Confession time: Turkeyphobia

Let me just say this:

Hooray for my cousin, who is having 15 (maybe more?) of us at her house tomorrow.

Because, people, I just finished cleaning my little house tippity-top to bitty-bottom and the thought that it will still be sparklin’ on Friday thrills me to my fingertips.

My cousin’s house? After we all get through with it? All of us adults and five children–three of whom are one year olds and one who is two and a half?

Not so much on the clean thing.

So thankyoueversomuch to Misty. I’m just feeling extremely thankful for that little (or not so little) fact of this holiday right now.

I confess I did entertain the notion of having our family come to our house for Thanksgiving. For all of about five minutes.

Our house isn’t the biggest by any means, but it could totally be done. And it would be fun. I’d feel so homemakery, wearing one of my many aprons, setting up food, enjoying the loudness laughter and merriment of my extended family. Our house would be filled to the brim, little people running and playing, coziness extending to every corner. We’d have the food set out on the table, buffet-style, because there’s no way we’d all fit at our dining table to eat, even with all the extension leaves in. We’d have made the corn casserole, Grandma’s sweet potatoes fixed with care by one of the next generation’s ladies, a plate of ham roll-ups being gobbled (ha! gobbled. Pun totally intended.) by all the guys. I’d set out the rolls, the cranberry sauce, the turkey–

Wait.

The Turkey?

And that, my friends, is where the notion promptly ended.

Because, truth be told, I’m deathly afraid of cooking a turkey. Terrified. Terr-ih-FIED.

I have no idea where this phobia came from, but it’s real. Oh, it’s real, people.

I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. (Can anyone say perfectionism flare-up?) It’ll be too dry. Or, worse, not done on time. I’ll forget to thaw it the day (night? week?) before and Thanksgiving will be ruined. It might be flavorless. And how on earth does one even know where to start in searching for the perfect, no-fail turkey recipe? How do you know it’ll be good? What if people eat a few bites each and then go home and talk about how awful my turkey was?

Hello, my name is Miss Perfectionist Pessimism, and I’m chairman of the People-Pleaser’s Guild. Would you (not) like a bite of my first turkey?

I remember my mom telling me years ago that a family friend had asked her two older-teenage daughters to each make a holiday meal–one did Thanksgiving dinner and the other did Christmas. All on their own. They did it and it was wonderful.

Let me tell you, hearing about this and I knowing that, at the time, these girls were only a few years older than my early teen self made me shake in those big ol’ clunky hiking boots I wore incessantly with my jean jumpers when I was fourteen. At least one of those girls must have made a turkey on their own. And had it out of the oven, juicy and moist, ready on time. Without the side dishes getting cold from sitting an hour after they were supposed to serve dinner.

At least, that’s how I pictured it. I have no idea how those dinners turned out in real life, but I’m guessing both girls did a pretty good job. And I was scared to death my mom was going to steal that idea and have me do the same thing in a year or two.

That was the year I first started paying attention to which grocery stores offered complete holiday meals in which the bird was pre-cooked.

Now I’m all for a good side dish. I’ve been whippin’ up green bean or corn casserole in a flash since I was twelve. I’ll search high and low for a tasty lookin’ potato thingamabob and I’d even attempt Grandma’s revered sweet potatoes if need be.

But the main dish? The Turkey with a capital “T”? Not happenin’. It’s just not.

(She whispers: At least not without my mom around. That’s the clincher. If my mom wasn’t in Alabama this Thanksgiving, then I might have given more than two seconds’ thought to the turkey thing. I’ve had let her do the turkey thing and just said, “Hey, my oven–her genius.” But she IS in Alabama, and there’s no way I’m having a family holiday here without my parents in town, because that would be really weird. Well, and I’m also afraid to cook a turkey without help, but, you know.)

So this year, I’m thankful for my cousin for helping me keep my house clean and ready for Christmas decoration day, a.k.a. the day after Thanksgiving. I promise I’ll help clean up the mess we make before we leave her house tomorrow night. I’m also thankful for my aunt, who is wonderfully preparing the turkey for our gathering. And for my mom, who will undoubtedly be the one making the turkey whenever we actually end up having Thanksgiving at our house one of these years.

Now I’m off to make me some mean ham rollups and toss together a green bean casserole. Because you know I’m all about them side dishes.