Thanksgiving will be a lot different this year. For one, a high chair will be pulled up to the table. A cheesy ‘Baby’s First Thanksgiving’ bib will probably be gifted to one Mr. Drew, and said baby’s stubby, sticky fingers will inevitably throw mashed potatoes and stuffing across the room in which we will be sitting which is–of course–carpeted.
Some things about Thanksgiving will not change. Mike and I will, as we have done every year for at least the last five years, prepare goddman stuffed mushrooms. We made them one year, back when we were still a new couple, eager to show everyone that we like to do cute couple things together, like wipe the dirt off of mushrooms, carve out their tiny stems and cram the resulting holes full of butter, bread crumbs and onions. The result was a big hit, and every year I play a game with Mike’s mother or his aunt (depending on who’s hosting), in which I ask what we should bring along and one or the other of them responds by hemming and hawing and wondering before finally suggesting ‘hey, why don’t you bring those stuffed mushrooms.’ So each year we make the goddamn stuffed mushrooms and each year we curse the fact that we ever made that time-consuming appetizer in the first place as opposed to, I dunno, sour cream and onion dip.
Other things that will not change: there will be hot crab dip and Ritz crackers; Mike and his brother will playfully punch and pretend box each other in what I guess is a way for them to express their love; the older generation will complain about the rising cost of food; my father-in-law will share fishing stories; and we’ll all make the same tired joke about how we’re stuffed before the main course has even been brought out. Then, each of us will somehow find room to eat a full plate and then make even more room for dessert. After it’s all said and done we’ll raise our hands if we want after-dinner coffee, and we’ll lazily clink our spoons in our mugs as the excitement wears down and the food comas set in.
Slowly, over the years, the Thanksgiving seats will change. We’ll add some with joy and celebration. We’ll take some away with sadness and grief. At some point in time the reins will be passed down to our generation. I’ll be the one frantically dialing the Butterball Turkey Talk-line in the early hours of Thanksgiving Day. With the power in my hands, I’ll get to decide whether or not anyone must bring goddamn stuffed mushrooms. Something tells me we’ll still have ‘em. The day is a bent and yellow-paged book we’ve all read; we could recite our favorite passages with barely a glance down at the page. The men will, as always, get too comfy on the couch watching football and us women will bump into each other in the kitchen as we wash this, dry that, put that away. The table will look different, but by and large it will be the same. And isn’t that something to be thankful for.
