We’re on time so why do I feel like we’re on the late side?
The dog is out of the car and peeing on the driveway. Does dog pee stain asphalt? I might need to hose that down.
The kids left the car doors open. As usual.
I forgot to pack the jackets. What is wrong with me? For crying out loud. What does that even mean?
I hope it doesn’t get cold. Oh, perfect: rain.
Dinner is going to be Chinese food. No one wants to cook the night before The Big Meal.
My dad’s eye is bloodshot. He’s acting like I don’t notice.
The kids slurp their sizzling rice soup. The 12-year-old says it’s the custom.
The three-year-old is under the table. I’m going to pretend like I don’t know that’s happening because secretly I’m glad she’s stowed out of the way. It’s either that or she’ll be slinging Chow Fun all over the place.
I’m sure the floor is disgusting.
I’m the worst mom ever.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m so not.
Oh God, I hope the hostess doesn’t try to give my kids those nasty imported lollipops on the way out. Is there another way out of this place? Nope.
That glass of wine was a bit much. Do they even make wine in China? I wonder who’s driving.
Pumpkin pie at nine in the morning. Hot drifts of it. Like snow, only pie.
My stomach hurts.
I’m going to ask my mom if I can help. She’ll say yes but then I won’t know what she wants me to do. She’ll say something about sage or Brussel sprouts.
Is that pumpkin on her cheek?
I’m not sure I want to cook, actually.
I’ll clean up but I don’t need to tell anyone that yet.
She loves Thanksgiving. It’s her holiday, like she owns it, loves to cook it all. She loves to cook it all, right?
I’m mashing the potatoes. I heard the skin is full of vitamins.
She does not like mashed potatoes with skin in them. Even though I told her about the vitamins. Can I pick the skin out at this point? I could use a toothpick. Where would my mom keep the toothpicks?
Toothpicks, where are you?
I’m not always wrong.
It’s almost noon. Crap.
I think Josh and I aren’t talking. Why aren’t we talking?
I need to shower. I’m just gonna sneak into the bathroom.
We’re still not talking.
The friends are here! Cranberry Champagne Fizz for everyone!
Why is my dad dumping the rest of my third drink over the deck railing?
He calls that cleaning up. Hmm.
Why aren’t Josh and I speaking?
Someone’s sobbing. Oh, it’s the 9-year-old.
Okay, okay. I’ll do some parenting.
Even after The Talk, I’m pretty sure the three-year-old doesn’t quite understand why it’s not cool to destroy other people’s projects, for example the 1000 piece puzzle her big sisters have been working on all day.
I love when she throws her arms around my neck and says, “You’re my favorite family.” I’m SO lucky.
If we have sex, will we start speaking again?
“We go around the table with our gratitude. Everyone has some.” That is like, poetry. Except I thought it. I should write that down.
Hey, it’s a text from my sister in New York – a photo of all of them around the dinner table. Why are they vegan? Can’t they skip it for Thanksgiving? I’ll pass the phone around.
Why is Josh keeping my phone? WTF?
Pumpkin pie. Extra whipped cream.
It’s probably not the best idea to let the dog lick the plates before I put them in the dishwasher. I hope she doesn’t barf.
Her eyes tell me all about love.
Is there more wine? I’m not going to drink it. I just need to know.
This is not going to end well. Especially if I don’t sleep.
We should hold hands. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
I’ll use The Force.
This post is part of the Reverb 14 December daily writing challenge, a series of reflective writing prompts designed to help let go of 2014 and move into 2015 with intention.Today’s prompt is: what is the sound of your own voice?