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Preparing for a Weird Day

21 November 2007

Tomorrow will be the first Thanksgiving ever that we will spend with family, locally. We’ve done our fair share of flying and driving to someone’s house for the holiday. And even have had some people fly or drive to spend it at our house. But, spend the morning at our house, drive 20 minutes with our offerings to a relative’s house, eat, belch, then drive 20 minutes home? Never before.

It feels weird. Today is pretty much a regular day. Not much prepping going on yet, the house is in its typical state of Strewn Detritus, and I’m sitting in the office working on a project, of all things.

Tomorrow will feel weird, too. There will be the usual in-family stress (it’s not just my family that can’t have a gathering without someone’s feelings being purposely or inadvertently hurt). Although luckily, the Consort is the Beloved in everyone’s eyes (the opposite of my placement in my family, oftentimes*), so the stress isn’t directed at us, and I stand close enough to him to ensure some of the glow shines on me, too (heh).

To be honest, though, the weirdest part will be the wine (or, perhaps more accurately, the non-drinking of wine). We are partakers, and luckily, we’ve found a bunch of like-minded individuals to be friends with in Iowa. We’re not overindulgers, mind you. But a gathering isn’t a gathering without a bit of wine. (hic!)

My family partakes in grapey goodness as well. So we’re always well-watered when visiting that side. (hic! hic!)

The Consort’s family, not so much. One BIL doesn’t drink at all. The other drinks a can or two of Bud Light. One SIL doesn’t drink at all (not even the beer I keep telling her is fabulous for women who are breastfeeding [when I heard this as a nursing mom, I jumped on this information]). The other SIL will have one or two sips. My MIL? Maybe she will, maybe she won’t (and prefers the sweet stuff, whereas I prefer dry stuff). But if there were no wine, they’d be just as happy. Is that crazy, or WHAT?

Do we bring wine? I don’t know. I stilll haven’t asked the Consort what he thinks (are you reading this? What do you think? Should we bring a bottle [or two…]). I really want some wine with Thanksgiving dinner. But that wanting makes me wonder if I’m a slush. (Yes, I call it “slush”, makes much more sense than lush, especially since Lush means bath bombs — oh, yes, it does!) I don’t feel like a slush. I don’t drink every day. But I likes me some fihne wihne. Am I an alcky on the edge?

Who knows. Just pass me that bottle.

*Not intended to mean anything, siblings. (And where in his case everyone = everyone, in my case, everyone = for the most part, the parents.)

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