Wardrobing a Family Photo Shoot

Family Portraits | How Not to End Up on an Awkward Family Photo Meme

It had been a while since we’d had family portraits taken.  In our last attempt, I’m pretty sure the Firefly cried throughout the entire shoot and the Koala would not spit out his pacifier.  So, yeah, maybe a little too long.  Thus, we’d been talking about getting an update for a few years; we’re not exactly the kind of folks who commit easily.  We’re also the kind of folks who don’t take advantage of opportunities; another reason for the delay.

That’s the lead in.  Go with me. 

Last weekend, the Officer and I trundled the kids down to the 5-oh-5 for the International Balloon Fiesta, an annual tradition for our family, and to spend time with our northern-most Neuvo Mexico familia.  To prep for our trip, we ran errands all day Thursday, packed in 30 minutes, grabbed the kids right after school, and  began the now 10 hour trip (thanks to washed-out highways) down.  We planned the weekend around the fiesta, filling our extra bits of time with intended family visits, before our return on Sunday.  Whirlwind, but worth it. 

 

 

I will take a moment to remind you that the Officer and I packed ourselves, two kids and one puppy in thirty minutes.  Meh, we figured, we’re going to visit family; what we forget, they’ll have, or we won’t really need anyway.  I had a moment of pause as I retrieved my makeup bag.  I’ve taken to going completely without now that we’re mountain folk.  Seriously, I don’t wear it to church, to school, to meetings; I don’t even put it on when we go into the city anymore.  Mostly because I forget, but also partly because it’s such a hassle.   So my initial thought in packing was: leave it here; they’ll be more room in the duffle bag that way.  Besides, everyone you’re gonna see is family, so what does it matter?  But, I stuffed it in the car, not even in my bag, at the last minute, just in case.

Turns out, this was a serendipitous decision.

 

On Friday, as we were hanging out with my Mother-in-Love, she mentioned wanting to have portraits made.  We were amenable to the idea, as I mention earlier, and started planning with her.  Then, probably because she knows we’re commitment shy, she decided to call a portrait studio on a whim; you know, just to see if they had any openings in the next 24 hours that wouldn’t conflict with our ballooning plans.  They Did!  So began the frantic scramble to get a family of 6 adults and 2 kids ready for a photo shoot in less than a day.

I will pause here to say that I’m an avid Pinterest-er.  I have a board with ideas for cute family portrait outfits; I’ve spent free time thinking of venues and poses and techniques and coordinating-but-not-matching clothes.  So I thought I could handle this last minute excitement.  But as I scrolled through my newly-downloaded Pinterest App eyeballing the ideas I’d so carefully culled from among thousands, a sinking feeling oozed its way into my stomach.  Maybe if my MiL and I had a dedicated 24 hours, and an unlimited budget, we could pull off some of these spectacular ideas.  But I was increasingly aware that the reality of this actually happening was fast approaching nil; because we already had a full schedule and a very small window of time in which to coordinate everything.  And again, the Officer and I packed in thirty minutes; so we were a little sparse in the clothes-we’d-like-preserved-for-posterity department.    

Thankfully, my MiL had put some thought into this already and it was quickly decided that we would all wear jeans and Lobo jerseys.  Though only one of our clan actually graduated as a Lobo [the Officer and I started out as Lobos, but ended up graduating as a JackRabbit and Sea Wolf, respectively], we all agreed that since my Brother-in-Love and his wife, Sister-in-Love, already had jerseys, this would be the easiest and most agreeable route.  With that settled, we only had to find 4 adult and 2 kid shirts.  No problem. 

                                                 Aha ha-ha ha-ha.

Our first stop was the University Bookstore.  We knew we’d be gouged, but we figured we’d have the best luck with sizes there.  Funny story: we visited during Fall Break.  The Bookstore was closed.  And no other themed clothier presented itself anywhere near the university.  Thus my intrepid MiL pulled out her phone and started calling all the places she could think of that would carry Lobo merchandise.  Three stores promised they had what we needed.  Until we checked sizes.  Apparently every child residing in the 505 area code, over 4T, owns Lobo apparel; as does every adult under the XXXL size. 

Beginning to feel the time crunch – we all still needed to get ready for the photo shoot looming only 2 and ½ hours away – we started pitching other ideas.  Black was nixed since we’d all worn that in our last photo.  Color coordination became a nightmare because only 3 adults were shopping together, so there was no guarantee the colors would actually coordinate.  The Officer, my MiL, kids and I ran through Target like crazed people, trying different options, hitting sizing roadblocks at every turn.  Finally, we circled back around to black.  It was easy.  It was available in all the right sizes.  It was inexpensive.  And we were down to the last 2 hours before our shoot.  Decisions had to be made.  So the Officer, MiL, and I split up – each going off to find the right number of the right size black shirts.  We came together outside the dressing room, multiple options in hand, ready to be done costuming this event. 

The Officer, in a sweet attempt to lighten the mood, jokingly held up a black t-shirt with a simple Batman logo on it.  “I’m going as Batman,” he deadpanned. 

We laughed.  “Let’s all go as Batman,” I volleyed.  But then, returning to the task, I asked him where he’d gotten the shirt from so I could put it back.  [Really, even if I hadn’t worked retail for years, I felt bad for the mess we were making trying to get this wardrobe issue settled.]

He told me he’d gotten it off a table with lots of other super hero shirts and led me to them.

I think that was the moment my inner geek squealed and clapped her hands.

It may have even been out loud.

For whatever reason, be it Halloween or an overstock from a recent movie release, Target was selling a plethora of inexpensive, simple, retro-looking Marvel and DC superhero t-shirts.  In every size imaginable.  It was one of those, “Ah-ah-ah,” moments; perfectly timed and orchestrated, and something we’d never have gone for if we’d had more say in the matter. 

Luckily, it took almost no convincing to get all the other adults on board – they may have just been glad we’d ditched the all-black repeat – and we found shirts for everybody.  The kids even ended up with miniature version of the Grandparents’ shirts.  Triumphant, we raced home to get ready and get photographed.

The studio was filled to bursting with families in all manner of carefully-selected, color-coordinated, fancier-than-they-normally-wear, uncomfortable clothing.  We rambled in wearing our t-shirts, jeans, and comfy shoes.  The eye of every male in the place sought us out longingly; some even sighed as we strolled by.  And tugged at their ties.  We had more than one comment, either direct or overheard, complementing our theme.  And when it came time to actually take the pictures, we ended up laughing through the whole shoot.  We posed as our respective superheroes, my BiL mounted the kids on his biceps in a demonstration of strength, and each of us had a fabulous time as our laid-back alter-egos.     

So now we not only have the pictures for posterity, but we also have the great memories of an afternoon filled with laughter and ease to accompany them.  It was, hands down, the best photography session I’ve ever had.    

Thus, my wardrobe advice for photo shoots, particularly with families: go to Target, get some t-shirts, and laugh your way through your session.  You’ll end up looking more like yourselves in the pictures. 

 L to R: Hawkeye, Punisher, Batman, Superman, Captain America, Green Lantern | Kids: Batman & Superman

Picture by: Portrait Innovations, Albuquerque, NM

And that’s what you want to capture anyway.         

     

A Momi-festo: part one of the Mommy-cation

Yes, I know.  I know.  It’s been over three months since I’ve written.  Hey, it’s summer.  There were vacations, and outdoor activities, and we put the house up for sale, so we were constantly having to be out of it so strangers – excuse me, potential buyers – could roam through it.  Plus my best friend moved far, far away, so I had to help her pack.  Which, if you’ve ever done a state-to-state move that was not sponsored by the U.S. government, let me be the first to tell you: is hard.  Also, I can’t sit down in front of the computer when I’m holding my kids to the “Sun’s up, screen’s off” rule. 
                {side note: do you know how late the sun stays up in the summer?  Good grief!}
Okay, all done with my excuses?  Good; me, too.  And, reader, thanks for coming back.  You’re much cheaper than therapy. 

Now, let’s talk about something I’ve re-discovered in the past 8 days.  {editor’s – um, that’s me again – note: this was intended as a single article; but as I hopped up on my soapbox, I couldn’t’ stop.  So this has to be a two-part series.  Look at the bright side: at least this way you know I can’t abandon you for a quarter of a year again anytime soon.}  The glorious, heaven-sent, I-can’t-believe-how-I-lived-without-this practice called:

The Mommy-cation

What’s the Mommy-cation?  Plainly, it’s time away from all kids and all spouses (I’m sincerely hoping that you have only one spouse, reader.  I can’t imagine the work involved in having more than one.).  Time that is all mine.  No work, no kids to care for, no husband to entertain.  Just me.  All by my wonderful lonesome.

I can’t tell you (mostly because I promised on my life that I wouldn’t name names) how many mothers have confessed to me something akin to the following:

All I really want for {Mother’s Day/my birthday/our anniversary} is to wake up in a hotel room.  ALONE.  No one needing to be fed.  No one crying, or whining, or complaining, or singing, or screaming, or cuddling… Just me.  And I want to sit all day in that plush bathrobe they give you.  And eat chocolate.  And go to the pool, all by myself.  And watch t.v.  And read.  And nap.  And go to dinner without having to cut anyone’s food, or worry about what someone else won’t eat, so I’d better just eat theirs… 

Look at you, reader, I can tell your eyes are glazing over with the thought right now.  You can picture exactly what that room looks like, can’t you?  You’ve mentally put that robe around you and have opened that box of chocolates, haven’t you?  Sounds divine, doesn’t it? 

But then, just as you’re closing your eyes to enjoy the engulfing silence, Guilt starts tapping at your heart.  What kind of a mother daydreams about leaving her children out of her fun?  Mothering, that scared calling, is a fleeting thing.  They’re only little for so long.  What if you miss one moment.  What if you blink and it all rushes by?    

Ladies, I know: we love our kids.  Love them so much that we would, without hesitation, lay down our very lives for them.  No one is arguing that you don’t love your kids.  That’s good.  It’s healthy.  It’s Mom-y.    

What isn’t healthy (and here’s where I make some people uncomfortable, and just tick others off), is never spending any time away from our families.  What isn’t healthy is being able to honestly say, “I don’t know when the last time was that I had a minute to myself was.”  And no, unaccompanied trips to the grocery store Do. Not. Count.  Those are just sanity savers.    

And I’m NOT talking about the bi-annual Mom’s night out offered by your church’s youth group so that you can go hang with other Moms.  Nor am I referring to Date Night.  Those are separate necessities.  Girl’s Night Out is to remember what it’s like to have adult conversation with other women, without having miniature people hanging all over you.  Date Night is to remember why you married the man who is half responsible for the tiny folk running your life right now.      

As for the “what if I miss it” question, let me pose another: If you’ve spent every single moment of your child’s life with them, do you feel full up?  What I mean is, do you lay down at night and think, “yeah, I feel like I’ve caught and remembered every single bit of her third year.  I’m ready for four.  I’ll never feel that tug other Moms feel when they think, oh, if time would just slow down—she’s growing too fast.”

See what I mean?  As Moms, we always want more of our kids.  They’re blessings.  They’re the best (and some days the worst) parts of us and our husbands.  We could have an eternity at each stage, and I bet we’d still want it to last even longer. 

My point is: you’re going to wish you’d had more time with your littles no matter what.  Therefore, should you not also attend yourself during their growing years?  Aren’t you a better mom and wife when you do? 

How the Mommy-cation Started:

I can hear you asking, don’t you miss everyone?  Aren’t you lonely?  And in a much quieter, almost afterthought, how is this possible?

First, I claim no credit for this genius invention.  It was all my Mom (she is quite brilliant, you know).  Four years ago, she convinced me that I needed time to myself, away from the kids.  She told me that it would make me a better Mom.  At the time we had this conversation, I was run down, at my wits’ end, and a teensy bit jealous that an old [childless] friend was celebrating her 30^th birthday in Paris while I was covered in toddler food and hadn’t showered in goodness only knows how long.  I didn’t need much convincing. 

And because my Mom is a considerate gal, she insisted that I let my Mom-in-Law take the kids, too.  Because my kids were 3 and5 at the time, they were only gone for a week – 3 days with each set of grandparents.  And so began the annual summer tradition of time at Camp Wela-Welo and the Mi-Pop Estates.  As the kids have grown, we’ve expanded their time: 1 week with each set of grandparents.  At first, the Officer took 1 week off, and we spent the time honeymoon-camping and hiking 14ers; the second week was mine.  Granted, the Officer would be here in the evenings; but he let me rattle about the house on my schedule (I’m a bit of a night owl), and we'd go on a few dates together throughout the week.  It was lovely.  Then when the Officer joined the Guard, we combined the weeks to coincide with his, so the kids still visit each set of grandparents for a week, we just stack them so the minis are gone for two weeks total.  And I end up with 12 days (2 are traveling) of all-by-myself-ness.  As an introvert, I can’t explain to you how live-giving this is.    

Also, I can’t explain how awesome it is for our kids to spend this time with their grandparents.  Both of our families live out of state; so we see them less frequently now that the minis are in school.  This is their one shot every year to have unadulterated (literally, Mom and Dad aren’t there, so their grandparents can spoil them any way they choose) Grandparent time.  And I’m happy that my kids are making memories with our parents.  I mean, Grandparents are God’s gift to kids – adults who will cater to their every whim, while telling hilarious stories about what their parents did as children.  It’s a beautiful relationship to cultivate.  It’s a win for everyone involved.     

 

 

---I’ll address exactly why MOMMY-CATIONS should be practiced by every mom in part two of this series.  Plus give you the “rules,” how to make this a reality in your world, and 20 different ways I’ve spent my Mommy-cations.  Come back next week, reader; it'll be fun.    

Party like it's 2013

The midnight balloon

Funny thing: I’m still suffering from holiday-hangover.  My classes just started (keeping my fingers crossed that my fin-aide goes through—I filled out the wrong form, true to my imperfect self), though the minis have been back at it for weeks now.  The what-day-is-it fog is still very thick since most of our activities are different; and the Officer’s schedule just changed (it’s that time of year, people) so I’m even more confused than normal.  All these things culminate to mean that I have no clue what day it is.  At all.  So much so that, as you know, I haven’t sat down to pen a blog post in almost a month.  I feel a little twinge of guilt about that, but again, an identifying premise for this blog is Mommy-imperfection.  So at least I’m nailing that. 

Since I’m convinced that I packed my muse up with the Christmas lights, I’ll show you what the kids and I (the Officer took part for a bit, but had to work the next day, so had to sleep that night) did for New Year’s Eve.  This way all you uber planners will have something up your sleeves for next year.  Or it could be adapted for Valentine’s Day (pink, red, and white balloons with heart confetti – wait, I think I like that idea…).  This year was the first time the three of us made it to midnight; well, the first year I let them try.  The Koala was begging to be allowed to sleep by 11pm.  Begging.  And promptly at 12:10am, they both raced up to bed without having been asked.  The good news is that they did sleep until 11am New Year’s Day…

Partying like it’s 2013

I’m sure you’ve all seen the ideas on pintetrest involving hourly activities in anticipation of midnight.  That’s pretty much what we did; and I have to say that the evening flies by when you have a new activity every hour.  I will keep that in mind for future birthday parties/sleepovers. 

 

I used three different sets of balloons (one for the Koala, one for the Firefly, and one for the adults), each with the same activity inside. I wrote the hour in permanent marker on the outside of the balloon; and every hour, the kids got to pop the balloon and do the activity described inside.  To make each pop more festive, I filled the balloons with glitter and small craft pom-poms.  I expected a shower of sparkly fun...it was more a deluge of glitter in which we had to search for our activity slip.  Ah, well.  I used packing tape and curling ribbons to hang these babies from the ceiling, which was pretty; but I had to take them down before the minis could actually pop them.  For your planning pleasure, I’ve included a list of our activities at the end of this post, as well as a supply list. Be warned – I inhaled copious amounts of glitter trying to blowup balloons, and as they popped. Luckily I can still breathe, so the damage must have been minor; but my lungs did feel off for a few days after.

Also, none of those awesome-mom sites ever tell you how stinkin' hard it is to get a small strip of paper, on which you've written that hour's activity, into a balloon. Trust me, this is exceptionally difficult. It took me a few tries to figure out how to get the glitter in there, too. Most of the early attempts ended with glitter all over the kitchen, me, and anything standing nearby [the poor dog]. 

Activity #1 -- because who doesn't love crazy hair?   

Activities:

4pm: Crazy Hair boutique for NYE2012  [Reality: Mom scrambles to finish decorating, kids help]

5pm: Dinner and Silly String Fight [the kids loved this one]

6pm: Light luminarias and prayer – though a Christmas tradition, we’ve adapted it as our NYE tradition to symbolize that we want our new year to be filled with the light of Christ.

7pm: Playdoh sculpture competition and make ice globes*

My Playdoh rose -- because it's my blog

8pm: Play Hide-and-Seek and Sardines in the dark; and do Fire-crackers [the Officer had to get to bed and I didn’t want to really tick off the neighbors]

9pm: Snack and board game marathon 

10pm: Continue snacking and play Wii as family

11pm: Make hobbit hole and read The Hobbit

12pm: Watch ball drop and throw glitter bags**

 

Supplies:

1.        Balloons

2.       Glitter

3.       Small sparkly pom-poms [in the craft section]

4.      Silly String

5.       Playdoh

6.      Fire-Crackers [or poppers]

7.       Paper bags [we used the white lunch kind]

8.      Tea lights

9.      SMALL balloons

10.    Food coloring

11.     Pin or tack [for popping the balloons]

12.    Board game

13.    Snacks [we had Jordan almonds, popcorn, hot chocolate, Christmas candy]

14.    Sandwich bags

15.    Curling Ribbon

16.    Tape

 Your floor will look like this afterward. 

Don't attempt the glitter portion if you're not big into cleaning glitter off every surface in your home, to include pets and family members and food, for weeks to come. 

Pom-poms would work just fine.

 

*To make ice globes, fill small balloons with water, then add food coloring.  Place the balloons outside (it will need to be below freezing for this to work), cover with snow, and let them sit overnight.  Ours froze, but they were lop-sided.  Also, I would suggest using small balloons and starting with this activity so the globes have time to freeze completely.

**Glitter bags are, quite literally, just smal sandwich bags I filled with glitter and pom-poms that we could throw into the air at midnight.  I tied them with curling ribbon and at the stroke of twelve, we hurled the last of our glitter at one another.  Again, if you aren't a big fan of messes that last for weeks, perhaps a celebratory cup of egg nog would be a good replacement activity.

Family Time Fridays

Sliding, Day 1: the Absence of Perfection 

What I want to say is that an amazing, wonderful, perfect day was had by all.  That’s what I want to say, because that’s what I wanted to happen.  Not to impress you, reader, but because I strive for perfection in all of my family jaunts.  Who doesn’t have that Griswold-esque desire for every family outing to have the perfect mixture of adventure, laughter, hugs, and fun?  And don’t forget the contented looks exchanged over the children’s heads between the parents, as we mentally congratulate ourselves on a job well done.

Yeah, things didn’t exactly pan out that way.  They never really do.  

We headed to Copper Mountain for Day 1 of our sliding season.  We roused the children (early), and the tears/complaining/whining started as soon as we got them dressed in layer 1—with promises of hotcakes in the car and more sleep if they needed. 

Fast forward to the base of the hill.  The Koala, who was likely still recovering from this week’s illness, was fussy the entire time.  Our first run took 2 hours.  2 hours.  And the Officer removed the boots from both children’s feet at one point: the Firefly had too many layers of socks on, the Koala complained of pain.  We had 4 different sets of Safety Patrol and Ski Patrol stop to offer a ride to the base strapped to their sled, to make sure we were okay, and to up-sell the over-priced hot chocolate at the bottom of the hill. 

Ok, I will admit that their care and concern was nice and very helpful.  But you know when your kid’s throwing a temper tantrum in the store, and sweet old ladies come to offer advice/help/bribe your kid with candy?  It felt a lot like that.  The difference being that we’re in the middle of a ski run and have to make it to the bottom before I can really even address what’s going on.  Yay.  At which point, I decided if we just fed him, he’d perk up.  He always does. 

Bottom of the hill, the Officer and I are not speaking lovingly to one another, as we have different ideas of how the day should progress.  He thinks I should keep skiing with the girl while he and the boy sit at the bottom and wait the day out.  I think that’s not fair to the guy who got up before everyone to load the car, drove us there, and has to drive us home.  So, we eat in a cloud of tension and eventually everyone perks up.  At which point, I look at the boy’s boots.  They are insanely small – I’m talking toddler small.  I hold them up to his feet and wonder how he even crammed himself into these boots to begin with.  And suddenly I understand (at least the hill portion of our day).  He’s really been in pain this whole time.   He can’t ski with those boots.  He can’t even walk with those boots.  Poor guy.

                Enter Mommy-guilt (I’m sure you’re acquainted with this, right?):

How on earth did I get boots that were this much too small? 

How did I not notice? 

How did I misjudge so badly in the store? 

How did I fail this epically? 

The truth is, I was rushed.  I was trying on boots for myself, checking out equipment for both kids, letting the Officer get his gear, and trying to manage the children’s ridiculously unruly behavior in the store.  They were so excited at the prospect of skiing for the season again that they were out-of-their-minds.  And likely, the 7 year old boy just stuffed his feet into the boots offered to him and declared them a perfect fit; because without boots, he can’t ski.  He had them on for all of a minute in the store, and it’s been about a month since we got them, so his foot could have grown a bit since then.  So while this was technically an epic Mom fail, it wasn’t the end of the world. 

The Officer offered, again, to let me ski with the girl, since we all know how much I love it.  I accepted his kindness – I would be pretty bitter if all I got was one 2 hour run for the day.  He stayed with the boy, who promptly fell asleep on the couches; and the Firefly and I flew down the mountain, stopping to take one picture of our first girls-only run.  By this time, the snow was really coming down, and we had plans to be back in town for the parade of lights to meet some dear friends.  We packed it in, after 2 runs for the girls and only 1 run for the boys. 

 

Ah, another lesson in grace. I'm not perfect; even when I really, really want to be.  And no matter how badly I want things to go as perfectly as they do in my head, sometimes they just won't.  Yes, I could use a little better preparation on my part, but that's not the full answer.  Really, I need to accept that sometimes I'm going to fail.  Epically.  And sometimes, it's going to be my kids who bear the brunt of this failure (boots that would fit a two year old, smooshed onto the foot of my seven year old, while I keep telling him to "ski through it.").  But at the end of the day, I have to know that Jesus, and my kids, still love me.  Imperfections and all.  And a really, really short (and not so happy) day on the slopes is okay, because our quickie day just whetted my appetite for the rest of the season—I can’t wait to get back on the mountain!  With and without my kids.

For the practical fix, we’re going to get new boots this week, for both the Koala and the Officer (his are too big).  And I'm going to listen a littler better next time one of the minis tells me something hurts, instead of telling them to rub some snow on it and ski through it.  So, we’ll try again next week.  We do have all season to have that perfect day of skiing.  Here’s hoping next time will be better…      

Manic Mondays:

Gobble-Gobble. 

As if you need reminding that this week boasts the most American of all holidays—Thanksgiving.  And I say that not just because it’s when our founding parents gave thanks to the Lord they sought this land to worship and to their new-found right-here-and-now saviors, the natives, but because it’s the one holiday focused entirely on eating.  And a certain portion of our population will still ignite their fare and cause explosions [of which I can decisively number myself].  Yeah, we’re first-worlders who will eat ourselves into comas on Thursday—all to be thankful for the bounties of blessings in our lives. 

I realize that this blog is ridiculously new; and that may of you have no idea who I am.  I’ve said that I’m accident prone (didn’t I?); that my house is perpetually messy and that my life is full of MIS-adventures.  But so far these posts seem all too perfect, don’t they? 

Well, it’s a tad early for any major emergencies or mishaps.  So I’ll share with you how we’ve been prepping our hearts for being thankful…and to entertain you (what a delightful hostess I am!), I’ll regale you with the very quick story of my first married Thanksgivng.  Or what I like to call, “The Day I Set My Groom on Fire.”

So, kick back Julia Childs style (instead of marinating the bird, help yourself to the wine) and enjoy – just remember to be thankful you’re not married to me. 

Here’s a picture of our family’s Thankful Tree.  It's free-hand impressionistic.  [Don’t laugh—I never claimed to be an artist.]  Each leaf represents something one of us is thankful for.  We fill in one leaf daily…or biweekly we catch up…whatever; and then we attach our “thanks" to the tree.  As you can see, some are still clinging to their branches, and some are floating to the ground.

 Here's a closer view of the leaves:

 



 

 Here's one of my favorites:

 

And the scripture we’re memorizing and attempting to implement this week:

Psalm 100: 4-5

Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.
For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Okay, and now the story of my first Thanksgiving, in 5oo words or less…

We’d been married less than a month.  Because we were 3,580 miles away from home and I the only wife amongst a gaggle of airmen, I seemed the obvious host for Thanksgiving dinner.  The pervading illusion was that because I was a girl, I could cook such a meal.  These boys were apparently unaware that I was raised by a dyed-in-the-wool feminist who had purposed to not teach me to cook, so that it could never be expected of me.  But, as I was eager to impress my new husband’s fellows in uniform, I agreed.  I bravely spent hours on the phone with my mother as she coached me step-by-step through the entire process.  The bird we’d purchased was huge (particularly to someone who’d only ever cooked chicken breasts) and heavy, so as the day wore on, I relied more and more on the officer to hoist the thing out of the oven so I could check the temperature or baste or otherwise fiddle with the monstrosity that took up our entire oven.  Finally, it was time to pull it from the oven for the last time and allow it to cool a bit before serving.  The officer opened the door, I stood proudly in our dining room (only a few feet from the oven itself).  This is the point in my story that I need to fill in one, crucial detail.  You see, because we were newlyweds and had spent all of our “disposable” income on chairs for our company and food, I’d skimped on a roasting pan.  I found an aluminum dish at the BX that had “roasting pan” on the packaging; and because it was only $2, I’d been convinced I was saving money.  So our 20+ pound bird was stewing in its juices in a flimsy, aluminum roasting dish.  When the officer bent down to lift the bird out, some of those delectable juices spilled onto the heating element of the oven.  I stood, setting something on the table, and watched as a ball of fire shot out from the oven and engulfed the head of my groom.  I can assure you (though his version is quite different), that this fireball lasted five minutes, that I was fairly sure that I’d just killed my brand-new husband or at the very least barbequed him, and that I had also set the apartment complex on fire.  Thankfully, the Officer merely stood up (he claims this fire lasted only a few seconds), and set the turkey on the stove to cool.  He hadn’t even singed his eyebrows.  The flames dissipated when the juices had burned up, and the smoke alarms didn’t even go off.  Nonetheless, my groom and I agreed that I wouldn’t be hosting another Thanksgiving for a long while.         

And that, friends, is the story of my first fire started by turkey.  Stay flame-free this holiday; and may your Thanks outweigh all else this year has brought!