Heavy Skillets and Cloud Gazing

Have I ever mentioned that Thanksgiving is my gosh-darn-really-truly-seriously favorite holiday?

Well, it is.

I'm not sure why. Maybe it's that it's a holiday that centers on cooking and eating. Two of my hobbies. Maybe it brings less stress than the gifts/tree/decorations/traveling/traditions of Christmas. Maybe it's that one of my all-time greatest memories from growing up was cooking with my mother all day long on Thanksgiving.

Whatever the reason, I cherish the day--even when it starts really, really early.

Like, my day may or may not start at 5:00 AM, with the cheesecake in the oven by 6:00. Yeah.



When you cook as many things as we do, you know exactly what it's like to have a 14-hour cooking day. Exhausting. Exhilarating. (Only fuels my dream of one day being Paula Deen--love you, Paula!!) Needless to say, when you've been on your feet for that long, your back starts to hurt. And when you peel off your apron and plop down in your chair, you're not quite sure whether to devour the food or to let the food devour you as you crash face-first into your plate.

It's not just about the food at our house, though--it's about the laughter and memories that fill the kitchen all morning, all afternoon, and (nearly) all evening.

Like dancing in the kitchen at 10:00 AM with my momma to Rihanna singing on some ridiculous-looking float.

Or like bursting out laughing after my mom helped me flip my pineapple upside down carrot cake--not an easy feat with a cast-iron skillet that Tony Horton would have trouble lifting (P90X reference, any takers?).

Or like making my eggnog pound cake--AKA the most boring dessert ever--because it's my hubby's fave. He gushes over it like I spent all day slaving over every single delicious ingredient.

Or like my poor father going to three different stores to find Pillsbury Big and Buttery crescent rolls, so that my siblings could enjoy one of their favorite holiday menu items:

Or like taking sips of the ginger-pear sparkle (AKA--should we just serve this in shot glasses?) all day to "make sure it isn't freezing."

Or like tossing marshmallows into each other's mouths over and over and over to see who can catch the most.

Or like deciding with your siblings that Tom Turkey is going to have four middle names this year--one middle name decided by each sibling. I have to say, Tom Frederick Gobble Guapo Lurkey Turkey was super delish.

Or like slaving away over my very first cheesecake only to have my mom and dad praise it to the point that we just about called in the Southern Living kitchen staff for bragging rights.

Or like arguing with my mother over which is more Southern: "Stuffing" or "dressing"?

That's it.

That's why Thanksgiving is my favorite.

Because no matter how old you are or where you are in life (on happy times, hard times, or somewhere in between), we get a day to reflect and to be thankful. A day uncluttered with things, and so very, very cluttered with people.

Having my son running circles around the table, playing hide and seek, and throwing his turkey all around his high chair of course made the evening. What a blessed time to pause and reflect, to sit back and enjoy. Although my lethargy was palpable by the time we all actually sat down to eat, nothing could have been more precious than seeing my family around me, holding hands, talking, remembering when such-and-such happened.

And Black Friday?

Bleh.

I'm scared of getting shot/pepper sprayed/trampled to death in an attempt to purchase something that can definitely wait 24 hours.

I'm much more into cloud gazing. And family hikes.