Every year I look forward to reading mommybloggers blogging about their holiday food fiascos and I always feel just a little be BETTER than them because I have never experienced such a thing. Possibly because I don’t do a lot of heavy duty holiday cooking or because I raised my children not to get all excited over holiday meals. Food. is. Fuel. That’s it. Unfortunately TW has come along and screwed that right up and the big kids have all of these big expectations for their holiday meals. Damn her. But it’s ok – she can do the cooking and deal with it if things don’t go quite right.
Seriously, as I was sitting here trying to come up with a holiday food fiasco so I could play along with Chris (y’all know how much I adore Chris, I’ve even pretended to forgive her for that whole “Big Yellow House” lie) and the only food fiascos I can come up with are related to my son. Poor Chris.
The first year my ex husband and I were divorced, Michelle and Chris headed back up to Jersey for the Thanksgiving feast. The ex had remarried and they were having some huge holiday meal with his new wife’s family. This was not a situation either Chris or Michelle were going to be in love with but Chris especially was no doubt uncomfortable just stepping in the front door. And then it happened. The boy dropped the macaroni & cheese as he was carrying it to the table.
The macaroni & cheese (which we do not have on Thanksgiving, EVER) was apparently one of the “new family’s” favorite Thanksgiving dishes and the kid dropped it. In front of everyone. Before anyone had a chance to eat a bite. Poor kid. The fact that his father divorced this “new family” hasn’t really helped ease the pain of that day – people still say stuff like “Don’t let Chris carry the macaroni & cheese”.
Also, the boy caught a birthday cake on a pink plastic serving tray on fire – inside of the oven – melted it all over the place which is why we have had a sign over our oven that says “Look Inside Oven” for about four years.
Do yourselves a favor – don’t invite my poor, sweet, son to your holiday dinners – he seems to be cursed.