And the 2006 Thanksgiving Holiday awards go to…

(in no particular order)

Steve Walston. For spending approximately 14 hours in the back seat of a car with both Walstonlings, and never once threaten to throw himself onto I-5. For keeping with Walston tradition, and managing to nearly sever his head from his body with a hand-saw while pruning the olive tree. For finally getting a haircut like George Clooney. For managing to elude yet another Scrabble-death-match with Dani.

Stella Walston. For being, by far, the most patient, pleasant and well demeanored passenger in the car. Both ways. For giving the “you. here. now” finger-point to unsuspecting Thanksgiving diners, requesting their participation in the Elephants on a String dance. For convincing her Grandma Judy that it was a good idea for the two of them to sleep in a twin bed together. For gracefully handling her first major holiday not as an only child.

Porter Walston. For being saddled with an ear infection before, during and after the visit. For diligently continuing to work on his goal of achieving Most Distance Scooted Either Sideways or Backwards. For tolerating being licked on the face, repeatedly, by Lily. For enduring (and surviving) his first official Walston-Anderson family holiday.

Judy Walston. For being out of her ever-loving mind and volunteering, nay, demanding that she and Bill give up their room (and obscenely large bed) in order to sleep in the spare room. On twin beds. With both grandchildren. All night. ALL THREE NIGHTS. For being barked at, ordered around and pestered relentlessly by a bossy three-year-old, and acting as though it were a priviledge. For not falling out of her chair when son and daugher-in-law showed her the price range of the properties they have been coveting. For displaying all of Stella’s mud pies decoratively on a cake pedestal.

Bill Walston. For being out of his ever-loving mind for letting his wife convince him that the aforementioned plan was actually a good idea. For single-handedly doing about 600 loads of dishes. For giving Stella’s nose back each and every time he took it. For being the ultimate good sport in all of the things he was cajoled into doing.

Andy Anderson. For playing human jungle-gym even though it nearly snapped his entire body in half. For teaching Stella the Neener-Neener game (for which, he will pay dearly). For cooking the stuffing on the barbeque when oven space became scarce. For hosing down the gigantic mess that was made when someone dropped the leftovers container of green-bean casserole on the patio.

Dani Anderson. For planning, and shopping, and cooking and cleaning, and then planning some more, and shopping some more, and in the end, pulling it all together to host 16 people to Thanksgiving dinner. For doing all of this even though it meant having to sacrifice her precious grandchild hours which, incidentally, was not compensated for by sleeping with Stella-the-sideways-sleeper. For allowing Steve to not have his ass kicked in Scrabble. Again.

Scott Walston. For repeatedly punching his “family time” timecard. For being yelled at NOT to clear tables. For always being the tallest guy in the room.

Honorable Mentions going to…

Sharan Benson. For providing a pumpkin cheesecake that, due to it’s most insanely pleasurable deliciousness, will probably send all of us straight to food rehab for even walking by it at the dessert table. For providing the most amazing gravy 911 of all time.

Gailie & Annie. For not only hauling themselves to this shindig, but also subjecting their families to the look-at-my-granchild-fest that these things always turn out to be.

Note to all recipients: “Gizzard”, your gilded turkey statuette shall be forthcoming.

Cue excessively long photo montage.

The Alien Abduction

As a kid, I remember my mother being an insanely light sleeper. It would not be at all uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night, pad into their bedroom and just stand there – knowing that it was prohibited for me to wake them up for something as trivial as warning them of the three-headed axe-wielding alien laying in wait outside my window. Instead I would just stand there. Being in their presence for 5 or 10 minutes would inevitably allow me the courage to head back to bed with the confidence that I would not be eaten in my sleep. This time.

More times than not, the next morning the conversation would go a little like this:

Mom: “Why did you come into our room last night?”
Me: “How did you know I was there?”
Mom: “I could hear you breathing.”

I have been a fairly solid sleeper most of my life, and as I neared the end of my pregnancy with Stella I began to wonder how that would impact my ability to tend to the nightly rituals of feeding and whatnot. Along with the many other physiological changes that take place once one becomes a mother, sleep habits become irretrievably fouled. I now wake up at the sound of Stella’s footsteps before she even leaves her bedroom. Basically, I can hear her breathing.

So you will understand how disturbed I was this morning when I woke up with the distinct feeling that sometime during the night I was abducted by aliens. Here is what I remember. I went to bed at 10-ish, and at some point I remember waking up realizing that not only was Steve to my right, but Stella was to my left (first of all, how did she get there, and secondly, why is it I am always the one stuck in the middle?). Then, there was some point at which I heard Porter making his thumb-chewing noise. Then, the next thing I know, it is 6:15, I am alone in bed and Steve is telling me to get up, already. And all I can think is Where is Stella? How did she get into our bed? When did she get into our bed? When did she get out of our bed? Did Porter sleep all night? COULD SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?

Steve said that he got up with Stella twice, and then at 12:30 I let her get into bed with us (which, knowing my policy on this issue, he said completely baffled him). Porter got up at 4:30, and when Steve put him back to bed at 5:30, he moved Stella into her bed. Then, she didn’t get up until almost 7:00! AS IN, 2 HOURS PAST 5:00! Okay, this is just getting wierd.

So can someone please explain to me how he who sleeps with a giant, noisy wind machine strapped to head head wakes up for all this activity and I don’t? Was there a roofie slipped into that handful of M&M’s I ate after dinner? And, NO, I know what you are all thinking: I wasn’t drinking!

I guess, instead of obsessing about all of this I should be rejoicing. My son slept from 8 to 4:30 without the aid of any painkillers, I was able to actually sleep with my daughter in bed next to me, and I clocked 8 straight hours of sleep with only some minor disturbances.

Maybe I’ll have a shirt made: I was abducted by aliens and all I got was a good night’s sleep