deployed? Only God has the answer to that one. But I do have this year, even if it is only 3 1/2 weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. So, I will send love to Shep, ask my grandparents to look after him (and Papa - PLEASE stop teaching him how to piss off the side of a house...maybe you should let Granny take over for a little while) and I'm going to string garland and sing until I'm hoarse.
And if you are singing the ho-ho-humbug tune for whatever reason...may I pass on further motivation? If you can read this without re-evaluating your life as the end of the year nears, then you don't need a change. http://kallayschronicles.blogspot.com/
Happy Baking, Happy Decorating, Happy Holidays!