Dinner was well in hand, but the women gathered in the kitchen anyway while the men watched football. This year it was only Pam, my son's wife Jo, and myself.
"Diane, you really should let us contribute more." Jo said. "There's no reason for you to do all of this yourself."
"Oh, really, it's not an inconvenience. After all these years, I have it down to a science." I waved my hand, "Not a big deal."
What I didn't say is that she is a terrible cook, and sometimes just doing it yourself is easier than finding tasks to delegate. I like my daughter-in-law well enough not to have hinted at that, but not so well that I didn't think it. I'm not really proud to admit that, but there it is.
"Well, maybe next year Derek and I can have Thanksgiving" Jo said. Pam and I looked at each other, but Pam covered quickly.
"Or Jim and I." And now it was time for Jo and I to exchange a look. And Jo is never one to hesitate.
"We'll see about that. It's a whole year away." Ah, Jo....always one for the comforting comments.
I expected Pam to shrug, or change the subject, or maybe leave the room. But this Pam of the fuchsia sweater, this Pam of no more barrettes, this Pam who was trying on a lot for size in a little bit of time, did not falter. "Actually, I'm sure Jim wouldn't mind. We should just go ahead and plan it, Mom, take some of the burden off your shoulders for once."
I set my wineglass down. "Shouldn't you ask Jim about this? I mean, wouldn't he want to have a say?"
Pam was flustered, and she didn't cover it well. Some things hadn't changed, after all. "Yeah...I guess." She bent down to flick the light in the oven on, looking again at the turkey, though just ten minutes before we had checked it's temperature.
I sighed, but inwardly, and I remembered all the times I had applied peroxide and yanked off bandaids and pulled teeth; the hurting for the greater good. Apparently parenting never ends, even long after your children are done scraping their knees.
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