Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Most of my friends know that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love it because it's not about gifts. Just a great meal shared with family and loved ones. As I thought today about my super duper multi-tasking failure I wondered about my love of this holiday considering all that cooking. Yes, I do it all from planning the meal, grocery shopping and all preparations (not to mention fancifying everything). Had a conversation with my son the other day about my failure and he laughed...Mom, I can't do it either. I suck at it but hey, you do Thanksgiving, don't you? It's great every year and it's a lot of work.
Yes, son, it is.
I've been thinking today that maybe I'm not so great at this holiday. I've been fooling myself since I'm not a multi-tasker. I do great until The Mothers show up. I work away, totally in control and in my element but then they arrive and all my calm and cool flies right out the window.
Mom: Honey, can I do something?
Me (putting together a last minute dish): No Mom. Thanks, just sit over there and look pretty.
Mom: Are you sure?
Me (looking up as sweat begins to bead on my forehead): Uh uh. Yeah. Uh. Yes. I'm good. You just sit.
MIL (who can't hear and talks very loudly...bless her heart): Honey, can I do something?
Me (shaking head, trying to smile): Nope. No, you just sit there and look pretty. Sit with Mom. You can look pretty together.
MIL (moving closer, very close, oh about three inches from my face): ARE YOU SURE? Can I set the table?
Me: okay. okay. Sure. (I begin to look frantically for an ingredient only to find it is right in front of me)
MIL: Where are the placemats? Oh can I pour tea?
Mom (jumping up and tired of looking pretty): I can do that. Oh, the tea needs sugar. Where's the sugar? Is it in here? (She then proceeds to open and shut every damn cabinet. In the background Mr. Reg is yelling from his post in front of the game...dinner almost ready? Do you need anything?)
Me (stirring, stirring, forgetting an ingredient, cussing a blue streak before remembering it's Thanksgiving and I'm supposed to be sweet and cheerful): No, not that one Mom. Here wait. It'll be easier if I get it.
Darling Husband (walking in, seeing me wilting and harried): Hey ladies! Lets watch the parade.
MIL and Mom: Ohhhh noooooo. She needs help.
Mom: Honey, you're sweating. Are you okay?
Daughter: (who is quietly watching the chaos) Here you go, Mom. (as she drops two tylenol into my hand)
In the end it all works out as it has for the past twenty-five years but each time, the conversations are the same. For me? Too much info to process coming straight at my head. So I figure I'm not as good at multitasking as I thought.
Talk on the phone and drive? Not happening (nor should it). Walk and chew gum (doubtful). Write two books at once? Nope. Not ever.