My friend Sandy and her husband Ben hosted Thanksgiving at their house this year and invited us along with two of their other couple friends. Sandy said her one friend Brian reminds her of Henry and couldn’t wait for them to meet, but I have to disagree because Brian was definitely way more awesome than Henry. (This implies that Henry is awesome at all.)
Anyway, Henry’s contribution was some complicated mushroom and acorn squash risotto that took forever for him to cook. (“YOU CAN’T RUSH RISOTTO!” he kept screaming, so then why does Chef Ramsey expect his Hell’s Kitchen bitches to cook it that fast? And speaking of good ol’ Gordon, I prayed no one at Sandy’s had Ramsey-caliber palates.)
At one point, I heard him cry out, “OH FUCK!” which is probably not ever a good thing.
It turned out fine though; all the food was amazing. Props to Sandy for making Brussels sprouts taste like something super bad for you.
It’s always nice when my sweet son makes puking motions instead of just saying “No, thanks” when he’s offered something he doesn’t like. I don’t know where he gets that.
Brian is Canadian and made some Yorkshire pudding things which I apparently missed the full experience of since they’re meant to be served with gravy and PETA tells me I mustn’t eat gravy. However, the fact that the puddings were cooked in bacon grease did nothing to deter me.
Meanwhile, Chooch acted like he lived there. He always does that, he has no modesty or restraint whatsoever. If he wants more chocolate milk, he’s going to have no problem telling Sandy’s friend Paul to get the fuck up from the table and prepare him a refill.
Henry and I spend a good portion of our social time doling out apologetic looks to Chooch’s victims.
After dinner, Chooch and Paul went downstairs to work on a 500 piece Charlie Brown puzzle that Chooch had spotted as soon as we got there and went upstairs to retrieve Ben after Henry told him to leave the puzzles alone and just play with the toys he brought in his backpack. Ben of course pulled the puzzle off the shelf and once again, Sir Chooch got his way.
Then my friend Sarah shared a horror movie cast Thanksgiving photo on Facebook; I showed it to Chooch on my phone, who in turn shared it with his puzzle partner Paul and Brian’s wife Louise. He expertly roll-called all the villains for them, prompting Louise to ask, “Have you seen these movies?”
“Yeah,” Chooch started thoughtfully. “But mommy always covers my eyes so I won’t see the boobs.”
Everyone started cracking up and I was slowly dying on the inside.
“Boobs are bad, but all the blood and violence is Ok!” Louise laughed.
Later, Chooch shared with Paul that, “Mommy draws pictures of Daddy—”
I braced myself, expecting him to say “and his weener.” Instead it was, “with weeners all around him.” So, not so bad right? Henry pointed out later that either one was equally as horrifying for him.
Chooch was really doing a great job illustrating me as a horrible mom.
Henry was engrossed in Dora episodes with Elena, who is 2 while Chooch found two man-children to work on a puzzle with him. Later, all the adults watched three back-to-back episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba, even after Elena left the room to get a bath. I was too brain-dead and bloated to object. One of the episodes showed a plate with glistening slices of apples and then all I could think about was the bowl of apples in my kitchen and how Henry just refilled it that morning with a bunch of varieties recommended to me by my twitter friends and only then did it occur to me that I might have an apple abuse problem but it was still all I could do not pop up off the couch and cheer, “I’m thankful for apples, motherfuckers!”
Hey guess what? You don’t need family to have a wonderful Thanksgiving! Not when you have amazing friends who invite you to spend holidays with them. Thank you, Sandy and Ben. So this is what drama-free holidays feel like!