Fowl Language

Or Let's Talk Turkey...Again

Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash

For many of us, a turkey dinner brings thoughts of comfort, family, and gratitude to mind. For me, it causes instant tiredness and histrionic laughter.

For background, please read Thanksgiving Dinner…Or Week Long Descent Into Madness.

In December, we were generously gifted a turkey. My faithful readers will be aware that I have an antagonistic relationship with cooking large family dinners, most especially turkey dinners. They are an incredible amount of work, and I am at the stage in my life where I don’t want to waste my valuable minutes on hours of work for 30 minutes of family unity. I want to savour the moment and gaze at my bird feeder in the backyard currently providing sustenance to a large rat.

In essence, I want my turkey and to eat it too, but not cook it…eat it in a restaurant preferably where someone else does the dishes.

The friend who gifted me the turkey was slightly apprehensive given my previous post, but I assured her that it would be cooked solo and would grace a sandwich…not a complicated dinner. It was incredibly thoughtful on her part, and I drooled anticipating a delectable turkey sandwich.

But, and you know there’s a but or there wouldn’t be a blog post, when Jane makes a plan, the Universe snickers..and then hits below the belt.

Mom, I was just looking through the freezer, and I want to learn how to make a turkey dinner, announced my young adult in early January.

Crap, said my brain. Then my dry mouth made desperate sounds that sounded like, Are you sure you don’t want to learn how to cook the turkey for sandwiches?

No, I want to be able to take some of the pressure off you. I should know how to cook a whole big dinner.

Thoughtful crap, my brain said again. Universe 1, Jane 0.

If you had the thrill of knowing me when my children were young, one of my nearest and dearest parenting tenets of my child-raising religion was using no as a word of last resort. The answer to any of my children’s ideas was usually yes or how can we make that happen. It’s not that I have a problem with the word no to children. After all, I used to take them regularly to Toys R Us for birthday gifts for the express purpose of practicing the word no. It’s just that I always want my kids to understand goals are attainable and not to give up at the first hint of a problem.

This parenting tenet has backfired like many of my parenting tenets in that they have wonderful ideas and do believe that they are possible That’s wonderful, you say. Wait for it. They especially believe it is possible if mom is involved.

Oops.

There has always been the added benefit that by saying yes or how can we make that happen is that we have had many unexpected adventures together that we wouldn’t have had with a straight no. My kids still have fond memories of swimming in a duck pond in February…much to the horror of passersby and my husband, but I argue that they were the first cold water plungers, ahead of their time, and I can attest that they did have more energy and a strong immune system.

Sure, let’s do it, I said with fake brightness to my young adult.

So we set up a date and time and decided on the menu: Vegetable (only one!) - broccoli and cheese sauce, stuffing, potatoes, and gravy. No dessert. After starting the fully frozen turkey on a two-day thaw, we parted ways.

Later, it struck me in the world of YouTube and Google that never once was there a “I’ll do it myself” comment. Nope from the onset the pronoun was “we.” Except for the grocery shop, I distinctly remember that being a solo journey.

So on the day of, I grabbed said young adult early in the day just after their morning coffee…much to their surprise…to prep the turkey. Then we proceeded to spend the entire day chopping, peeling, stirring, assembling, and cleaning as we went. The young adult was exhausted.

I on the other hand was invigorated. It appears that the only thing missing in my big dinner process was a partner in misery. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the kitchen teaching the young adult to stuff a turkey (they felt it was very violating for the turkey), make gravy and cheese sauce, learn how to juggle multiple dishes and oven time, and having it all culminate in dinner for 5:30.

And the dinner was amazing. No gross string beans. Everything was cooked to perfection. What should be moist was moist, what should be cheesy was cheesy, what should be cooked was not raw, and what should not be lumpy was smooth, and it was all done on time.

Oh and our resident vegan, they received a rice bowl with leftovers. My generosity extends only to the major holidays.

And as I reveled in the glee of a wonderful meal, my young adult slumped low in their chair and turned to me,

Mom, those big dinners are a lot of work. No wonder you don’t enjoy doing them.

Sure, they didn’t have to grocery shop or deal with the turkey carcass which involved another whole afternoon of making soup, but these glimmers of adulting are what I live for and kept me flying high while pulling meat from the bones.

And I will say it…There is nothing…nothing at all…better than having your martyrdom recognized and shared. The pure joy of validation of suffering.

My cup overfloweth.

Thanks again, friend, for the turkey.

****

My entire life can be described in one sentence…”Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

- Unknown

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