My mother told me about the first time she made pumpkin pie from scratch. She was probably 18 and didn't realize that when the recipe read cloves, it meant ground cloves. When her family bit into the pie only to find that their pie was extra crunchy, they were none too happy. She told me through peals of laughter and it was lovely to hear her tell me about her youthful gaff.
I wish more went wrong when I was growing up. It seems one only remembers what went wrong- be it a funny mishap or even something not so funny. I don't remember much of many Thanksgivings growing up. They were fairly uneventful and therefore all the same. Perhaps I should just be grateful that the drama didn't begin until my parents split up. No. I AM grateful. After the divorce, the holidays went to pot. There was the one where my stepmother disinvited me to Thanksgiving and my father and I had to spend it in my mother's house while my mother was out of town. There was the turkey day when my brother and sister spit out the corn bread I made from scratch because they didn't like it. And there were the Thanksgivings that shall remain unnamed.
There will be more Thanksgivings that will be successful. Mike and I will have children and we can begin our own Thanksgivings. I can host friends and families. I can drink wine while cooking and laugh my way through dinner. It will become memorable again. But for all the right reasons.