Better late than never.
We'll call this a belated Thanksgiving post.
At this time last year I was nervously calling Jen every couple of hours to check in, until she finally told me that the baby wouldn't come without a lot of warning and that she would call me the minute she went into labor. So I cut back to two calls a day. I have quite a bit more to say about the past year, but that can wait for Friday.
This year, Jen and I celebrated a traditional Thanksgiving with Violet and our respective parents. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, the whole shebang. My mom even made the sweet potato casserole with the pecan and brown sugar topping, which will always be one of my guilty pleasures. It's not the height of sophistication, nor is it anywhere near being healthy -- sweet potatoes may be good for you, but I think the cream, butter, and brown sugar completely negate any vitamins and minerals. Sweet potato casserole is just one of those things that my mom made every holiday when I was growing up. To me, it isn't Thanksgiving without them.
I snuck Violet a few spoonfulls of my potatoes (no pecans), because I could barely stomach the sight -- and the smell -- of her Gerber provided "feast." I tasted a Gerber Dinner-in-a-jar once. Then promptly threw up. Around then is when I came to the conclusion that babies must not have a very discerning palate. I will concede that the desserts aren't too bad, though.
After dinner, Jen and I left the grandparents to fight over which of them would be taking Violet for the night. My mom is pretty hardcore, but I wasn't about to discount Pat, she's a scrapper. Okay. The arrangements were actually predecided. The thought of my mom and Jen's mom flinging stuffing and screaming "I get her!" slays me. Not that either of them would ever do that. They're very classy women. Yes, strangely, I was actually raised by a woman who had a lot of class. Hard to tell, no?
Speaking of classy women (Ohhhhh. See what I did there? Master of the segue! Master!) I spent the latter part of my Thanksgiving with Gina and a pumpkin pie. Absolutely delicious -- and the pie wasn't bad either! Pretend you could hear me guffaw. Okay. Okay. I'll calm down now. Seriously though. Gina actually made me a pie. From scratch. Let me say that again, just to make sure it's clear. Gina made me a pie from scratch. And! It was actually rather tasty. It was a very pleasant surprise.
I had a lot to be thankful for this year.
At this time last year I was nervously calling Jen every couple of hours to check in, until she finally told me that the baby wouldn't come without a lot of warning and that she would call me the minute she went into labor. So I cut back to two calls a day. I have quite a bit more to say about the past year, but that can wait for Friday.
This year, Jen and I celebrated a traditional Thanksgiving with Violet and our respective parents. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, the whole shebang. My mom even made the sweet potato casserole with the pecan and brown sugar topping, which will always be one of my guilty pleasures. It's not the height of sophistication, nor is it anywhere near being healthy -- sweet potatoes may be good for you, but I think the cream, butter, and brown sugar completely negate any vitamins and minerals. Sweet potato casserole is just one of those things that my mom made every holiday when I was growing up. To me, it isn't Thanksgiving without them.
I snuck Violet a few spoonfulls of my potatoes (no pecans), because I could barely stomach the sight -- and the smell -- of her Gerber provided "feast." I tasted a Gerber Dinner-in-a-jar once. Then promptly threw up. Around then is when I came to the conclusion that babies must not have a very discerning palate. I will concede that the desserts aren't too bad, though.
After dinner, Jen and I left the grandparents to fight over which of them would be taking Violet for the night. My mom is pretty hardcore, but I wasn't about to discount Pat, she's a scrapper. Okay. The arrangements were actually predecided. The thought of my mom and Jen's mom flinging stuffing and screaming "I get her!" slays me. Not that either of them would ever do that. They're very classy women. Yes, strangely, I was actually raised by a woman who had a lot of class. Hard to tell, no?
Speaking of classy women (Ohhhhh. See what I did there? Master of the segue! Master!) I spent the latter part of my Thanksgiving with Gina and a pumpkin pie. Absolutely delicious -- and the pie wasn't bad either! Pretend you could hear me guffaw. Okay. Okay. I'll calm down now. Seriously though. Gina actually made me a pie. From scratch. Let me say that again, just to make sure it's clear. Gina made me a pie from scratch. And! It was actually rather tasty. It was a very pleasant surprise.
I had a lot to be thankful for this year.