I have a lot of great Thanksgiving memories. Since I was a kid, my family has either gone to the big family Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt and uncle's house, or had a small one at home with just us and the grandparents.
Now that I have kids who get into everything, I prefer the smaller Thanksgiving dinners at my parent's house, especially because last year was disaster (My older kids went in two different directions in my aunt's house, I was focused on the baby, and my dad was incredibly irritated he had to watch one of the kids instead of just drinking beer and watching sports. Oh, and the throwing of silverware by an angry toddler and its aftermath of broken glass as dinner was being served, and me leaving with 2 of the kids before I even ate. Total disaster).
Anyway, onto the good memories. There is one Thanksgiving dinner that always stands out in my mind. I was 14 or 15 and we were doing Thanksgiving at my mom's house. It was just my parents, my sister and I, and our Oma (Grandma went to my aunt's house).
My mom and my Oma always butted heads. My Oma would always give unsolicited advice or suggest my mom try things her way, and my dad always took Oma's side. As a kid, I didn't understand why it was such a problem-as an adult, I definitely do.
Well, my Oma and my mom got into a disagreement about something or other. All I remember is that my mom screamed that she'd had it, banged on some cabinets, stomped upstairs, and slammed her bedroom door. She stayed there the rest of the day.
It was early in the day-the turkey had only been in the oven for an hour or so and nothing else was done. I had never cooked much-my mom cooked every night in our house. I still don't cook much, but I do love to bake.
My Oma and I spent most of the day in the kitchen together, making a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. She showed me how to do it all her way, and it ended up being a great meal. My mom even admitted it was good (when she finally came downstairs late that night).
I learned a lot about her and about cooking that day. And when I think of Thanksgiving, I automatically think of the one I cooked with Oma. It was the first time I ever helped cook a big meal like that, and I've helped cook every one since (except the ones at my aunt's house).
This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Mama Kat's. 3.) A favorite Thanksgiving memory.