Of Trees and Turkeys

So it is Thanksgiving Day here. Sunny, cold, just the right day for cooking and eating an enormous meal. Only I have to work today, and honestly where I am, people could care less that it is Thanksgiving in the US. I got a few comments here at work, had I brought a turkey (no—I don’t force my cooking on non-family members, especially Italian non family member who probably have excellent recipes for turkey that would be much better than anything I could prepare.) Was I making a turkey tonight (no), and lastly, had I gotten up early that morning to prepare a turkey? No.
The thing is, I love Thanksgiving. I have very happy Thanksgiving memories from when I was kid, excluding one unfortunate incident involving cornbread when I was 11. When I first came to Italy I made Thanksgiving dinner two years running to rave reviews, from Italians no less, who ate every bite offered to them, albeit the second year my guests were two policeman colleagues of Lorenzo’s who were living in the barracks at the time. I imagine any food that had been reheated would have been met with enthusiasm by them. A year later I got married over Thanksgiving weekend in Rome, if that is an excuse not to cook dinner, I don’t know what is. And then the year after Giulio was here, barely six weeks old and nursing constantly, and I was so sleep deprived at that point that if Lorenzo had so much as mentioned stuffed turkey I would have thrown something. In 2004, no. I have no excuse, I just didn’t do Thanksgiving. In 2005 I somehow pulled off a miracle and managed to prepare dinner on a weeknight, but Giulio was in bed and fast asleep before we even sat down to eat. In 2006 we were in the States, and yes, I enjoyed every minute, but what Giulio remembers I couldn’t tell you, much less Livia who was only 3 months old at the time.

My point is that despite my strong desire to give my children these important holiday memories, I find I tend to lack this conviction when it comes down to actually creating these memories. It can be said that Thanksgiving is more than bunging a stuffed bird in the oven and setting the table. It is about coming together with friends and family, that wonderful feeling of knowing that the next day you don’t have to go to work, and that moment of release when you give in to eating as much as you want, including seconds on dessert. For some reason the idea of me stuffing and roasting a turkey and sitting down to eat it only with Giulio and Livia (Lorenzo is working on Saturday evening and my friends who could be considered potential guests are busy), Giulio who would probably refuse the stuffing just on sight and Livia would take a few bites before following Giulio’s example and refusing the stuffing too, seems so removed from my Thanksgiving memories as a kid that as much as I want to give my children holiday memories, I don’t want to give them THAT holiday memory. Mommy tense and preoccupied all day, serving dinner and then weeping when her children take only a few bites before declaring they want yoghurt or that they are full. Daddy at work, and the grandparents and uncles are on the phone from across the Atlantic. No, no, no.

Yet what is wrong with me that I don’t want to make this effort? Just today the discussion moved to Christmas and were we going to do a tree this year. We have done a tree every year, even though finding a real Christmas tree in Italy is no easy feat. They always end up being the size of a small bush and come in a pot, so you can plant it after Christmas. Which I always mean to do, but I keep putting it off and then one day you go down to the yard and it is suddenly dead overnight in its pot in the same spot where you left it on January 2nd after lugging it down three flights of stairs, dropping needles everywhere, cursing the whole time and wondering why you so stubbornly insist on a real tree year after year as opposed to a fake one which would just go back in its box.

This Christmas is a little different as it will be the first one for me in eight years where none of my family members are here, and so we have decided to go up to the Dolomites and stay in my boss’s vacation home (without my boss) for Christmas, just the four of us. In any case it seems silly to do a tree, to keep shooing Livia away from the ornaments when its grand purpose (to accessorize and highlight all the gifts around it on Christmas morning) won’t be fulfilled if we aren’t there on the morning of the 25th. Lorenzo said something about buying a fake tree, and then admitted that what he really wanted to buy was a nativity scene like they always did in his family and set that up instead. So that is what they are doing, Lorenzo and the kids went this morning and bought the figurines, the fake grass, the blue starry background, and whatever else you need when you make a nativity scene and they are going to set it up while Livia takes her nap, right in the place where the tree usually goes. The whole thing is supposed to be a surprise for me for when I get home. Giulio (who I saw because I came home for lunch) was so excited but I know THIS is the kind of thing he will remember, what will shape his childhood. I guess next year, and hoping that my parents or my brother can come over, I will insist on the tree again, and it can sit next to the Nativity Scene. At the same time I just feel guilty. Put the headline over my head, “Mom Too Tired to Create Holiday Memories for her Kids”, and ask me why I’m not fighting harder. Maybe because I know deep down as hard as I try what Giulio and Livia will remember as kids is dressing up for Carnivale and throwing confetti, or opening a giant egg on Easter instead of Easter baskets, or in this case for Giulio, a wonderful afternoon with his daddy setting up a nativity scene. They live in Italy, they are Italians. But next year I swear we will bring back the tree and we will decorate it together.

As I was leaving to go back to work Lorenzo got out torrone for the kids to eat, it’s a Christmas candy that comes from Cremona, and the kids were happily chomping away around the table. I noticed that he is so much calmer with the kids than I am, and that they in turn are calmer too. The house was a mess as we had just had lunch and the floors were dirty in the way they get when the kids are home all day, and somehow, unlike me who would be thinking about what had to be done next, how I was going to clean everything up and should I do it before, during, or after Livia’s nap. Lorenzo was just in the moment with the kids, laughing as Livia tried to cram her more candy into her mouth. Is it just me? Are all busy moms mentally five jobs ahead of the one they are currently doing? I don’t know, but on Saturday when I am home we are going to sit in the kitchen and eat torrone again, and I won’t worry or care about all the ironing piled up in my closet, the laundry sitting in the washing machine, or my job patiently awaiting me on Monday.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.