Happy Thanksgiving

It's warm. About an hour ago the sun was shining.

And I'm at work.

My mom, stepdad and younger brother are at our house waiting for us, probably thinking up bad jokes about burning down the house (referring to my blog post on Monday) and enjoying our NBC-or-Fox TV choices. And making us a chicken fajita Thanksgiving dinner while our turkey thaws out in the sink, waiting for its moment to shine tomorrow (yes, on our charred table).

I've never felt so awkward, waiting here at work, wondering if I left any dirty socks lying around the house or if Dave left any half-empty (or half-full, ahh) glasses of milk sitting around the computer room for them to find and make little mental notes about.

And ... After Dave's parents brought him his childhood in boxes last weekend, this weekend was my parents' turn. I didn't have boxes upon boxes of half-constructed dinosaur models or anything. Just Barbies -- and those obviously have more collectors' value.*

(*If you like collecting headless Barbies with dog-chewed feet and mismatched clothing.)