As Thanksgiving approaches my mind is whirling but not about food. My mind is whirling about white carpets. That’s right, white carpets, one cat, two dogs, two kids and the mixing of all these on what is surly destined to be one less than harmonious Thanksgiving Day. Why my mother installed white carpet is beyond me. As lovely as the wooly and smart-looking white carpet is, it is also the least kid-friendly place on the planet. I think she planned it this way. I think she adds insults to injury when inviting not only my brood but Cinnamon, our tabby who is ill, and the two dogs who will run away if left in the yard, and poop and demolish the sofa if left in the house. And why did I agree to bring them along! I’m the idiot, for sure and for certain, the idiot child of the family. Okay, the adjustment will be simple. our tabby in the garage; the two idiot dogs in the back yard, who will be let in by my brother, bless his heart, he can’t help himself. He’s the other idiot child of the family. And two little girls who can’t help by spill something at least once during each day. All I’m praying for is that their spill will be in the kitchen, on the tile.
I wrote this in my journal many years ago. My daughters are grown and joined by three other children, who also spilled things. The white carpet is long gone as is the house in Mission Viejo, California. Our family Thanksgivings are loud gatherings of a lot of funny and wonderful people who love to hug — get ready no matter who you are — and eat. I think reading journal entries before holidays isn’t the smart thing to do because it reminds me of hurtful things. Am I am still the idiot child? Well, no, nor was I then. At least I was smart enough to never install carpet of white!