Thank you note

It's tomorrow, gang.  Thanksgiving.

I have no idea if your house is in an uproar, or if you are relaxing on a beach somewhere.  Are you waiting excitedly at the airport for your kid to come home?  Or are you standing in line at the supermarket with a cart full of potatoes and apples and string beans?  Perhaps the in-laws are driving you mad, or you have the wine all picked out to bring to a gathering of friends far from home. Maybe you are at the gym, frantically trying to burn calories ahead of time, or looking helplessly at tail lights on the freeway as you head out of town.

Maybe you are standing on a street corner in Missouri, weeping.  And praying for families everywhere who will have trouble finding ways to be grateful.

Source:  The Atlantic

Wherever you are, and whatever you are doing, I'm thankful for you.

I am in my sister's kitchen.  The fridge is bursting, but we have a plan*. It involves tried-and-true mac n' cheese, award-winning apple pie, and a total experiment in grilled, flattened turkey.  There will be sausage stuffing and mashed potatoes and challah in case that goes terribly wrong.  Even if everything goes awry, it won't matter in the great scheme of things.

We spent the afternoon yesterday at Arlington National Cemetery, watching leaves drift down as shots rang out in salute to a newly fallen soldier joining so many others there.

 Then the sun went down and the sky was so stunningly on fire we just sat in the car, gaping**.

Two days ago, my daughter and I had a giggling fit in the National Gallery, and ninjas brought us popcorn in recliners. My niece and husband have started this year's Lego project.

My son is here...giant and loud and perfect.

Soon, we will hold hands over our full plates and take turns awkwardly trying to express aloud the feelings of profound gratitude that fill our hearts.  I will likely not mention the sunset, the giggles, the comfort of my husband's warm feet against my cold ones in the night, my sister's indulgent spoiling of all of us, my niece's shrieks of laughter, or the way my son felt when I hugged him.

I will probably just say, "I'm thankful for my family" and squeeze the hand I'm holding a little tighter.

Here are a few ideas for leftovers you can thank me for later:

For the turkey: Diane's Turkey Enchiladas
For the stuffing and mashed potatoes: Thanksgiving Eggs

And, for the cranberry sauce:  Shortbread Jam Tart

Intriguing, but untested:  Mashed Potato Waffles from Serious Eats and Crispy Stuffing Cakes with Eggs from iamafoodblog.

Virtual thank you's are fine on these, folks. No hand squeezing required.

* It is a ridiculous plan, involving two complete Thanksgiving dinners within 24 hours and hijacking her neighbor's refrigerator. Don't ask.
** There was traffic on the beltway, so we kind of had to slow down anyway. No photo can do this sunset justice, as my stricken daughter wailed at us repeatedly from the back seat.  She was bereft not to be able to blow her Instagram followers away.  Speaking of Instragram, you can follow me there now.  Although, according to my daughter, I'm doing it wrong.

And an Ice Cream Cake from Mom

I received some amazing gifts for Mother's Day:

I slept in, got some exercise, then read the paper and this excellent post.

Elena gave me roses.

My daughter gave me a gorgeous bowl she made in her ceramics class.

My sister and niece sent me gourmet Fig Balsamic Vinegar* and Basil Olive Oil

My son hijacked this blog**.

My husband got me a new toilet seat (not pictured), and made me pay for lunch.  

But he did clean up the entire kitchen after I made my own Mother's Day dinner. (recipe soon)

Then, right in the middle of everything, I got the idea for this cake from Mom***.  

It was nice, after a day as a mom, to have a small moment to feel like a daughter again.  Happy Mother's Day, all around.

Cherry Blossom Picnics - A memory for Mother's Day

My birthday is in the springtime, mostly. Sometimes it is a cold, chilly day, or a hot blue one, but more often than not the afternoon is barely but definitely warm. We are in the blue Volvo, braids tight and socks folded down over our matching Mary Jane shoes…the white ones, because summer is coming. Dad is driving, and Mom is quiet but smiling a little, because we are almost there and she has a plan in her mind that is coming true.

The car is parked, somehow (I don’t remember that part), and we are on bicycles. Mine wobbles a bit, and I am trying my best to avoid steering myself into the water, the way the bike wants to go. Dad has the picnic on the back of his bike, keeping an eye on my sister with training wheels scooting along. Mom is walking across the grass in another direction, but she is not lost.

We circle the path, and above us are millions of petals, an impossible shade of pink-white, bursting from gnarled branches in a riotous, splendid show. It’s amazing and yet it is exactly what I expect, because my birthday is when the cherry blossoms come out, every year.

It is crowded here. Tourists are taking pictures, people are walking home from work, other children and parents are playing, and cyclists are passing through. A memorial in marble, usually the main attraction, is the backdrop. And all of us are reflected again in the shiny surface of the basin that we are riding around.

Mom has laid out the scratchy wool blanket. I put my kickstand down and run to see, the dirt from my shoes getting onto the blanket. It’s there. The small, round bowl with the Saran wrap on top, next to the big wooden bowl full of Ruffles (it is always Ruffles) waiting for me to go first. We surround it, us four, but my chip is ready and in there before anyone else’s.

Clam dip. Smooth and cream cheesy and slightly fishy, in an oddly approachable way, and tangy-onion-lemony. My mom’s recipe. My favorite. Made just for me, always, on my birthday.

I’m 48 now. My mother is gone. I make the dip on ordinary days. And yet, at the first taste on my chip (it is almost always Ruffles), I feel my mom loving how happy I am.  I see cherry blossoms, the back of my Dad’s bike ahead of me, and my sister’s small Mary Janes furiously pedaling along under a fluffy pink-white sky.

What I did on my Christmas Vacation: A photo essay*:

Yes, Ma'am.
I do know this is about two weeks late.
I'm hoping for partial credit.

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation

by Sharon 

Marked my daughter's birthday with cinnamon rolls, swirly straws, and the traditional birthday skunk:

Cranked up the tunes, made vast amounts of chili, and used every single cookie sheet in the house:

Corresponded with Santa, with excellent results:

Dug into Christmas breakfast.  Saved room for Christmas dinner.  And dessert!

Hung out with Blake Griffin and his deltoids after dinner**.

Stopped to smell the roses (and see them glued onto floats and rolled through the streets of Pasadena):

Roared my head off with 93,358 of my closest friends...

 ...and my amazing sister.  

Having this time with her was the absolute best part of the whole spectacular, ridiculous, calorie-laden, magical marathon of overdoing everything that is the holidays at our house.  The memories we make for our families together are worth every minute of each sleepless night, and I could never pull it off without her***.

The End (of 2012)

* Doing my essay in pictures is probably going to lower my grade even more, but honestly? If I had to write it all down in words it would be summer vacation already and this blog would never get back into gear.
** We scored highly enough on my husband's "Clipper Quiz" to win court side seats to the Christmas night game.  I don't think there are words in the English language to describe exactly how thrilled and elated my son was with this gift.  For like, weeks, after.  In fact, he's still grinning like an idiot right now.
*** For example, she took almost every single one of these pictures, since my camera was buried under a mountain of piled-up paperwork I'm going to get to sometime next week