Skip to content

Sunday Dinner: Loaves and Fishes. Also Turkey.

October 10, 2011

We decided to host a Thanksgiving dinner again this year since last year was such a success. This year’s dinner was even more successful – miraculous even. Kind of like loaves and fishes miraculous but instead of loaves and fishes, it was square footage.

While creating a guest list (randomly inviting people without much thought) it crossed my mind that somewhere along the line, we had figured out the ideal number of dinner guests that our house is able to comfortably accommodate before we start sending people to eat in the laundry room.

Here is a direct quote from last year’s birthday post:

After a bit of experimenting with different sets of friends, we have concluded that we can successfully host a total of six adults (including ourselves) three tots that can walk (possibly more if they are all girls) and at least one immobile infant. Any more than that and we’d have to use a talking stick and tie the children to chair legs.

SIX ADULTS, CLAIRE. SIX. We had ten adults and seven children here, five of which were mobile boys. But miraculously, no one got tied to a chair leg (that we’re aware of. The children were not well supervised) and no one had to eat with the Maytag.

Unfortunately, the turkey carving and the gin and tonics are the only thing for which J.D. can take any Sunday Dinner credit. He did, however, remove the children from the house for the afternoon which actually earned him a whole gravy boat of Sunday Dinner credits.

Big Bird. Sorry kids.

Jean-Paul. All he *really* wanted for dinner was whipped cream.

Dorothy. Also slow-roasting a bird. She'll be checking for doneness in five weeks.

James working the room

Jasper disdainfully reminds us of the caloric content of gravy.

It took way less time to eat this potluck than it did to clean it...

Jonah was the first to succumb to the tryptophan coma.

Open bar

Andrea's MIL was the MVG (most valuable guest). She told J.D. he looked like he knew what he was doing while carving the turkey and she asked me if I am a chef. Why, yes. But I gave up that glamorous career so I could cook for free while children yell at me.

Dominic wore his supper more than he ate it.

William, who spent most of the evening bashing things or people, all with complete delight. It was hard to be offended if you were on the receiving end of his hockey stick.

J.S., William's father, who spent most of the evening eating with complete delight.

Amanda doesn't get read to often

Genevieve delves into the world of adult soothers

Christopher, who made his way over here for leftovers today. I saw him tell the turkey he'd be back.

James, way to double pick. You make me proud, Thing 1.

Ihe kids spent most of the evening making Steve read them books while he desperately tried to eat pie. Parenthood is a ways off for you yet Steve, but remember this.

You can't see it, but Jonah is wearing a tuxedo onsie that Sara's sister pulled out of a dumpster. He won in the category of "fancy but frugal".

See ya! I'll get the rest of my kids in a few days when you've unearthed them from the toy landfill in James' room.

 And now it is very late and I have nothing left to say except that leftover turkey and wine sit just as heavy as they do on actual Thanksgiving and I should have gone to bed at eight. Amen.

Advertisements
2 Comments leave one →
  1. Katherine permalink
    October 11, 2011 3:33 pm

    I loved the “open bar” photo…very descriptive of the space you described. Great to see Amanda there too!

  2. Rebecca permalink
    October 11, 2011 3:49 pm

    Haha, love it! Looks like a very successful night!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s