Turkey Poppins and other Thanksgiving Shenanigans

Holiday gatherings are like Lego’s. They look all festive and neat and wonderful when you’re in the planning stages, but once you open that bad boy up, it falls apart quicker than a potato chip model of the great pyramids.  People and pieces are going missing, the instructions are in the wrong language, and somebody inevitably gets crippled by stepping on something. Oh, they’re still fun, but things always seem take an unexpected turn.

Thanksgiving is probably the most dangerous holiday. In the space of a couple of days, your life is in thrown in the blender like your mother-in-laws lumpy gravy. At my house alone, I’ve seen things stabbed, sat on fire, hosed down, burnt to a crisp, and yes, thrown out in the yard. This year, we’re gonna make sure whoever cuts open the bird has at least a six-figure life insurance policy.

The whole Thanksgiving tradition is a little weird to me. Let’s all gather in the dining room as we dig stuffing from where the sun don’t shine in this poor, unfortunate Turducken that ran a little too slow this year. May we count our blessings as we gut this sucker like a hog and use his guts for garters. May the six pounds of butter used to prepare this meal be nourishment to our bodies, and may the tryptophan be our drug of choice this blessed holiday. Amen and hurry up:  the game comes on in thirty.

We like fire at Thanksgiving, too. A couple of years ago, we sat fire to the table before the food ever left the stove. That’s what happens when you ask a man to set the table; he doesn’t move the candles, he puts the Brawny on top of them. Well, guess what? There’s a reason Mr. Lumberjack ain’t fightin’ fires on their commercials. He may look all sophisticated in his mountain man chic ensemble, but he ain’t fire-retardant.

If you want your family to enjoy the holidays like a bunch of true rednecks, go get you a turkey fryer. We’ve used one for several years now, so I’m gonna give you a few pointers.

1.       Use them outside. Spilled grease and mop water makes for a grumpy Black Friday.

2.       Keep the children away. Your best bet is to send the kids snipe huntin’ as long as the grease is bubblin’.

3.        Keep the frying zone free of animosity, grudges, and hatred in general. I ain’t gonna name names, but I’ve seen a person that I love deep fry a 275-lb. annoyance with an ill-timed “slip of the turkey.” That feller’s #34 Herschel Walker jersey is now attached to his beer gut like a screen-printed billboard.

But the turkey fun doesn’t stop at the foot of the table.

This past summer, momma and I took the kids up to the Chestatee Wildlife Preserve to see the animals. If you haven’t been there, it’s a really nice day trip for the family. There’s lots of poop, so the kids will love it.

In one of the open range areas, they had a bunch of turkeys running around. By the way, if you’ve ever smelled a live turkey, you’d never eat them again.

You know, after chewing on that for a minute:  well played, Tom Turkey, well played.

But Rae-Rae was fascinated by this one particularly turkey, maybe because it kept trying to eat his butt. In typical Rae-Rae fashion, he turns around and says, “If I ever make a movie with turkeys instead of people, this one is definitely gonna be Mary Poppins.”  Holy crap, he read my mind!

Yesterday, on the way to school, the turkey strikes again. I’m rockin’ my hoodie and some most righteous bed-head; my baby girl is in the back meowing at 140 decibels, spanking herself, and working on her impersonation of The Rock;  and the boys are arguing because…well, because they’re breathing.

We come to a stop in the drop-off line when Rae-Rae makes a stunning declaration. “I’m not gonna eat turkey at Nanny’s because it’s not healthy.”So that’s why you’ve been refusing to eat for going on nine years now!  

From somewhere in the back seat, Bubby chimes in with “Reagan! You can eat it; Momma just don’t want the turkeys that cuss!”  Pardon my French, but where in the hell did that come from? 

Apparently I need to start listening to the questions they ask me instead of casually dispersing jewels of randomness.

So this year, as you’re stuffing your face with creamy casseroles, fried vegetables and cornbread dressing, take a moment to thank Tom for his sacrifice. For all we know, he could’ve been one umbrella ride away from having his name in lights. Bless his heart.