We made it through Thanksgiving unscathed, even though Nate decided that Wednesday afternoon--which was slated for potato-mashing and pumpkin spice bread-baking and corn muffin-making and table-setting--would be the perfect day to refuse to take a nap. Ultimately, everything was delicious, and we managed to get it all served on time and get it almost all cleaned up well before bedtime, which is a huge win in my book.
I thought I'd been very clever in moving the little wooden play table and chairs into the dining room, so that Nate and our goddaughter, Fiona, could sit with us sans high chairs. Fiona is only six months older than Nate, and they get along pretty well, so it seemed like it would work. It did work, sort of, for Fiona, who is (1) slightly older, (2) a girl, and (3) used to being cooperative around other kids in her preschool. I know she at least ate some turkey. Nate had a fabulous time, apparently sustained by air and pure adrenaline, because he refused to eat a bite. He even turned his nose up at the might-as-well-have-been-pie-filling sweet potato casserole with praline topping. What kid turns down a side dish that is essentially comprised of sugar and butter? Mine, I suppose.
The highlight of the day, though, occurred as we all sat down to dinner. Fiona was settled at the little table with her plate, and David was bringing Nate's dinner from the kitchen into the dining room. He was also carrying his own beer glass, and he set both the plate and the glass on the kids' table so he could settle Nate into his chair. Fiona sized up the situation in an instant and, deeming it woefully inequitable, began wailing, "I want a beer like Nate! I want a beer like Nate!" as her parents rushed over to explain that my two-year-old wouldn't be washing his turkey down with a microbrew. She was so upset about it, and it felt kind of mean to be laughing at her distress. But seriously, how could we not laugh at our pint-sized goddaughter demanding her fair share of the booze?
All in good time, Fiona. All in good time.