For the very first time, we are hosting Thanksgiving dinner.
(Insert insane laughter here.)
In our teeny tiny house. At our teeny tiny dinner-for-4 table. In our teeny tiny kitchen. With teeny tiny children running underfoot. Wearing our teeny tiny, miniscule even, chefs hats. We have never cooked a whole turkey before. Hell, we’ve never cooked a whole chicken before.
This should be interesting.
(Insert more insane laughter.)
I know they say it’s not about the food, it’s about the family. But my family really likes their food. Thankfully, my husband is going to help. He will be the one to wrestle the bird. He is also going to remove the giblets, because ew. We have a general idea of the sides we’re going to prepare. We’ve planned this far. The end result is a whole nother story. We have extras of everything possible for experimental purposes and/or in case of a catastrophe. Unfortunately, there is only one turkey.
This could go one of two ways: either not that bad, or it’s all gonna blow to pieces. Honestly, my vote is for the latter. Both J and myself tend to become overwhelmed easily. Put us fretting in a teeny tiny kitchen, fighting for space if not our lives, and our marriage may be at stake. At least I should get a good story out of it.
Pray for us.