Turkey Lurkey!

Thanksgiving was quite interesting for us this year. There were lots of alterations to our norm: we had two Thanksgiving dinners (called T-linners from here on out...just bear with me!), our official T-linner was not at Grandma and Grandpa's house, certain cousins were absent, and I spent the day coloring the tablecloth. Yes, the tablecloth. 

Tehee. We had more fun than our younger siblings did when it came to coloring the tablecloth!

Our masterpiece. P.S. I totally won tic-tac-toe.

Here's what normally happens:

1. Thanksgiving dinner is at Grandma and Grandpa's house around 3pm.
2. I usually help with all of the cooking.
3. My grandpa cuts the turkey (shaves the turkey?).
4. Uncle Steve, Aunt Jeanine, and our cousins Jack, Nick, and Charlie are there.
5. My cousin Stephie arrives late, usually for dessert.

That's just how it works! But this year was different.

We had T-linner on Sunday at Grandma and Grandpa's because Uncle Doug flew in from Costa Rica - leaving my aunt and our two cousins there, apparently - and my cousin Chris magically appeared from college. Sunday was the only day we could get them together to have T-linner, so Sunday it was. It functioned as a normal T-linner for the Bassetts: the men discussing politics, the cousins running around   wrecking havoc on the peaceful world, myself and my sister listening to the women discuss cooking, college, children, and everything under the sun. Eventually I disappeared to do physics homework.

The real T-linner happened at our house on Thanksgiving Day, and that's when I did my creeping observing.

As the eldest child, I knew I would need to be ready to help Mom with anything and everything, so I dragged my butt out of bed and into the shower at 9am. Yeah, yeah, I know... 9am isn't very early, but let me remind you that as a high school student, I do not sleep. Breaks are meant for sleeping because weekends are meant for homework. Therefore, 9am was still quite early in my book. I ascended out of what my siblings call "the cave," which normal people would call "Julia's room, consequently in the cold basement," and noticed that the furniture had been moved. It reminded me of the weird stories of burglars that burgle (hahaha what a weird word) someone's house but only move the furniture around. Clearly it was my mom's doing, and my brother probably helped. When you get up at five o'clock in the morning every single day, you have time to move the furniture around.

The house was strangely silent, especially for a day when the kitchen is usually abuzz with food preparing, food burning, hurried scolding, direction giving, dish cleaning, and the general chaos of hosting Thanksgiving. In truth, we've never hosted Thanksgiving Day at our house, usually pawning off all the cousins and uncles to Grandma and Grandpa's house, a central point of gathering for our family, but there's always time for firsts. Here's the information I gleaned from stalking watching the people in my house:

Dad: Well, he was relatively easy to observe; he wasn't there. He spent the day working at my gramma's house, preparing it for my great-grandma to move in. This is the epitome of his work life: not working when we are at school, but spending long and strange hours working when we are home. Thanksgiving Day was no different, and it was clear that my mother was not happy with his absence. I've never realized how much my mom wears the pants in our family, but boy does she wear them. Seeing as how my father is a self-employed contractor, my mother is the source of steady income. His absence on the day of our T-linner reinforced this idea; she spent the day reheating the food she had made the day before, moving furniture, cleaning the house, cooking the turkey, and trying to keep track of the two youngest kids. He scooted in at the last minute, roughly twenty minutes after the grandparents arrived, took a shower, and came down in his pajamas. Mama wasn't exactly happy. He also managed to slice his hand open sometime during the day, so while the rest of us were saying grace, he was finding a plastic glove to keep his hand from bleeding out. Lovely. It also seemed like his way of getting out of praying, but that's just my opinion. 

Mom: Oy vey. She spent all day on Wednesday cooking so Thursday wouldn't be as hectic; typical Mom planning ahead. The house was mostly ready by the time I emerged from "the cave," proving she'd been up early to try to get a head start on the day's duties. For a couple hours, we got to hang out as the turkey cooked and the siblings disappeared. She's as easily amused as I am; I can spend hours on StumbleUpon, and I will never introduce her to that website. She's independent but loving, not relying on my dad to move the furniture but also giving us ways to help her in the kitchen. She's very modest about her abilities; my grandma complimented her on the stuffing and she brushed it off, saying that she'd only taken my grandma's advice and that it really wasn't that different. 

I asked her what color a turkey's beak is? She stuck a carrot in her mouth as an answer.

Grandpa: Grandpa is my biggest fan, as my father tells me every time I see my grandpa. I absolutely adore him. His body is riddled with ataxia, impairing his movements more than ever. It's hard to see him stumbling around, and he does his best to cover it up. We have him lead us in saying grace, and I'm shocked by how hard it is for him to speak clearly. He fights the disease every second, gently refusing our help as we offer to carry his plate or reach something for him. I know his ataxia makes him feel useless; when we go over to their house to rake leaves or lay wood chips, he insists on paying us. He doesn't want to feel like a charity case, so he does his best to be independent. Ever since his ataxia has taken a greater toll on him, I always say goodbye to Grandpa and give him a hug; time with him is precious. I can't help thinking that this could be the last Thanksgiving prayer he gives with us, and I sent up my own little prayer that it won't be his last. He chats with my dad about work, window installations, and my dad's cut hand. We laugh as he reminisces on cutting off his finger while working with my dad in Colorado...it's clear he is the forgiving type, even though it wasn't Dad's fault.

Grandma: I swear surviving the Great Depression has made her inclined to bring us food whenever possible. It is literally impossible for her to come to our house or leave hers without food in our hands. This time she brought candy corn and other treats. It's ironic that she brings us unhealthy foods because she spent my childhood worried I was going to be obese, and now she's bringing us candy. She's sweet, but I can tell my mom is on edge with her around. She doles out compliments to my mom on the food, discussing how it is that the turkey is so juicy (oven bags) and how delicious the stuffing is. For once the discussion doesn't turn to college, and I'm beyond relieved. 

Lauren: Lauren sauntered into the kitchen about an hour after my mom put me to work. This couldn't be more true to Lauren's personality; she gets up half an hour before me on school days, but I'm always the one waiting for her in the car. She's definitely not the most helpful child, meandering through the kitchen, back to her room, down to the kitchen to get food an hour later, then back to her room. She's easily angered by our little sister, taking on the don't-touch-that-it's-mine-and-don't-look-at-me-like-that persona that I had around her age. Although I swear I did not get that PO'd that easily! We spent our downtime coloring the tablecloth. The two high schoolers coloring, while the 5th and 6th grader are nowhere to be found. This is what our relationship is like: we're either happy and joking while coloring the tablecloth and singing show tunes, or we're at odds when I chastise her for not helping at all. 

Quintin: The kid does his own thing. The only boy in a family with three girls, he's prone to disappearing with his iPod to laugh at dumb YouTube videos that only twelve-year-old boys can find amusing. He's a really sweet kid but he's easy to anger; keep him in the same room with Erica for too long and you'd better get some earplugs and possibly some bandaids. He helped Mom move furniture in the morning, but I didn't really see him after that. When we had our downtime and Lauren had wandered away from coloring, Quintin emerged from wherever he was and colored with me. He's the artistic genius in the family, so his turkey was reflective of that. 

Yeahh...this is how he takes pictures.

Peacefully coloring, for once so write that down; it won't happen again.

Erica: This child will be the death of my parents. She tries to help but doesn't really help, inevitably making annoying noises, creating messes, and generally wrecking havoc in the world. As the youngest child, we don't really have the most (or any) patience for her habits. When you give her something to do she can complete it, but it's rather hard to keep her entertained and out of the way. Part of that is her ADHD, and part of it is the fact that she's ten years old. She spent most of the day playing in her room, but she did come down to help set the table, and to color on the tablecloth of course! I think we've just been writing her off as hard to handle. She can be super helpful; she spent three hours the next day cleaning my room so my best friend could come over :)

And then there's me.

Here's what I did: enough said.

Our dog spent the day stealing socks out of the laundry basket. I think she was feeling a little left out of the Thanksgiving Day celebrations and needed a little bit of attention :)