Napkin rings crafted from toilet paper tubes, the wrong kind of pickle, jeans at the dinner table -- I had already made too many concessions.

My irritation grew as the girls lost interest in helping halfway through peeling the apples. Determined to be thankful for my family and friends, though, I tried not to sweat the small stuff.

Thanksgiving morning brought major sweating -- and shivering. The flu had struck. I was too weak to crawl out of bed, much less roast a turkey and conjure up gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans, piping hot and on the table at the same magical moment.

My favorite holiday would have to proceed without me.

My husband and daughters sprang into action. Never were green beans trimmed and potatoes peeled with such enthusiasm!

The clatter of utensils and easy cooperation drifted up the stairs. Were these the same kids who could barely put a used glass in the dishwasher or the husband whose culinary talents began and ended with spaghetti sauce?

The table was strewn with the post-feast wreckage of crumbs and spilled salt. Grease-stained, mismatched napkins flopped helter-skelter, their toilet paper tube rings askew nearby. One lone napkin stood crisply at the head of the table, still encircled by gaily painted cardboard.

“Mommy (we miss you),” read the hand-drawn place card.

I gave thanks.

By Lorrie Goldin

Labels: Flu, gravy, green beans, Lorrie Goldin, mashed potatoes, mommy, Thanksgiving

Stumble This Post