A Good Old-Fashioned Family Thanksgiving

Tuesday morning of Thanksgiving week started off with a bang. Several bangs, to be exact. Banging is the sound that's made as a four year old staggers from his own room, where he's just woken up vomiting, and makes his way into his parents' bedroom at 4:45am or so.

As quickly as possible, I hustled Fletcher into the bathroom to at least finish the job there. Between Bill and I, we bathed the boy, washed the bedding, and got everyone back into position for sleeping. In the midst of all of this, I'd like to add, Grier was awakened and was none too pleased to see her brother getting a bath without her.

So, Bill was on the couch, Grier went back to her crib, and Fletch joined me in my bed. It wasn't 15 minutes before he needed the barf bucket. And it was barely fifteen more minutes before Leah arrived in my room with a trash can she'd acquired along the way and had used as a barf bucket. Oh joy!

Thus began the morning of pretty much constant puking between those two children. It was followed by Bill's afternoon of the same and my constant fear that Grier or the baby would start in at any moment. But they didn't. And by Wednesday morning, "Operation Wash Every Surface, Person, and Linen," had commenced.

Unfortunately, the bug had just struck at Bill's parents' house, so it was decided that Bill's brother's family would stay in Kansas City, as far away from all of us as possible, and Thanksgiving dinner would be moved to Saturday. Since that was our only plan for Thanksgiving, it meant doing a little improvising on Thanksgiving Day.



We did naps.

We did science experiments.

And we ate chicken enchiladas, corn, and pumpkin pie. Hey. I'd already grocery shopped for the week and since we certainly couldn't have the enchiladas on Tuesday night, I figured we better have them sometime.

The perfect "Good Old-Fashioned Family Thanksgiving."