Evel Knievel and Eggnog Pancakes

Ah, Thanksgiving. A time for elastic waistbands, retail violence in the name of a good deal, and the beginning of that get-it-all-ready-for-Christmas ulcer I develop every year. We spent our long holiday weekend in the great state of Georgia with my family, enjoying all the sights (and tastes) of the season.

My mom always goes all out on holidays. When you compare the way she decorates and celebrates with my love of anything holiday related (especially sparkly things), it's a wonder I didn't have seizures as a child just from getting so worked up over it all. Mom's Thanksgiving weekend itinerary would make Martha Stewart want to slash her wrists with a dull butter knife. After which, Martha would use a soft cloth and some polish to gently remove any tarnish from said knife and return it to it's original, antiqued patina, but let me get back to my story.

This weekend was even louder and wilder than a usual visit to my parents' house since they have a new toy poodle puppy, Sam. He is four pounds of pure, wild energy. I don't know when I have ever seen anything move that fast. This puppy is like something shot straight out of a cannon. When he paused to take a breather, my brother managed to snap this picture--if we took one while he was moving, I'm pretty sure it would just be a streak of curly fur.

To Cotton, our blind dog, that little thing was like a fur covered ninja just waiting to pounce. Throw my parents' older deaf miniature poodle in the mix and you have got yourself some genuine canine chaos. In case you lost count, that's a blind dog, a deaf dog, and a devil-may-care six week old puppy. We celebrated Thanksgiving with See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Evel Knievel.

After some shopping Friday for Christmas decorations, we spent the afternoon at home with the three dogs driving us up the walls and literally chewing the shoes off our feet. The guys played golf and were happily oblivious to the zoo atmosphere of Mom's living room. As soon as they came in and dropped their golf clubs, we were off to Lake Lanier Island for Nights of Lights as is our family tradition. This prompted our annual conversation: "Are these lights new? I would have remembered those....No, those are old. I can't believe you don't remember that one, it's always been there...." Christmas lights, hot chocolate, roasting s'mores. In other words, all things that make Susie's heart go pitter patter. Holiday heaven.

On Saturday we decided to let the men folk watch football and dog sit those beasts while we braved the mall. A neighbor had, in true Southern hospitable style, brought over some real maple syrup for us to enjoy so we had to find something to pour flood drizzle it over. After reading The Haters Guide to the Williams Sonoma Catalog last week and laughing until we were breathless, I was pretty surprised to find us in said store, happily shelling out a week's grocery money for a canister of eggnog pancake batter. I pictured us gathered around the table, happily slicing up dollar bills and munching on them with a side of savings bonds to use as gravy.

As it turned out on Sunday morning, they were worth their weight in gold. Those were the fluffiest, most delicious pancakes ever made. WS eggnog pancakes make all others look like the slackers in the back row at pancake class, slumped down in their desks, reeking of cigarette smoke and doodling "school sux" on their notebooks.

Shopping, decorating, eating. Golf, football, eating. I'm thinking you can tell which activities were mine and Mom's and which were the guys. There was turkey, watching the parade, looking at Christmas lights, Mom's famous-to-our-family holiday tea, and plenty of downtime. Eggnog pancakes with a side of Evel Knievel. And that, my friends, is how Thanksgiving is done.