As a child I had two Thanksgiving dinners. One at my maternal grandparents' home and one at my paternal grandparents home. My paternal grandparents passed away almost 16 years ago, so mainly my family Thanksgiving has been with my maternal grandparents. Due to the play I've been gearing up for (it's this week AHHH!) I was unable to make it to my family's Thanksgiving dinner this year. I did however spend Thanksgiving day with my in-laws. It was a day filled with laughter, food, teasing, and screaming (don't worry... the screams were from the little kids playing laser tag and Wackee Six). This year's Thanksgiving was an adventure...especially for my mother-in-law "S" and sister-in-law "L". My father-in-law and brother-in-law took them on a surprise date. They flew out from SLC airport, the women not knowing where they were going other than to Dayton, Ohio. The gals were surprised to end up in Dayton, Ohio to see Les Miserables. They, the gals, had no idea until they arrived at the theatre and picked up their tickets. Of course, the men folk knew that they'd never get those gals out of the house, the day before Thanksgiving only to return on Thanksgiving day around noon, willingly. These were the two women in that were supposed to be in charge on Thanksgiving dinner. Great-grandma (GG) thought the men folk had lost their minds and truly began to question the sanity of said men. So while the women folk were being 'kidnapped' and 'forced' to enjoy a cultural event the little children and dinner were left in the hands of Ru (age 21), Hubby (age 26), Ra (19), and me (23). Ru was the primary ringleader and circus master as she watched 10 kids, made pies, yams, and stuffing and got the turkey started. Hubby and I arrived in time to help with the turkey. Okay, Hubby helped.... I just watched and laughed. Ru and Hubby kept screaming "AHHHH!!!" and then laughing. I was on hand with the only pair of raw turkey, free hands. I pulled cell phones from pockets to check for texts of instructions from the kidnapped women folk who were winging their way back to Utah. No instructions came..... I called my mother and Hubby called his Aunt "C". At one point I was on the phone with my mom and shrieks and laughter could be heard in the background as Hubby and Ru both had their hands full of stuffing and stuffed into a 20 pound turkey. I guess you kind of hand to be there to truly enjoy the humor in the moment, but let's just say the turkey survived (well it was already dead) and so did everyone who ate the turkey. Dinner turned out wonderful, in spite of GG's doubts. I think I know now why my mom and I made chicken enchiladas as our main dish one Thanksgiving..... it was a whole lot easier!
With Thanksgiving behind us, we participated in another of Hubby's family traditions....Christmas tree hunting. We defy death as Hubby's father drives up a rough, mountain dirt road paved in ice and snow, closing our eyes to avoid seeing just how close we are sliding off the edge of a steep embankment and praying we don't get stuck, roll over an edge, or meet another vehicle coming down the narrow road. We ask ourselves as we continue to drive towards near death "why do we do this?". When we reach our destination we pile out of the vehicles and the tree hunters disappear into the woods. While hunting for the perfect Christmas tree we slip and slide in the snow, trudge up the mountain, and roll our ankles multiple times. We climb over logs and break through dead branches. We see the perfect tree. We risk broken bones and necks to reach it. We fall over in the snow as we tripped over yet another downed tree. We peel off layers of snow clothes and wonder why we ever thought we'd be cold. We reach the tree... only to find that it is completely bare in back or is a group of three small trees growing so close that alone none of them are desirable Christmas trees. But look! In the distance is the perfect tree! The process repeats about 20 or more times, until you finally find a tree that looks pretty good.... or you're just tired and bruised from the last 30 'perfectly' not good Christmas trees. You chop your tree down, assuming you haven't come to the realization that you forgot the hatchet. Then you have to drag that stupid tree all of the way back to camp. Why do we do this? TRADITION! TRADITION! Actually this is one of my favorite traditions, because even though it is a lot of work it is fun to look back at the memories. Our Christmas tree begins to mean something more than just a fake tree we pull out of a box or bag. As we smell the delicious tree scent all month we remember the hike through the woods. We remember the beauty of this world our Heavenly Father made for us. We remember the laughter and tears we faced as a family in order to get that tree. And every year we remember the adventures of previous Christmas tree hunts. Last year Hubby and I were in Idaho and went Christmas tree hunting with just us two. We ended up renting snowshoes before we went because the snow came up to my sternum. Each year it's different and each time we laugh and enjoy those old family memories as we make new family memories. Traditions are the patterns in the fabric of our lives.
Christmas tree hunting in Idaho (2010)
With Thanksgiving behind us, we participated in another of Hubby's family traditions....Christmas tree hunting. We defy death as Hubby's father drives up a rough, mountain dirt road paved in ice and snow, closing our eyes to avoid seeing just how close we are sliding off the edge of a steep embankment and praying we don't get stuck, roll over an edge, or meet another vehicle coming down the narrow road. We ask ourselves as we continue to drive towards near death "why do we do this?". When we reach our destination we pile out of the vehicles and the tree hunters disappear into the woods. While hunting for the perfect Christmas tree we slip and slide in the snow, trudge up the mountain, and roll our ankles multiple times. We climb over logs and break through dead branches. We see the perfect tree. We risk broken bones and necks to reach it. We fall over in the snow as we tripped over yet another downed tree. We peel off layers of snow clothes and wonder why we ever thought we'd be cold. We reach the tree... only to find that it is completely bare in back or is a group of three small trees growing so close that alone none of them are desirable Christmas trees. But look! In the distance is the perfect tree! The process repeats about 20 or more times, until you finally find a tree that looks pretty good.... or you're just tired and bruised from the last 30 'perfectly' not good Christmas trees. You chop your tree down, assuming you haven't come to the realization that you forgot the hatchet. Then you have to drag that stupid tree all of the way back to camp. Why do we do this? TRADITION! TRADITION! Actually this is one of my favorite traditions, because even though it is a lot of work it is fun to look back at the memories. Our Christmas tree begins to mean something more than just a fake tree we pull out of a box or bag. As we smell the delicious tree scent all month we remember the hike through the woods. We remember the beauty of this world our Heavenly Father made for us. We remember the laughter and tears we faced as a family in order to get that tree. And every year we remember the adventures of previous Christmas tree hunts. Last year Hubby and I were in Idaho and went Christmas tree hunting with just us two. We ended up renting snowshoes before we went because the snow came up to my sternum. Each year it's different and each time we laugh and enjoy those old family memories as we make new family memories. Traditions are the patterns in the fabric of our lives.
Christmas Tree Hunting in Idaho (2010)
Christmas tree hunting in Utah (2011)
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