With Thanksgiving around the corner, I have been contemplating my menu endlessly. Do I stick to traditional or do I venture outside the box and switch things up a bit? I think back to the Thanksgiving spreads my mother cooked, and she was traditional with a twist. Her stuffing had roasted chestnuts and I remember her scoring them with an X so they did not explode in the oven. I helped open them up after they baked and I adored their firm, yet soft consistency in the stuffing. My dad LOVES giblets, so on occasion my mom would include them in the stuffing. I will be the first to admit that I love giblets too. My mom was not a big fan but she did it for him and he appreciated every bite.

As my brothers and my little sister grew older, we started to critique her spreads and her appearance at the table after the meal was ready. When we all finally sat down to eat, my poor mother looked exhausted, was too tired to doll herself up and of course, I decided to play big mouth one year. I told her that the first year I am married and in my own home, I will host Thanksgiving and I’ll be all dolled up no matter what. I forgot about the promise but my keen mother did not.

Years later after I married and was in my first home, I received a call from my mother right around this time of year. She gleefully reminded me that she was so excited for Thanksgiving at my house. My jaw dropped and I knew immediately I was in over my head. Three weeks earlier, I delivered my second child, he had cholic and I was ready to jump off a bridge. Now this! I had never cooked a turkey in my life, let alone made a meal of that magnitude. Determined to prove to her that I could pull it off, I put on my best game face and told her it would be no problem. After hanging up the phone, I cursed her great memory and wanted to punch myself in the teeth for opening up my big mouth years ago.

The prep work alone killed me. I started two days before the holiday and it was dreadful. I did not own one sharp knife worthy of cutting all of the vegetables. There was the small dicing of the onion and celery for the stuffing, the turnips that had to be peeled and then chopped, the cubing of the butternut squash, the potatoes, and not to mention I had to time the cooking of all this stuff and cook the turkey with one little oven? Dessert also fell on my plate. How the heck was I going to fit pies into the lineup? I remember asking myself repeatedly "How the hell did my mother do this without help for so many years?"

I gained a new appreciation for all of her efforts over the years. She made the most fabulous meals silently, without complaining and it all came out hot and perfect every time.

My first turkey was a disaster. I was under the impression you cooked it forever so I woke up at 4am and popped it in the oven. The timer popped five hours before company was due. I was so close to calling the Butterball Hotline. Instead, I called in an expert; my mother. I swallowed my pride, dialed the phone and asked her what the heck I did wrong. She laughed endlessly and I didn’t blame her.

When company finally arrived, I was absolutely exhausted. It was bad enough preparing the meal with two kids, one of which had cholic.

Now my meal would be under the same scrutiny I put my poor mother under. I realized though the experience, that Thanksgiving is not about the food. It is about the family who are there with you to share in it. My meal came out fine and I tried my best to look dolled up, but I knew I looked like death warmed over. I was honestly just happy to see my mom arrive and her only job that day was to eat. Her years of laboring over the stove were over. The torch was finally passed and my mom could officially retire from this exhausting holiday tradition. For every mother reading this article, including my own, I am in awe at all the holiday meals you prepared to perfection without a single complaint. God bless you all!