So my mother is pacing around the kitchen today. An unexpected twist of events has happened that she wasn't prepared for. She is frowning and gritting her teeth and roaming around the house aimlessly cleaning. I am talking about thanksgiving dinner. I am talking about mom's uncanny ability to be able to get not only herself, me and dad an invitation to mooch at someone else's house- but the skill to let me invite friends (read as strangers to the family we impose ourselves on) to go with us. This is the first time in quite some time that Mom has failed in her Thanksgiving tradition. And she is scared.

It's not that mom can't cook. She is a fabulous cook. Well, not in that turning-radishes-into-swans way - but she can put quite an edible spread of 6 different fabulous items that me and dad can agree upon with minimal finicky moments and food fights. It's not that she isn't lazy or isn't in the holiday spirit, either. She has six different thanksgiving themed napkin holders with matching placemats. Martha Stewart would have her has an understudy. She hasn't failed, really. It's her friends that failed her. Well, one friend in particular - the one friend that Martha Stewart would be a protégé to.

Mom may have six different thanksgiving napkin sets - but this woman has six different sets that she herself made (incidentally - from Martha's show). She has the ability to have 30 people in her home and not feel cramped - why these events alone are what her home is for. Dad and I especially enjoy the fact that there are nametags on the place settings and are usually overjoyed that once again we are seated at the children's table (we request it - it's more fun). There are usually two turkeys at this woman's house and 18 selections of side items. I won't go into the deserts - it's painful to me to realize what we are missing out on this year.

Her friend is apparently going off to her daughter's house this Thanksgiving and mom thinks it was just simply rude of her not to tell her that there would be no dinner served in her house this year. Mom says this jokingly - but you can almost hear a twinge of hurtfulness in her voice - which then turns back into stress as she racks her brains for some family we can impose ourselves on.

"We had three invitations last year for Thanksgiving - what happened to my popularity, my love, my goddamn dinner invites??!!??" There is no point in comforting mom at this point (she is armed with a brillo pad and that spells trouble) - though she does have one small invitation that we are going to take up later - regardless of what disaster we decide up on for dinner. We have been invited to another friend's house for champagne and dessert - so the hurt is lessened some as at least we were thought of - even if it is just an "after real food" invite. We will accept anything at this point.

Mom scans the local grocery store's slacker Thanksgiving menu to see if there is anything we would want. I don't like turkey that much so I suggest steak. Mom rattles off the foodstuffs they offer and we are both appalled. Why would we need six pounds of cranberry crap? All they offer are six to eight person meals and with our measly three person nuclear family - we are pretty much screwed. Mom is getting paler by the minute and begins to comb the fringe in a nearby throw rug. She is getting worse.

Dad comes home and what a fine idea he has that I immediately applaud. He thinks that pizza would suit us just fine. Go Dad. However, I want mom to think she has other options that are just as tasty and take the traditionalistic view point with the fast food answer in mind. I suggest turkey subs from SubWay and drink cranberry juice. Mom glares at us both. Ummm.. whoops.

I know why mom wants to do a semi-fancy dinner. She is terrified of us smacking down our sandwiches and potato chips that all came smashed together in a plastic tube or the pizza idea with the cardboard box being our centerpiece while we eat on paper towels and then when questioned later at the champagne party what we had for dinner - her shame would be known to all and it would seem like she either couldn't cook, could care less, or was a complete idiot - or a combo of all three. Dad doesn't get it and argues on deaf ears to her about it - but then again, dad doesn't appreciate the beauty of a well matched table centerpiece and tablecloth set - and so in Mom's eyes - his opinion is moot.

I can't have mom feeling inadequate around people she is sooo superior to in her mom-like ways that when mom suggests that she cook up one of her fabo steak dinners with stuff that WE like (and we like weird stuff - Mrs Smith's processed pumpkin pies are wayyyy better than homemade). I tell her that if she is gonna go through the agony of cooking stuff - "I" myself will help her. I also desperately want her to stop her incessant cleaning and relax. You never know, I might screw up dinner so badly that this year that Dad gets his pizza dream for Thanksgiving Day realized.