LIVE and LET FUSS

The fourth of six children and mom of four kids; I am blessed to be a member of large families. Most of the time.

My brother and sister-in-law are hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Color me elated that I don’t have to scour ceilings for cobwebs as my dinner guests arrive, or contemplate whether blowing the dust out of the wine glasses before I place them on the dining room table is as effective as rinsing and drying.

Brother’s Thanksgiving invite circulated via email two weeks ago (does anyone use the phone to extend invitations anymore?) Turkey, stuffing, and potatoes would be provided. What would each family like to bring for dinner?

Exhibit 1: I have a AAA personality- so I usually (always) do too much.

Exhibit 2:  I have a AAA personality, so I never fail to think I can do too much- in too little time- without asking for help.

Exhibit 3: No one wants to be in my presence at holiday dinner or party time.

Consider our Thanksgiving-dinner-to-come. I replied to Brother’s email (doesn’t anyone use a phone to respond to invitations anymore?) I offered to bring an appetizer, a vegetable, cut-out cookies, and two pumpkin pies.

Brother replies to my reply: “Sounds good. See you at 4.”

Sisters and Mom view the same response and answer, “You’re bringing too much.  I’ll make a vegetable/pie/appetizer instead.”

Sisters and Mom are being considerate, but there is a method to my madness. Frankly, I am so thrilled to avoid brining, stuffing, trussing, basting and checking the temperature on a saggy-skin turkey for seven hours, that I would quite happily bring every other part of the meal to my brother’s house. Besides, husband likes lots of veggies. Kids and I love baking cookies before the holidays (…we do, don’t we kids?)  And at every Thanksgiving feast I have attended or hosted, I wished I had prepared one more appetizer, because that pink juice still flowing out of the turkey leg inevitably means another hour in the oven- or we eat turkey and die.

You are correct to evaluate the previous paragraph as defensive posturing. Truth is, I cannot help it. Trying a new recipe, baking a different kind of cookie, arranging fresh-cut flowers, and filling counters with candles, houseplants with twinkly lights, and rooms with music and guests makes me happy. That’s my kind of fussing.

Some memorize sports statistics or obsess over bicycles and cars. Others love to scrapbook, accessorize, travel, knit. We all fuss over something or someone.

So, fellow fussers, let’s make a deal- carved in stone for all holidays, dinners and celebrations to come. If you allow me to bring an additional dip to your party, I promise to help you wash all the dishes. If you arrive at my house for dinner and I have prepared way too much food, refrain from addressing me as 'Martha', or you have to wash all the dishes.

That fingerprint on your wine glass? Ignore it; you're drinking grapes, not dust.  

That plug missing from the bathroom sink? Disregard it, too. 

One can only fuss so much.   

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Live and Let Fuss!  

Addendum.  Daughter-home-from-college is reading over my shoulder.  "What do you think?" I inquire. “Don’t ask me," she says."I still pray before parties." She pats my shoulder. "And don’t ask the other kids, either. They just hide.”