Chasing Ri and Bo

Dreaming of anything but turkey…

With Thanksgiving two days away, most people’s mouths are  watering at the thought of a perfectly cooked, golden brown, turkey with all the fixings. downloadThere are commercials galore telling you how to keep your bird moist.. cook it upside down… put butter under the skin… blah blah blah. Honestly, I don’t care. First of all, I don’t think I could cook a turkey if my life depended on it. Poultry and I are not friends. Trust me, and if you don’t, ask Pat. He’d rather eat a hockey puck than a chicken breast I torched cooked.

That being said, last year’s Thanksgiving has left us, meaning Pat’s whole extended family, a bit traumatized.

Looking back, the day itself was really nice. I was a bit stressed because Riley didn’t seem like herself. She threw up once in the morning, but at the time I thought it was just a normal baby spit up, so we went merrily and thankfully on our way to Stowe. It was a nice day with family and friends and of course amazing food, made with love, by Pat’s cousin’s girlfriend and other members of the family.

We all went home stuffed, ready to be in stretchy pants, and carrying mountains of leftovers, just how Thanksgiving should be.  I know now that this was the calm before the storm.

Fast forward to Friday night. I get a text from Pat around 4:00PM saying that he is not feeling well. I was at my parents in Underhill and getting ready to head home myself, because I was exhausted and feeling a bit under the weather. Riley and I arrive home to find Pat barricaded in the upstairs bathroom. I put Riley to bed just in time to make a run for the only available bathroom downstairs. What came next was 8 hours of pure hell, which I will not describe in detail for your own benefit.

Texts start flying around… “So sick, food poisoning?”…”Is it just us or is anyone else not feeling well?”…”Don’t hesitate- everyone throw out the leftovers!” …

The number of  those infected steadily began to rise and didn’t stop until it hit Twelve. Twelve, poor, infected, souls… It had to be food poisoning right? wrong.

IMG_3296The culprit? This sweet, germ infested, plague spreading, little face. Apparently, it happened to two other families in Riley’s daycare. A very strong, knock you on your butt, stomach bug. A stomach bug so fierce that it spared only a handful of people out of twenty-something from its wrath at our holiday dinner.

Anyways, I’m sure you can understand that Thanksgiving food is forever tainted. No one who witnessed or experienced the massacre that was Thanksgiving 2013 wants to even think of Turkey. That being said… I’ve never had a Thanksgiving without the traditional meal. What will we do, order pizza? No, not likely. I’ve heard talk of lobsters? Not sure how I feel about that either.

I do know that I have a lot to be thankful for this year and am incredibly blessed. I can only hope that our thanksgiving hosts don’t turn off the lights when they see Pat and I and our little germ monster love bug walking up the front steps.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, love the Stewart family!


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