I don’t think I really have it in me to be the matriarch of a clan anytime soon. Of course, by clan, I mean a large family, with branches extending hither and yon, and not a Klan, which I plan on never being a matriarch of. “Hey!” you say, “You can’t end a sentence with OF!” Watch me, grammar nazi, because I just did. (I might get some interesting google hits from this first paragraph.)
I’m mostly talking about holidays, although matriarchs matriarch all year round. But today I’m talking about holidays, because I’m sad and I’m homesick and I think I can cheer myself up by talking about holidays. Now, my mama is good at being a matriarch. You could just google that word but I’ll tell you, since you’re so busy sitting on the couch. The matriarch is the Mama Boss, that’s what. Now, I am the baby of the family, the last of 5 kids. That gives me permanent baby status, even though I have 4 children of my own. Nobody in my family will ever expect me to cook the turkey. Even if some kind of gender specific bomb took out all the other women, my brothers would have one of their girlfriends or groupies cook the turkey, because I am too little. My brothers would bring Dr. Pepper in a Walgreens sack and some girlfriend-type, hopefully a domestic one, would bring a bird and something with green beans.
I don’t fight it. Since I started living 700 miles away from all family, a couple of times I have had to be the Boss Lady at a Thanksgiving celebration collection of college students and band members and ex-band members and people who walked by at the right time. There was one year that I tried to cook a turkey, but it stressed me out. So I end up delegating it and then I make ham. It’s not as easy as you think, you have to put it in the roasting pan and turn the oven on. It’s complicated.
This will be the 3rd year in a row that we aren’t going back to Texas for Thanksgiving, and Christmas is iffy (darn you, Dave Ramsey). Luckily, this year we’re celebrating with a group of friends, most of whom are either the oldest child or the only child, and I am making pies. It’s not the same, but it’ll be good. I’m thankful for families that we love, across the miles, and for firstborn friends, who get stuff done.