The groceries are in the fridge. The Mocksgiving week to do list is half scratched off. I’ve indoctrinated a new set of coworkers to the sacred holiday that requires me to take a day off. And I woke up bolt upright last night remembering who I’d meant to invite but forgotten to.
Ahhhh… the sacred Mocksgiving traditions! (As I just said to my brother, “I should be making pie instead of updating my blog about how much pie I need to make.” This is also a tradition.)
If you’ve never encountered me writing about this before… back in the mists of time when I was a young newlywed who had just turned 22, I invited my inlaws to Thanksgiving dinner. In prior years we’d eaten in a restaurant and my horrified prim self was convinced that this was just not the way Things Were Done. But even my clueless self knew that cooking that turkey on Thanksgiving day for the first time ever was hubris that would set me up for an epic fall. So two weeks ahead of time I bought a small turkey to practice on. Since two people cannot eat even a small turkey, I invited a few friends over to share it with me.
And thus the first Mocksgiving was born.
We didn’t end up hosting Thanksgiving that year (the story of why is lost in the mists of time). But everyone had SO MUCH FUN at that first practice (or mock) Thanksgiving that next year we invited everyone back to do it again – plus a few extra.
This year marks the 16th year that I’ve been hosting friends for Mocksgiving. I join other friends on Thanksgiving day for theirs – and it’s usually beautifully low key. So Mocksgiving is an authentic celebration of Thanksgiving. And I’m so thankful for it, and for all the people who come to celebrate with me. Every year there are new faces. This year, my early RSVP count is for 33 grownups and 16 children for the main meal. This is all held in my home. Board games spring up in various locations like weeds. (Pretty much any door you open in my house that day will lead to a board game.)
It’s also logistically maxed out. My number 1 stressor at Mocksgiving is not the 5 loaves of bread, 5 pies, 10 pounds of potatoes, maximum sized turkey, two batches of stuffing, butternut squash or beverages. It’s the fact that I can’t ask everyone I’d like to. Once or twice in history I threw it open to everyone who might want to attend. That’s just not possible anymore. (On the list of humble-brag problems I’m lucky to have, eh?) So if you’re feeling slightly droopy that you weren’t invited, it could very well be that I woke up in the middle of the night realizing I hadn’t invited you.
OK, I swear I’ll quit apologizing for hosting a fun party now. Did you know that when I had knee surgery I woke up from anesthesia worried about whether I’d been rude to someone in that period I couldn’t remember? True fact.
And now I’ll quit procrastinating and work on the lemon merangue pie crust.
My Truant Pen 