My First Grown-up Thanksgiving

How one gets to be 42-years-old without having baked a turkey is beyond me. It is particularly strange considering I am a female and a mother, nonetheless. Thanksgiving is four days away and I, for the first time, cannot escape the cooking responsibilities.

It isn’t that I can’t cook ~ I just hate doing it.

Cooking involves so many things. It takes organization to plan what I am going to make. Grocery shopping needs to be done which entails money and the will power to force myself to go to the store (Did I mention that I also strongly dislike grocery stores?). Then I have to figure out ingredients and the steps necessary to make each dish. Let’s not even mention the neck and inards of the unlucky turkey. What am I supposed to do with the loose, slimy parts? Who was the slightly crazed person who decided the dressing should be cooked up the bird’s butt? Then, with the strategic timing of a shuttle launch, I have to calculate how much to make and at what time each item needs to begin cooking so it all comes together (By the way, I also do NOT like math).

This post is making me sound like a disgruntled whiner.

Really, I’m not!

There are a million things I enjoy doing…and would rather be doing than thinking about preparing a feast. I would much prefer organizing my closet, taking the SATs again, or pulling weeds. I’m much more of a closer. Someone else prepares the food then I swoop in to tidy up the loose ends (clear the dishes, put away leftovers, and push start on the dishwasher).

So here I am ready to put on my big-girl panties and begin googling, “How to bake a turkey without one of those big-a** pans” and “How to stick your hand up a turkey’s behind without catching salmonella”. In all reality I’m quite blessed to have gone 42 years without this whole ordeal. Even more so, I am incredibly blessed to have a family to cook for.

So off I go to purchase a cold, wet, goose-bumped avian friend, and some kitchen gloves (I really hate touching raw meat)!


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