Our celebration of thanks began on Wednesday night when Baby Charlotte came home from the hospital.

We rushed across the street to meet her. It was well worth the long wait. Alden was so glad to meet her little “sister.”

We wiped our tears and went to bed, knowing that the day ahead would present many challenges.

Most years, we forget about Thanksgiving until Thanksgiving morning, and then run around recklessly looking for things to cook. This year we got our Turkey two full weeks early! And even remembered to brine it. For a full 48 hours. Which is to say, we may finally be getting our acts together. In a limited sort of way.

We had the turkey, but we didn’t know what to do with it, exactly. So Robbi did as Robbi does. She went online and begged for help.

Meanwhile, I made a lot of stuffing.

And mashed potatoes.

I post this photo mostly for the benefit of our dear friend Stella, who is morally opposed to instant potatoes. Perhaps I am lowbrow, but I am so thoroughly satisfied by instant potatoes that it makes no sense to invest so much energy into the mashing process.

I also made a green bean casserole. It started as a reasonable dish. Mushrooms and onions, and the like.

But then things got a little more cardiac-threatening. Two cups of shredded cheese, a can of cream of mushroom soup, a cup of sour cream, half a stick of butter.

Robbi finally emerged from her session with Google, claiming to have all the answers. All we needed to know was how much the turkey weighed. But there’s the rub: we had unwrapped the bird three days prior so that we could brine it. The label with the weight was long since gone. Without that vital piece of information, we were lost.

Eventually, we had an idea. Thank goodness we still have a Nintendo.

We pulled out the Wii Fit Board (a clever device that lets you do “fitness”-related activities with your Wii). The Wii Fit contains a scale. And so, I grabbed the turkey, placed it on the Wii Fit Board…

…and, problem solved!

But not quite. Apparently, the Wii Fit Board is more clever than we realized. It rejected the turkey as non-human and therefore not worthy of being weighed. We’re not sure how it knew. But we were determined to outsmart the Wii.

First, I did a weigh in. Approximately 158lbs.

Then I grabbed the Turkey and stepped back on.

Suddenly, I plunged from “normal” to “overweight.”

The Wii was too busy gloating to realize that we had fooled it into telling us exactly how much the turkey weighed.

We had the magic number we needed.

Now we had the information we needed.

Robbi started manhandling the turkey according to instructions.

But! We lacked a key ingredient. The recipe she’d found insisted that no roast turkey was complete without an apple shoved inside of it. We had no apples. At least no apples in the kitchen. Robbi, resourceful gal that she is, remembered seeing half an apple wedged between two car seats in the van.

A little rinsing and a little slicing and a little light dusting with cinnamon, and we had what we needed.

We will understand if you never again accept an invitation to dine in the barn.

Robbi got back to her Medieval ways.

The last step was shaping a “breast shield’ to protect the bird during baking. I do not understand the mechanics.

But if the internet tells me to do it, I will.

Finally, the time arrived.

While we waited for things to cook, Alden made a card for Charlotte.

I think it was mostly just an excuse to visit her again.

Back at the barn, Kato made some cranberry sauce.

Alden and August pitched a tent.

Robbi placed the breast meat shield.

And made her signature cranberry cups.

Sometimes it takes an MFA, my friends.

And Iggy sat pensively by the window, smelling the delicious foods she knew she would not be permitted to eat.

Finally the moment arrived.

There followed an extended stretch of silence punctuated by the sound of chewing, the occasional breath, and frequent sighs of contentment.

Kato chose the drumstick. It was too heavy to actually lift. But no problem.

Yes. Indeed. Thanksgiving.

I’m not sure which I like better. The feast itself. Or the sweet somnolence that follows.

Nor was I alone in my post-meal slumbers. Kato didn’t even make it away from the table.

I can think of no greater compliment.