Thanksgiving Dreams

'Twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through someone else's house,

My children ran around screaming as I smiled at my spouse.

The smell of Sam's poopy diaper wafted through the air.

With black pens, we signed on the dotted line with great care.

We were buying a new house, one with a yard and tire swing.

I could already see myself hosting some day on Thanksgiving.

On Black Friday, I slinked into the Walmart for packing tape,

When there, in a cart, was clearance turkey napkins and plates.

I bought up the lot with my dreams still in mind

And then tucked them away till it was their moment to shine!

And that was this year.  This year I was privileged to host, for the very first time, the Hatchett Family Thanksgiving dinner.  I spent days prepping and rearranging to prepare for the feast.  Everything had to be perfect, or no one would ever want to come back.  On Monday, my mom brought her long folding table and eight chairs.  On Tuesday, I cooked up a practice turkey breast in the crock pot and toasted up the bread for the stuffing.  On Wednesday, I rearranged the kitchen and living room so the long folding table sat beneath the dining room chandelier, and our small kitchen table was nestled warmly by the fireplace.  On Thursday morning, I arose at half past five to butcher and prep my turkeys before lowering them into the crockpot.  I combined the extra bones and bits with some carrots, onions, celery, and garlic, and covered it in water in my deepest stock pot to create a homemade broth for the gravy.  It simmered for three hours as I set and decorated the table.  In my rush, I forgot to snap a picture, but it looked a little something like this:

Retrieved from: http://i693.photobucket.com/albums/vv298/theliebertfamily/blog3/3cd61828.jpg

Except instead of a fine linen tablecloth, imagine a charcoal gray bed sheet folded in half.  Instead of embroidered cushioned chairs, imagine folding chairs.  Instead of heirloom pumpkins and candles, imagine sparkly plastic gourds and leaf garlands from the dollar store.  Instead of a crystal stemware, imagine gold Solo cups, and instead of name cards, imagine names written on those Solo cups with a Sharpie.  Instead of silver cutlery, imagine clear plastic utensils.  Instead of intricate chargers and china, imagine paper plates with pumpkins and turkeys printed on them.  And instead of cloth napkins, imagine paper napkins with a homemade napkin ring made from a plastic leaf hot-glued to a twisty tie. Something like this:

You know, real classy.

One by one, cars pulled into the driveway, and relatives from near and less-near arrived with rolls, salads, potatoes, carrots, pies, and bubbly drinks.  Every item was absolutely scrumptious, and we gorged ourselves until passing out all over the couches was the only option.  After the kitchen was clean and the tables were clear of all the disposable finery, we built a puzzle while telling those same old family stories that never cease to make us laugh.  We nibbled on pies and played games.  A Jimmy Hendrix documentary serenaded the house while the men talked of cars.  Downstairs, a quiet group clicked away on controllers as they battled on an Xbox game.  Annie, Sam, and their favorite second cousin played quietly, moving from one room to the next in an intricate dinosaur game.

When we went under contract for this house just one year ago, I couldn't have imagined of a better day in this beautiful home.  Thanks, Hatchetts!  You made my dreams come true!

I'll Be Home For Christmas

We signed the papers for this house the day before Thanksgiving.  I remember the intense nerves that plagued the holiday as we planned a weekend of staging the townhouse for sale. Everything was happening so fast.  Just days before, the thought of moving was the last thing on our minds, and then this home found us, like a gift from God, and we knew that we needed to take a leap of faith.  When I toured the house, I imagined stockings hanging above the hearth, and the rag garland I had just tied draped over the mantle.  I remembered all of the chimney-less years I snuck out of my bed on Christmas Eve to unlock the front door for Santa and realized my children would feel some security that Santa could easily find his way in.

On November 7, 2014, I went to a Relief Society activity with my daughter and left my boys at home. After an hour or two away, I walked through front door to find my Christmas tree prematurely built and lit in the corner of my living room.  My husband turned and smile at my stunned look.  I was raised that the Christmas tree doesn't go up 'til the first week of December and especially not before Thanksgiving.  But there it was, mocking me in the corner.

"Paul, why is there a tree in the living room?" I asked through gritted teeth.

He shrugged.  "Sam and I got bored."

By now, Annie's eyes were as lit as the tree, and her mouth hung open in wonder.  I knew I had already lost a war that had not yet begun, so I kept the tree up, and in the morning, I pulled out the rest of the decorations.  While my initial attitude was sour, I soon fell in love with my festive abode and the way it prematurely shifted my focus to the birth of Christ.  Thanksgiving was not forgotten. I found my heart more full of gratitude when I was surrounded by nativities than fat, brown birds.  So, we made decorating the first week of November a new tradition at my house.

This year was more special though because we finally got to hang our stockings on the mantle.  I made these stockings from this pattern when Sam was a baby. They are blue and zebra to match our old living room. Next year I want to make new stockings in more traditional colors.  I won't be in school, so I'm hoping I will have time.  The Christmas plaque and count-down charger were last year's Relief Society Super Saturday crafts.

The garland was inspired by this post. My mom made one for her fireplace a couple of years ago, and I fell in love with it, so much so that I spent an entire year planning my own garland.  I purchased clearance fabric and LED lights the day after Christmas and saved them for the next fall when I could tie the fabric strips onto the sting whilst enjoying a holiday comedy on Netflix.  I had so much left-over fabric that I bought a wire wreath form and tied a wreath too.  They look adorable in the light of day. . .

But magical in the dark of night.

Blue and green might not be the most traditional holiday color scheme, but since I'm not biggest fan of red, I don't mind. Besides, it matches our living room, so I think it all works somehow.

The kids sure love it.

While our Christmas decor is typically limited to our living room, this year, it spilled into the dining room.  The large passway facilitated extra flourishes to maintain flow.  I found Santa hat chair covers at The Dollar Tree.  THE DOLLAR TREE, PEOPLE!  I have been wanting to make these for years but haven't had the means or time, but when I realized I could have jolly chairs for just four bucks, I squealed with delight and shoved these bad boys in my cart.

On our TV-stand-turned-hutch, I made a snowy scene with Dollar Tree tinsel.  It's giving me all the feels, and I am itching to host a holiday friend party.  Can't you just imagine sitting in Santa chairs arguing over Monopoly?  Yes, please.

I know my decorations are cheap and simple, but they make me incredibly happy.  Every day when I'm preparing meals for my family, I look out over the joyful scene and tear up a little.  I'm so incredibly grateful for this beautiful home that is filled with happiness, laughter, and a spirit of peace. After years of temporary lodgings, I finally feel home for Christmas.

That one time when we bought a house

Yes, you read that right, and if you are friends with me on Facebook, you are not even surprised.  For two and a half years, I have endured living in this little townhouse with no linen or coat closet in a neighborhood reminiscent of Privet Drive, but just before Thanksgiving, we had an unbelievable opportunity to buy our dream home.  It didn't seem to make sense, and we didn't feel ready, but everything was pushing us to take a leap of faith, so we did.  Right off a cliff, it seemed.  Since then, everything has fallen into place to cushion our landing.

This dream home is not a mansion.  Not even close, but it feels like one to us.  It has a yard, garage, garden, swing-set, and beautiful white kitchen.  As an added bonus, it has a coat closet and TWO linen closets.  Yes, you read that right. TWO.  I will finally have a home for everything instead of being forced to line the walls of my bedroom with odd, homeless items.  Talk about a mood setter, you know?

My children will also have the rooms of their dreams.  Annie's room was already painted pink, which is all she has ever dreamed of since she was first introduced to the color.  Sam's room has a lock on the outside of the door, which is all I've ever dreamed of since he discovered how to break child locks off doorknobs.  Everybody wins!  The homeowners of the new house have already vacated the premises and gave us a key so we could make any household repairs we deemed necessary before we moved in.  As the gleaming brass object was placed into my hand, a light emerged from the heavens and heavy gust of wind ripped through my hair like a cheesy scene from a bad romance novel.  Except it was my son playing with the light switch and a neighbor opening the front door to carry out a box.  Still, I could feel the temptation of the key whispering to me that I was a domestic goddess.  By the end of the night, the family was gone, and the very next day I was sticking the key into the lock and listening to the satisfying click of the deadbolt.  I began patching nail holes and sanding drywall like it wasn't my first day at the Home Depot rodeo, all the while with full intentions to use the paint in the basement to touch up my glorious work, leaving the house in pristine condition for move-in day.

Then, tragedy struck.  I realized the leftover paint did not include colors for the children's bedrooms, which happened to be where I did most of the repairs.  My stomach shot up into my throat like impending vomit, but then slithered back down where it hummed angrily.  What should I do?  Leave the walls looking patching and awful?  What kind of domestic goddess would I be if I left my new house in such a state?!  I considered using leftover colors from other rooms, but my little daughter was expecting a pink room, so I swallowed my pride down into my humming stomach, and took an unexpected trip to the hardware store to pilot my first major mission as the master of the new house.

During the mission, I discovered there is the process you go through when painting the walls in a color you don't like. Home Depot has a No Return policy on paint, so if the wrong color is chosen, you just threw $25+ out the window, my friend. When you start painting and you feel that familiar tinge of regret, you tell yourself that the color will look better when it dries or covers more of the wall or when the trim has been painted or with a new light fixture or when the sun is in a different position. The longer you tape, roll, and cut in, the more you realize how much work goes into painting a room and the less you ever want to do it again, so you continue to justify and rationalize like a child being told Santa does not exist. He does, and this paint color will get better with age or artwork on the walls or some white curtains, right?  The rationalizing continues to spiral out of control because wasting 25 dollars worth of paint because you are afraid to admit your mistake seems so much less worse than repainting the entire room.

And at end of all that, you are left sitting in the center of your daughter's room that now resembles Miss Piggy, and your son's supposed-to-be gray striped room that now looks quite purple.

That's where I was on Saturday night, siting alone after all of my painting assistants went home, thinking SWEET MOTHER OF JEFFERSON DAVIS. WHAT. HAVE. I. DONE?

Thankfully, after changing the horrific florescent light bulbs and painting the off-white stripes in Sam's room a bright white, the paint blossomed into what I had imagined.

I sure hope my children love this new house and their new rooms, because this domestic goddess is hanging up her paint brush for a while.