No matter what your emotional state post-holiday, whether it’s post-dramatic stress or afterglow, you might be reliving this Thanksgiving or those of holidays past—I am.
After spending the day cooking an animal-free Thanksgiving (which was requested by my five-year-old and included fun things he could help do), my son told me at dinner that I was the “worstest [sic.] mommy in the world.” I’ll admit that I will not be writing any parenting tomes in the near future and that I have my mean-mommy moments; but after what was a pretty great day, which included lots of cuddling and playing, this was a blow.
Yes, I know he’s five; he may not have known what he was saying, and he apologized. I tend to think that there is a part of him that truly believes this. This isn’t just my fear that A. has Stewie Griffin-esque fantasies of knocking me off; this is me knowing that I could always be a better mom. I could be more patient; I could spend more time playing; I could…I could…do more.
Like most parents, I just do my best and strive to do better. So why does this incident worry me? Because I have seen the future if this viewpoint doesn’t change.
The first Thanksgiving I cooked was for my extended family—mom, stepdad, and step-brother with his wife and son. During dinner, aforementioned brother decided to lay into my stepfather about his parenting. Granted, their situation is VERY different. I don’t remember what he said but I remember how he ambushed my step-father during this holiday of gratitude. And that’s how I felt—ambushed.
Yes, my feelings were hurt and my ego was bruised. However, this incident drives home the importance to be more patient and to work harder to diminish my mean mommy moments. Ultimately, the holidays are meant to love and appreciate our families. We shouldn’t have to recover from them like a bad bar crawl.
Something to think about when elbowing your way to that Black Friday sale.
I’m looking forward to a busy holiday where planning — other than what I am going to eat and when I am going to walk — is the name of the game. Thanksgiving is the ultimate list holiday: travel plans with packing lists (for some, not us), menus, shopping lists, to-do lists and timelines.
Today, tomorrow’s to-do timeline will be set. The entire day will be spent cooking because that’s how I like it; prepping and cooking beforehand when there is only the three of us seems a bit over the top. I’m looking forward to our vegetarian feast (The turkeys from “Free Birds” would love us.) and having A. serve as the sous chef. (He’s a whiz at removing kale from the stems!)
While the rest of the world is scurrying to destinations, I’m happy to be home carrying out my to-do list with my family.
Apples are the perfect food. In one convenient package you can consume fiber, photochemical as well as vitamins and minerals that can keep your body humming.
Alone, each variety has it’s own personality: Gala is sweet; Honey Crisp is sharp, Red Delicious is no-nonsense nutrition, while a Granny Smith is tart and bites back. (A little bit like my Aunt Jo. ) This makes apples the perfect friend for whatever your mood.
My favorite meals involves apples: apples with peanut butter, apples with extra sharp cheddar, apples with romaine and avocado, even apples cooked into jam as shown here. Excuse me while I drool.
So we thought New Jersey would be our last stop in the search for home—you know, that place that just feels right, that place where you cannot imagine being anywhere else. Well, it wasn’t. In fact, three years ago this weekend, A., M., Pumpkin, Moo, and I moved from the sleepy town in Jersey to Manhattan.
Our first apartment had a kitchen that was minuscule and had roaches and mice (Rodents wig me out) but on paper it sounded awesome: a duplex with two bedrooms, two bathrooms and outdoor space. We lived there for two years until we moved to our current apartment in a doorman building, (Our broker was excited to finally find an “adult” apartment for us.) which we adore.
So, on our third anniversary of being New Yorkers I feel lucky to live in a place where I feel I should have been my entire life