togetherness

Priorities change as the years go by; one of my younger sisters is working Thanksgiving to make extra money…a few years ago, I might have done the same; now I wouldn’t work the holiday if you paid me exorbitant amounts. Perhaps I feel that way because I rarely get to see family and just spend time with them…but I also think values change…going home for the holidays is something I eagerly look forward to…even if we just end up having pizza, I just want to see my brothers and sisters, give and receive hugs, and drink in the ensuing craziness that happens when you bring together eight people from one immediate family. Personalities explode upon the scene like fireworks as each sibling grows older and develops into who they are as individuals, and the cacophony is sweet to the ears.

Ever since we lost Dad, our family holidays, which used to be marked by tradition, have changed and morphed…the focus is on being together as we’re now spread apart…but the things that used to mark our holidays have disappeared from the landscape…we have vague memories, repressed, partly because it’s painful to relive them without him here…and so we seek to make new.

But I have a rich history of very warm memories…

The few days before Thanksgiving were always crazy in my family; because there were so many of us (seven children), and because Mom always liked to cook enough to have leftovers for a few days, we prepared an insane amount of food each holiday. Thanksgiving shopping would take her at least four hours if not longer…our huge farmhouse kitchen would look like a tornado had blown through with sisters tending to pots and chopping and mixing, little brothers running underfoot, trying to terrorize each other and the cooks, Mom directing and giving her wisdom and cooking expertise, and me trying to times ingredients in my head by six. We’d easily use eight loaves of bread to make our own stuffing…peeling the amount of onions we needed for all the dishes meant at least one individual was going to become Niagara Falls, and of course, cooking by scratch was preferred over any prepared food, so we’d do everything by scratch, including making pumpkin pie by scratch. We eventually determined, however, that while in theory, we were purists and wanted to make everything by scratch, there was no beating puréed pumpkin for its smoothness and creaminess, so we forwent from-scratch pumpkin pies.

We’d even make our whip cream from scratch.

“From scratch” was a very big thing in our household.

Of course, in a family that large, there would be the inevitable fights and squabbles…and trying to keep things clean and neat while we were cooking enough food for an army was almost impossible, but when Thanksgiving Day arrived, oh my. All the work and effort was worth it.

Our huge table (easily twelve feet long) would be laden with the most scrumptious food, Dad would give thanks, and we’d dig into the traditional Thanksgiving dinner, our maternal grandparents usually joining us for the meal. Later in the afternoon, too stuffed to do much else, we’d lay around on the couches, visiting, and in the evening watch a family movie together, enjoying leftover pumpkin pie and some good coffee.

Mom would always have us go around the dinner table and give thanks for something and usually she made us kids say something nice about whatever sibling we were sitting next to – sometimes this was a tough assignment for us…and sometimes we had to make things up to appease Mom, for even though we loved each other, we didn’t necessarily want that known or have to say it out loud. ;p And we’d always read some version of the first Thanksgiving story…and when we were homeschooling, the month leading up to Thanksgiving meant a lot of arts and crafts tied to the holiday, a lot of history learning and story telling about the beginning of our nation, a lot of preparation of our hearts to give thanks to our Creator for all that he bestowed upon us.

We usually feasted upon leftovers for at least five days afterward, which for a family of nine, was quite the feat. ;)

And while I miss those days, cemented in our personal family traditions and recipes, nothing beats the simplicity of the hugs and kisses your little brothers give you when you come home for the holidays.