‘Twas the Night Before Thanksgiving,
and all through the house,
the mama was fretting because the bird is not thawed.
So the bird is taking a bath in the sink and the momma will babysit through the night
until it is time for the brine.
And no container large enough for the brine,
so a trash bag will have to suffice.
And what is brine anyway?
The pudding is made, but full of lumps,
’cause the mixer is missing so a fork had to suffice.
The sweet potato casserole is made,
but was improvised ’cause
the ingredients were missing
but the thought of going to the store on Thanksgiving Eve produced far too much heartburn.
The house was all cleaned
(at least THAT the momma knows how to do well),
but the mathematical puzzle of what needs to go in the oven when
makes the momma’s head spin.
‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving,
and I know I can’t rhyme,
and dinner is already a complete mess,
but this momma is grateful for much.
And even if everything burns and the bird doesn’t get cooked,
and even if we have to go to WaWa (a nearby gas station; hey, don’t judge, they have great mashed taters) for Turkey Day food,
it’s ok.
We will laugh, much. And we will tell each other what we are grateful for.
And we will rake leaves together, and put up the Christmas tree together, and love each other.
‘Cause we are family, my crew and I. And my soul is full of joy.
I love these people.
I am grateful.
The end, ’cause I’ve gotta go punch the bird a few more times.
