Without Further Ado

It had taken the whole family to load up the side dishes we were bringing to my Mother’s for Thanksgiving. Once we arrived the kids dashed excitedly into the house, leaving only me and my husband to unload everything.

“I don’t know if there is enough food,” he said sarcastically. “Are you sure there’s not more in the trunk?”

“Well, I had to make enough to feed 25 people!” I defended myself.

“Yes, but eighteen of them, all put together, weigh less than all this food.”

I gave him a dirty look.

As we walked through the door, we happened upon a chaotic scene unfolding in the kitchen. My daughter was objecting to something but I didn’t give it much notice; until I heard her say, “I’m not eating something that used to be alive!”

“Then you’re going to be awfully hungry,” observed my mother, calmly peering into the oven.

“Everything we eat, used to be alive,” my husband informed her. I kicked him hard but it was too late. My daughter was wide eyed with horror.

“What?” she asked, staring at the turkey her Grandma was basting. She looked at her cousin Darin and asked, “What did it used to be?”

“A turkey, I think,” my youngest nephew answered. They were only two weeks apart in age, so he was probably the wrong person to ask.

“But, I’ve never seen a turkey, except for at dinner.” She dropped her head to her chest, “What is it before it’s food?”

“Don’t be ridiculous you two!” started my mother. “When I was a child, it was my job to chase the bird down, after its head was cut off. All we expect you children to do is eat it. Is that too much to ask?”

“Oh, it’s a bird,” was all my daughter said, starting to cry.

“You chopped off the head?” My nephew asked astonished.

“Cool,” said my younger boy excitedly. “Can I see it?”

“You can see the neck,” she placated, “but don’t touch it, I have to put it in the gravy.” She waved him over to her side. My daughter muffled a scream.

“How come you are so worried about the turkey but not the lettuce?” instigated my oldest son.

“Is lettuce alive, too?” she asked.

“No!” answered Darin laughing so hard at her absurdity that he snorted. “Everyone knows that lettuce isn’t alive.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked my oldest son snickering, “…just because it can’t walk or talk?”

“I know for sure,” my young nephew explained, “because it can’t look at me.”

“But it grows?” pointed out my mother.

My daughter walked over and opened the frig; with her head still in it, she concluded, “No, it hasn’t!”

My older son dove at the opportunity, “Didn’t you see it move?” He asked, in pretend astonishment. She gave out a yelp and began nodding rapidly, never taking her eyes off of the thing. This caught Darin’s attention and he slid from his chair to stick his head in the fridge next to hers. It was the longest anything had held their attention, ever, as they waited to see what the lettuce would do next. I was actually enjoying this rare moment of peace when suddenly my nephew screamed, “I saw it move!” and they both began screeching. The fridge door swung completely open in the chaos.

“Shut that ice box door!” my Mother shooed them back to the table. “You both know better than to waste energy like that.”

With that, I left the room in search of my ibuprofen. Holidays are always a little stressful.

Upon my return, I found the youngest two back at the refrigerator with the door slightly ajar: Obviously attempting to conserve energy, I noticed approvingly. They were crouched down, peering in at the lettuce and stayed there until the meal was served.

“Give your sister a piece of turkey,” I instructed my oldest son, once we sat down to eat. He picked up a wing with a malicious grin. I forced it back down on the plate, with a warning look. He rolled his eyes and passed her a benign piece of white meat, which I quickly smothered in gravy. She looked hesitantly at the plate.

I reminded her and Darin what they had concluded earlier; if something couldn’t look at you, then maybe it wasn’t alive, right? They nodded in agreement.

“So, if that’s true, maybe if you can’t see it – then,” I paused searching for the right words.

“Then I’m not alive?” concluded my nephew. My daughter started to cry again.

“You need to stay away from the egg nog,” my mother decided, taking charge of the situation.

“There are two jobs in this family,” she said to the children, “you can either catch-and-cook it; or, you can eat it. What will it be?”