Nothing could get better. . . .than a family get together

October 7, 2010


One more day and the weekend begins!

Normally, this would be the source of glee and excitement.

However, weekends that involve family dinners do carry with them a modicum of stress.

At least for me.

So when Stephen mentioned this morning that he thinks he's getting sick, I had a mild panic attack.

Because while I can cook for two days straight, cleaning is an entirely different issue.

One of the nice things about being married to Stephen is that, in some ways, we compliment each other.

While I slave over a hot stove for two days, he cleans the house.

While I panic over the last minute preparations, he puts the table together and sets it with our two sets of silverware.

While I have a nervous breakdown because I've run out of brown sugar, he locates all of our serving dishes and puts them in a pile on the counter for me.

So in spite of all my issues over family dinners, the house is always clean and the table is set.

And in my mind that means more than half the battle has been won.





I can't say exactly when the responsibility for family dinners fell to me.

When I returned from Ontario in 1993, bringing with me two children aged 3 1/2 and 2, and pregnant with a third (unknown to me at that time) having just left my first husband, family dinners took place at my parent's house.

Somewhere along the line, a subtle rite de passage took place: dinners came to be at my house.

The benefit: serving dishes.

After the Thanksgiving dinner where I served the meal on cookie sheets and cake tins, my parents started giving me serving dishes.

Now, I spend the week before the meal planning when I will cook what, what needs to be done first, what has to be done last minute, when to squeeze in shopping, figuring out how will I find the time to get to the Big Potato for fresh veggies, and should I try, again, to make pie crust, or should I spare myself the humiliation and indignity of explaining my patchwork pie crust and just buy them.

For some reason, the intricate art of pie crust making has eluded me.

My mother, both grandmothers, former mother-in-law, current mother-in-law all make beautiful pie crust.

Flaky.

Moist.

Tender.

Sumptuously delicious.

My pie crust is the opposite.

Think press board, hockey pucks, door stops that look as if they have been made of spare parts.

And you have MY pie crust.

When I was a teenager, I once tried making a pie crust.

My dad had to take the paint scraper and literally scrape the hardened, cement-like mass off the counter.

He may have taken some counter with him, if memory serves.

I've tried every recipe I can find, and nothing works.

But every Thanksgiving and Christmas I try to make homemade pies, because the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting the same results.

And every Thanksgiving and Christmas, I end up racing to the Superstore, in a panic, hoping that I won't have to get into a full-fledged brawl with some other stressed out woman who has grabbed the last pie and now has to get said pie past me.

Cause when I want pie, I'll get pie, regardless of who I may have to take out to get it.

How come? Is a pie that important?

Yes.

Why?

Emily.

She thinks pumpkin pie is in a class of food all its own.

Rather than birthday cakes, she wants pumpkin pie.

Which looks rather odd with candles in it, but what Emmy wants. . .

And I would rather risk arrest for possible assault and battery over a pumpkin pie than have to face Em and tell her we will be pumpkin pie-less for Thanksgiving.

Em can be very scary when she wants to.

Especially if there is pumpkin pie involved.




If anyone has a fail-safe recipe for pie crust, and is willing to share, I'll give you my first born child.




Planning the menu can be a challenge as well. I have to make sure the expected dishes are present: brown sugar carrots, parsnips in a tarragon cream sauce, home made biscuits, roast turkey, bread stuffing, home made cranberry sauce (cause if I served canned cranberries, I'd be forced to eat in my room, alone).

But then I try to incorporate something different: red cabbage with apple, onion, brown sugar, vinegar. . .

My dad makes these amazing, decadent, completely illegal sweet potatoes with cream cheese. . .

They are to. die. for.

My sister-in-law, Kathryn, always makes a potato dish that makes my Stephen and the kids transform from rational beings to salivating animals.

And her broccoli/cauliflower salad with bacon and a vinegrette is so good I could eat with my hands.

Cause forks just slow me down.





Now that the kids are older, its nice to have them participate in preparing these family dinners.

Whether they want to or not.

But they still manage to avoid the clean up.

Stephen, on the other hand, starts cleaning up while people are still eating.

When we first got together, one of the things that really irritated me about eating with Stephen was that as soon as he was finished eating, he would get up from the table and start to clean up

The result of years of living alone and eating by himself.

We are literally sitting at the table, the kids and I, eating, talking, and he is removing things around us.

You can imagine I didn't let that go on for long.

But, every once in a while, usually when we are having people for dinner, he will revert to his table clearing obsession.

I spend the meal constantly asking him to sit down.

Me: Stephen, please come and sit with us.

SJP: Yeah, in a minute.

Me: Stephen, PLEASE come and sit with us. (said through a tight smile)

SJP: Coming. I'm coming. (he's getting impatient)

Now, instead of trying to gently cajole him into returning to the table, I get up, go the counter or sink or where ever he has planted himself, and say, while smiling through gritted teeth:

Me (whispering): STEPHEN GET BACK TO THE TABLE BECAUSE I AM NOT ENTERTAINING ALL THESE PEOPLE ON MY OWN AND IF YOU DON'T YOU'LL BE SLEEPING IN THE CAR FOR THE NEXT WEEK AND ITS OCTOBER WHICH MEANS YOU WILL BE VERY COLD!!!!!!!!

SJP: gives me "the look" but does come back to the table.

I'm considering tying him to the chair.




This is Mer's first Thanksgiving at home in 5 years.

Its also her 21st birthday.

We will, then, be having a combination Thanksgiving-Mer-turns-21-gathering.

Mer informs me that she will be drinking prior to the meal to celebrate turning 21.

I don't see the connection between blood alcohol poisoning and birthdays.

I really don't.

But I put the kibosh on that.

There will be no alcohol consumption before dinner.

What the kids and their friends decide to afterward, I can live with.

But no one, unless it's me, will be inebriated during dinner.

Is it because I am trying to preserve the sanctity of the family dinner?

Nope.

It's because of my father.




Everyone has *that* family member who makes family dinners entertaining and frustrating simultaneously.

In our family, this is sometimes my dad.

When we were younger, it was easier because my mother was very good at keeping him in line.

But he would still do things like eat half our dessert when we left the table to go to the bathroom.

Now, however, he lives on his own, mum is in a nursing home, and dad sometimes thinks he has carte blanche to do and say what he wants.

It usually begins with him elbowing Pookie and saying, "Hey Keith, I have a joke for you. . ." and typically goes down hill from there.

At the same time, I couldn't imagine him not being with us, and not being himself.

My mother can't hear anything, and if she can, she is an expert in pretending she can't.

She sits beside me, so I can get her anything she needs, and if someone says anything to her, she just smiles and nods.

And this Thanksgiving, we are adding several of the kids' friends to the mix, as this is a combined birthday party/family dinner.

Meaning, a whole new brand of chaos will be introduced into an already chaotic situation.

I may have to tie everyone to their chairs.





The sad thing about this Thanksgiving will be the absence of my sister-in-law.

She is in the hospital, dealing with the pain and agony of chemotherapy. She was recently, and finally, diagosed with Bechet's Syndrome.

It will be an empty table with out her.

Stephen, the kids and I are driving an hour away from our house to see her, on Sunday, and to take her Thnaksgiving dinner and to try and pick her spirits up a bit.

Being able to see her reminds me that there is still lots to be thankful for.


Title Lyric: Family Dinner by Parokya Ni Edgar