Sister Schubert, oh your time has come

The Bird
Look, Ma.  I traced my hand.

I have no trips of any significance planned until January and ‘tis the time of year when I shift from the Will Travel to the Half Nuts part of my blog:  The Holidays.

Our Brady Bunch will be far-flung this Thanksgiving; my stepsons are going to visit their mothers in Florida, my younger kids are heading to Virginia to see their father, and my oldest is (gulp) spending the holiday with her boyfriend’s family at the coast.  Before all that scattering, though, we get to have Fakesgiving.  I spent the first half of today grocery shopping, and the second half grocery chopping.  Tomorrow I start baking and I won’t stop until the last college kid walks through the door Friday night.

I’m not going to lie, the holidays have been hard the last six years.  First there was the loss of a huge part of my family I called in-laws, who defined our traditions and held tightly to the sacred and secret holiday recipes.  I suddenly didn’t have my children for half of the holidays anymore.  And then there was the addition of a huge group of new people that I now call in-laws who have their own traditions and recipes.  And despite having six years to get used to this, I still underestimate how much alcohol I need on hand to cushion the special kind of loneliness that comes from being in a room full of people.  But here’s a little secret I’ve discovered: the liquor store doesn’t celebrate Fakesgiving so they won’t be closed when I run out of rum again.  And this year it’s just Mike, and our kids, and me – so probably I won’t even need booze.

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