I believe I am losing my endurance when it comes to marathon eating. On Thanksgiving Day I squeeze a small portion of everything onto my dinner plate. This may not sound like a whole ton of food, but one must consider the bounty of an average Thanksgiving in the home of my parents.
Our table consists of traditional items like turkey, bread, homemade cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and stuffing; in addition there is also broccoli with cheese sauce, creamed pearl onions, green beans, corn, glazed carrots and sweet potatoes. Just in case we feel the need to whet our appetites stuffed mushrooms, fig and goat cheese spread, and celery with pimento cream cheese are also available for sampling along with a port wine cheese ball.
All of this for my immediate family of six, my husband and our two babies. Whew! My grandparents join us for dessert: pumpkin and apple pies supplemented this year with cutout butter cookies and iced pumpkin cake.
So, there I am with all of my food touching: the cranberry sauce atop my turkey and the cheese sauce flowing over into my sweet potatoes. When I was younger I found myself able to eat multiple helping of everything throughout the day, but now I’m lucky if I can eat dessert and still manage to be breathing at the end of the night. We customarily end the holiday by playing a game together. This probably started as an attempt to burn some calories by means of good old-fashioned belly laughter.
My prayer this Thanksgiving is that I won’t ever find myself nine months pregnant on this holiday of over-eating because by that time in a pregnancy the mommy is reduced to portions resembling a tablespoon in size as a result of the baby taking up every centimeter of available space and pushing mommy’s stomach up into her throat. Every year in my delirium I vow that I shall not eat again until the following Thanksgiving Day. I always seem to forget that by lunch time on Friday when I attempt to recreate my dinner plate with leftovers.
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