Dramatic Nonsense,  Life as an Anthoine,  Writer

When Self-Care Looks Feels Like Failing

Last night I ordered a Honey Baked Ham.

And Honey Baked Ham brand smoked turkey.

I have failed at Thanksgiving. 

For the first time since Jason and I got married in 1998, I will not be making the turkey. I don’t normally make the ham, seeing that I don’t eat either of them, but I always make the turkey. Even if we have Thanksgiving somewhere else, I ALWAYS prepare a turkey for us to have at home for the weekend.

I feel like an utter failure for forking out nearly $100 for some chain to produce my meat products (that I won’t even eat) for our favorite holiday of all the holidays.

The logical part of me that sat at the table last night panicking about how I would get everything made since I’m working Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, agreed woefully when Jason suggested just ordering it.

I will still be making all the other fixings: dressing (well, it’s frozen but I doctor it up), brussels sprouts, sweet potato casserole (crack in a dish), rolls. I’ll fix the deviled eggs and pickle plate. I’ll set the table for three and we will eat happily, maybe even at the table. Or maybe in front of the TV. Because, why not?

But I’ll know that my “self care” for my sanity caused me to half-ass the one holiday we go big for.

And I’m not sure how to feel about that.