We gave thanks early and often this year, kicking things off at the school celebration on Tuesday, which was super-conveniently scheduled for 11-12pm. The kindergarteners solicited family recipes (as you might imagine, the feast was heavily treat-focused), prepared illustrated menus, and proudly wore handmade chef hats decorated with drawings of, in Owen's case, all of their immediate and extended family members or, on Brendan's hat, their mother hunting a wild turkey hiding in a tree. Like most school events, it was adorable mixed with chaotic with a dash of deer-in-headlights-shock-and-shyness thrown in for good measure.
The next night, I took the boys to my friend's annual pre-Thanksgiving Parade party in her parents' apartment which is ideally located on the northernmost block of all the balloon inflation action. The invite lets us waltz through the barricades and avoid the south side madness while still enjoying a close-up view of enormous tethered balloons. This year, however, I foolishly decided it might be "fun!" to check out the southern block balloons. This happens to me all the time, a few years pass and I forget just how awful something is despite prior dramatic Never! Doing! That! Again! proclamations. It took us over half an hour to shuffle/come to a dead stop/shuffle along with the teeming hordes up ONE block of West 77th. I briefly contemplated succumbing to a panic attack but was too busy protecting the boys from an exceedingly sloooow trampling to have time for such indulgences. The relative tranquility of West 81st Street has never seemed sweeter.
We spent Thanksgiving proper in Rye for some lovely inter-generational bonding, football on the Rye High field, deep frying of turkeys in the backyard, lots more football, and some crafty hat-making followed by bloodthirsty Native Americans hunting a poor, unsuspecting wild turkey (who enthusiastically did his best to assume a similar bow and arrow pose). The feast was delicious, and my bold innovation of adding orange juice to my cranberry sauce was well received. Other Rye highlights included Hank's first non-crib nap, which culminated in him managing to lock himself in the bedroom post-nap, still more football, and thrilling Black Friday purchases of ski pants, ice skates, and a trip to the Container Store. We promptly put the ice skates to use with friends at the Playland Rink that afternoon. Henry stayed with me on the sidelines, and his desperate cries of "DAAAADDDYYYY! DAAAADDDYY!!" echoed throughout the rink when Kevin took to the ice with the boys. Have I mentioned he's going through a bit of a daddy phase of late? I'm using this time to shore up my support in the 6-year-old demographic.
The glory of the four-day weekend is that we also had time for lots of other goodness like seeing a surprisingly enjoyable production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (even if it required braving Times Square), the new Muppet Movie, cleaning out closets (absurdly satisfying), haircuts, working on holiday gifts for the grandparents, and lots and lots of Star Wars sticker book time. Not too shabby.
With two of their teachers at the holiday celebration:
Admiring Spiderman on gloriously calm West 81st Street:
Rye High football field fun:
Turkey hunting:
With Grandma and Great-grandmummy:
Hitting the ice. Apparently helmets are now de rigueur for ice skating:
