Tour de Bird - 9 hrs 40 mins 17 secs

That, my friends, is how much driving I did for turkey.

Traffic was a mess both Saturday and Sunday. Monday was almost a write-off but we were smarter this time and avoided every highway that had a "4" in it. It took longer but at least we were moving.

I managed to get through nine hours at my parents' place without my mother suffering a single meltdown. It was touch and go there at around 6pm when the turkey came out of the oven raw near the legs, but thank the christmas baby jesus the breast was cooked because that's what saved dinner. Three hours later, I checked everyone for signs of salmonella poisoning. It was all good. A follow up phone call on Sunday morning insured everyone was still alive. And so, my mother learned that some kitchen utensils shouldn't be bought for a $1, such as turkey thermometers. Dollar stores will kill you. Swear to god.

The in-laws? Where to start? 1. Father in law is a chef. This makes the entire lead-up to dinner an Olympic event. I learned years ago to stay the hell out of his kitchen. 2. I managed to choke down a brussel sprout without suffering a cardiac arrest (I hate those things with a passion, but it's a written rule that I have to eat at least one, or else I'm insulting a thousand years of British tradition or something to that affect). 3. English people (yes, that's where the Smith comes from) are impossible to understand after an entire bottle of Lindeman's Bin (pick a number). I spend more time trying to figure out an appropriate time to laugh when everyone is talking all the while trying to remember which friggen fork I'm supposed to use to eat my meat with.

In-laws - Part 2 (due to divorce) - involves a routine more akin to lying in a hammock while a slave feeds you grapes. The hours drag on and I spend most of the afternoon planning our after-dinner exit strategy. The food usually involves some Newfie concoction that I manage to swallow, all the while agreeing that the chicken was indeed tender and absolutely Aunt So and So's mustard cake was to die for. I still don't know what I ate but I keep checking for an oil slick every time I get up.

Feel free to share your thanksgiving tales. I'm interested. If we didn't have to drag a sewing machine with us, we would have taken the GO train to St Catharines and saved ourselves the traffic headache. I hear it's quite the train ride.