The Journal of an Honest Mom

Can we talk about Thanksgiving?

Specifically, Thanksgiving as a mother?

Because I have some questions. And possibly a few complaints. But mainly questions.

First, I want to acknowledge that having family to celebrate with is a blessing. A tremendous blessing. There are people who would give anything to have one more Thanksgiving with their parents, grandparents, siblings, or whoever else is no longer sitting at their table.

I know that. I recognize that. And I am genuinely thankful for the family we have.

But can we also acknowledge that having approximately 47 Thanksgivings to attend is a headache?

Because goodness gracious.

Somehow, Thanksgiving has turned into an entire week of cooking, packing, traveling, eating, cleaning, and doing it all over again.

Thanksgiving at our house. Thanksgiving with the in-laws. Thanksgiving at Grandma’s. Thanksgiving at the other Grandma’s.

And somewhere in there, I’m supposed to find time to enjoy Thanksgiving myself.

Which brings me to my first question.

Moms, are y’all actually enjoying Thanksgiving anymore?

Or are we just making sure everybody else does?

When Did Thanksgiving Become So Much Work?

I remember Thanksgiving as a child.

I remember the excitement of getting together with family, eating good food, playing, and just enjoying the day.

I wasn’t thinking about what time we needed to leave. I wasn’t thinking about how many dishes needed to be prepared or whether the turkey was thawed.

I certainly wasn’t thinking about whether everybody had clean clothes or if somebody had forgotten to pack diapers.

I was a child. My job was to show up, eat, and enjoy myself.

And I did that job exceptionally well, thank you very much.

But now?

Now I’m the mom.

And apparently, that means I’m responsible for approximately 700 things before we’ve even made it out the front door.

I have four boys.

Four boys who need to be dressed, fed, cleaned up, and ready to go.

I have to make sure everybody is wearing something presentable. That their clothes are clean. That their hair looks decent. That nobody has somehow managed to lose a shoe in the five minutes since I last saw it.

And depending on where we’re going and who will be there, I may put a little more effort into how everybody looks.

Not because my children need to be perfect. They don’t.

But because I know there are times when people are paying attention. And whether that’s fair or not, I want my children to put their best foot forward.

Then there’s the baby. Diapers, wipes, extra clothes, whatever else we might need.

And all of that is before we’ve even discussed the food.

Which, in my opinion, is an entirely separate headache.

The Food. Oh, the Food.

Here’s where I have to acknowledge that I am partially responsible for my own suffering.

My children are accustomed to home-cooked meals.

That’s my doing.

And no, I’m not apologizing for it.

I like cooking. I like knowing what’s in our food. I like being able to make things the way our family enjoys them.

We also have food allergies to consider, which adds another layer to the whole situation.

I can’t always assume that whatever is being served is something my children can safely eat. I have to ask questions, pay attention to ingredients, and consider how food was prepared.

So naturally, I often find it easier to make food myself.

But here’s the problem.

Making the food myself means I have to make the food myself.

A shocking revelation, I know.

And listen, I appreciate somebody offering to bring a store-bought turkey.

I do.

But respectfully, I can make my own turkey.

And I know my family will eat my turkey.

Which means I will probably just make the turkey.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Because apparently, one Thanksgiving turkey is not sufficient for the number of Thanksgiving celebrations we’re attending.

By the end of the week, I don’t want to look at another turkey.

And that’s saying something, because turkey is one of the main meats we eat in our house.

If a turkey walked through my yard the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I might have some unkind words for him.

Nothing personal.

I’ve just had enough.

And it’s not only the turkey. It’s the sides, the desserts, the preparation, the dishes, and figuring out how to transport everything without half of it ending up in the floorboard of the van.

It’s making sure the food is prepared well because, quite frankly, if I’m bringing something, I want it to be good.

Nobody asked me to put that pressure on myself.

Yet here we are.

The Traditions We Inherit and the Traditions We Make

I think this is the part of Thanksgiving that I’ve been thinking about the most.

As children, we become attached to our family traditions.

We remember where we went, who was there, what we ate, and the little things that made those holidays special.

And as we grow older, those traditions become part of what we associate with Thanksgiving.

But then we get married.

We have children.

We build families of our own.

And suddenly, we’re trying to figure out how to continue all those traditions while also making room for our own.

Because here’s the thing.

As children, we get to enjoy the traditions. As adults, we’re responsible for continuing them, changing them, or creating entirely new ones.

And I don’t think that’s always as simple as it sounds.

I want my children to experience the holidays with their grandparents. I want them to know their extended family. I want them to have memories of gathering around tables, eating good food, laughing, and spending time with the people who love them.

I want them to have some of the same experiences I had growing up.

But I also want them to have traditions that belong to our family.

My husband, our four boys, and me.

Because while our extended family is incredibly important, we’re also our own family unit.

And sometimes I wonder if we get so caught up in maintaining everybody else’s traditions that we forget we have the opportunity, and responsibility, to make some of our own.

Maybe that means changing how we celebrate.

Maybe that means not attending every single gathering.

Maybe that means having Thanksgiving at our own house and allowing the day to look a little different from what we’re accustomed to.

Or maybe it means continuing exactly what we’re doing because, despite the headache, we genuinely love it.

I don’t know.

I’m still figuring that part out.

But I do know that just because something has always been done a certain way doesn’t necessarily mean it has to stay that way forever.

And changing a tradition doesn’t mean we love our family any less.

Being Thankful Doesn’t Make the Work Disappear

I think sometimes, especially as mothers, we feel like we have to be careful about admitting when something is difficult.

Because the moment you say you’re tired of attending so many family gatherings, somebody is ready to remind you how blessed you are.

And they’re right.

We are blessed.

But I don’t think being thankful means we have to pretend something isn’t exhausting.

I can be thankful that my children have grandparents who want to see them and still feel overwhelmed trying to coordinate four different Thanksgiving celebrations.

I can love cooking for my family and still wish I didn’t have to cook quite so much.

I can love watching my children make memories and still miss the days when I was the child making them.

Those things don’t contradict one another.

At least, I don’t think they do.

And perhaps that’s something we don’t talk about enough.

Because there’s a lot of work that goes into making holidays special.

Somebody is planning the meals.

Somebody is buying the groceries.

Somebody is making sure everybody has something to wear.

Somebody is keeping up with schedules, food restrictions, naps, and all the little things that nobody really thinks about until they become a problem.

And for a lot of families, that somebody is Mom.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Dad isn’t helping or that other family members aren’t doing their share.

But I can only speak from my experience.

And in my experience, there’s a lot more to Thanksgiving than sitting down and eating.

Although that sounds absolutely wonderful.

I’d love to try it sometime.

Sometimes I Miss Being the Kid

And maybe that’s what all of this comes down to.

Sometimes I miss what Thanksgiving felt like when I was little.

Not because I don’t enjoy being a mother.

Not because I don’t love our family.

And certainly not because I want to wish away these years when my children are still small enough to be excited about the simplest things.

But because I didn’t understand how much work went into the holidays when I was a child.

I didn’t see all the planning, preparation, cooking, and cleaning.

I just saw Thanksgiving.

And now I’m beginning to understand what it took to make those memories happen.

Which gives me an entirely new appreciation for the mothers and grandmothers who did it before me.

But it also makes me wonder something.

When they were raising their children, did they feel this way too?

Were they exhausted?

Did they ever wish they could just show up, eat, and enjoy themselves?

Did they ever get tired of cooking the same meals year after year?

Or am I the only one who has considered declaring Thanksgiving officially over after the third celebration?

Because I have a feeling I’m not.

And I think there’s something rather beautiful about that.

The traditions we loved as children didn’t just happen.

Somebody made them happen.

And now we get to do that for our own children.

Even if it means we’re a little more tired than we’d like to be.

So, Moms, Be for Real With Me.

How are y’all doing?

And I don’t mean the polite answer.

I mean, genuinely.

Those of you who have multiple Thanksgivings to attend, food to prepare, children to get ready, and schedules to coordinate.

Those of you who are trying to keep traditions alive while also establishing traditions for your own family.

Those of you who are thankful for every single person sitting around the table but are also wondering how many more times you can eat dressing before Christmas.

Do you still enjoy Thanksgiving the way you did as a child?

Or has it become something entirely different?

Because I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.

I think it’s part of growing up. Part of becoming a parent. Part of realizing that the holidays we loved as children required more work than we ever knew.

And maybe, just maybe, part of motherhood is learning how to make those holidays special for our children without completely exhausting ourselves in the process.

I’m still working on that last part.

For now, I’ll be thankful for our family, thankful for the opportunity to gather, and thankful that my children get to experience these moments.

But after approximately 47 Thanksgiving celebrations, I’m also going to be thankful when I can finally put my feet up.

And if somebody asks me to make one more turkey?

I’m sending them to Walmart.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.