As a person of compromise, I have maintained a wonderful Thanksgiving schedule with our combined family. This year it was my grandparents turn down in Emerald Isle, N.C. The children and I joyfully prepared for our pilgrimage south (pun intended) by making our early Christmas gifts (salt dough ornaments) for all of the extended family members and baking, baking, baking. On Tuesday alone, I made a pot of Vegan stew, two batches of yeast dinner rolls, one loaf of bread, four dozen chocolate chip cookies, a pan of lemon bars and of course, a pumpkin pie. We were packed to the gills on Wednesday as we headed out listening to Christmas music to get us in that festive spirit.
We arrived at the coast a mere four hours later and were greeted by a spectacular Tarheel blue sky and light poles adorned with Christmas decorations. It was getting mighty festive in our car, especially since the little flower had been asking “Are we there yet?” since we first got on 95 South. The joy of arriving at your destination unscathed is one that any mother can appreciate.
After quickly dumping our belongings at my father’s we hurriedly hopped back in the car and made the short drive over to the beach. Oh, words cannot explain what a beautiful day it was on the beach. The sand was a shocking white, the ocean minding it’s manners and offering us a slick glass surface of unreal blue. There were not many folks on the beach and the children had full reign. They ran and ran and ran some more laughing all the way. They played in the sand, drew with shells and dug canals for the incoming tide to pool in. It was, in a word, perfect.
As we enjoyed a glorious dinner of shrimp and my Grandma’s homemade macaroni and cheese, I thought how wonderful this Thanksgiving was going to be. Well, I should never hold my breath when I have those thoughts because as sure as the sun rose the next morning, our little guy began expelling crud all over the place. Yep, barf on Turkey Day, Happy Thanksgiving.
The poor kiddo was so sick and we quickly realized that Daddy would have to stay back with the contagious one while I took the flower with me to the grandparents. I really, really hated them not being there for our big family meal, and so did my girl. She was so out of sorts around cousins and uncles that she doesn’t normally see; all she did was cry for her brother and wanted me to hold her. While my one child was vomiting his brains out, the other was clinging to my leg as if her life depended on it. I, in turn, tried not to sweat profusely in my new sparkly top in my grandparent’s 500-degree kitchen and keep their little evil dog away from said clingy child. I finally got a break when she cried herself to sleep and my cousin and I escaped to the “kid” table for a little one on one adult conversation.
After packing up leftovers for my absolutely wonderful husband we headed back to barfville. As soon as we walked in, I see Brian cleaning up the boy’s vomit. It was everywhere. Yes, this was the absolute worst Thanksgiving ever.
The next day dawned bright and clear and there was not a vomit episode in sight. We enjoyed the aquarium and later that evening took the kiddos to a flotilla in the beautifully picturesque town of Swansboro. It was magical.
All in all it wasn’t too terrible of a holiday, I mean, what’s a little barf? And on the plus side, we left all of our yucky germs down in North Carolina.