Thanksgiving in the Bouncy House

For the first time ever, I am hosting Thanksgiving dinner at my house and I'm fearful of all that could go wrong trying to prepare for the Olympics of eating with two of the toughest, three-feet tall, goldfish-cracker smacking, food critics around. If the thought of cooking a bird bigger than my second child gives me pause, the idea of trying to make our house the backdrop for a sophisticated, adult dinner strikes me as totally ridiculous. It's a feat as impossible as, say, getting both my kids dressed with their hair brushed and noses wiped. It's just not going to happen, my Martha Stewart intentions be damned. So I'm lowering the bar: I've warned our guests the holiday feast will be "kid friendly" (they make up half the population of our home, it's only fair) and that it won't be a feast at all, but rather a potluck wherein I will provide the turkey, dressing and mashed potatoes. If you want more than that, folks, please bring it. And a bottle of wine, too. I was discussing Thanksgiving with the 3-year-old yesterday, which is always a tricky thing to do: I opted to skip over the genocide in the story and go straight to how we should all feel thankful for the blessing in our lives, like that we have enough food to eat. "Do we get candy?" she asked, at the mention of food. "No, but there's pie," I replied, "And we're having a party where all our friends come over and eat dinner with us." Then, clearly confused by Halloween, she wanted to know about costumes. I explained that there would be no costumes, but if she wanted, she could wear one. "And we'll have a bouncy house," she added, like that was as essential as a boatful of gravy, because for her, a party isn't a party unless there is a blow-up bouncy house somewhere on the premises. The only problem with bouncy houses: endless drama as kids crash into each other. Someone is always getting hurt in the bouncy house. Still, she loves them, even when she exits with a bloody nose. Today, as she dove off the couch into a collection of stuffed animals that were "catching her" it occurred to me: Our house is a bouncy house. Who needs to rent one? The kids jump on everything and bandages run in short supply from the constant injuries. So the party is on at our house and there's one more thing I'm thankful for: health insurance. Catch up on all of Andrea's posts HERE or click on the images below for her most recent ones!