The Curse

Thanksgiving, for Houghs, is a dangerous, dangerous time of year. 

Most people probably view Thanksgiving as a great time for family get-togethers.  Judging by the scores of people updating and posting across cyberspace, the mundane clucking of coworkers in the teacher's lounge, and the carpet-bombing advertising for the holiday season, it'd be ridiculous for one to think otherwise.  Grandma's stuffing, dad's football game - it should be a no-brainer.  The family gathered around the table, everybody's happy and full of calories.  Like giant Publix commercials, where everyone's laughing at eachother's whimsical anticdotes and hugging eachother in their L.L. Bean sweaters.  And there's always a golden retriever on hand.  

What's not to love, right?

Well, Houghs, by nature, view Thanksgiving with a certain degree of apprehension.  We don't trust it.  Houghs consider Turkey Day a gauntlet that must be passed - an ordeal that must be burdened before entering the 'real' holiday season.

It's been like that for decades, and that tradition shows no sign of abating any time soon.

Thanksgiving 2011 proved no exception.  As always, Kris and I stayed in Orlando for Thanksgiving, seeing how we're not lawyers or stock traders or gold manufacturers and are flying home for Christmas in December already.  Once again, for the fourth year in a row, we planned on having Thanksgiving with our comrades the Voigts (...and Clint).

Being from Michigan, Thanks- giving means that one gets to watch their favorite football team lose to a much more talented adversary.  I tried my damnedest this year to watch the Detroit Lions actually win against their opponent, but sadly they faced off against those assholes from Green Bay.

So, you know, it was kinda obvious that we wouldn't win that one.

Smurf it:

 

The Cannonball observes the Blue and the Yellow

The Lions stumbling in the latter quarters of the game proved to be only the tip of the iceberg for the Houghs on this most cursed of Thanksgivings.  Meanwhile, back in Clare, MI., the rest of the Hough clan was already knee-deep in peril. . .

I had been talking with Dad over the phone earlier in the afternoon, and he had to abruptly let me go as he was receiving an automated distress call from him house line.  It was from Granny, who had fallen at her home and needed assistance.  As it turns out, she had severely bruised her face and dislocated her shoulder in said fall.  Dad and Uncle Larry drove over to help her out, but in the process of doing so Dad threw out his back lifting her off the ground and had to be doped up on pain medication that conked him out for the remainder of the holiday.

After sitting in the E.R. waiting room for a few hours, of course.

So back to Orlando:  The Lions were now well on their way of losing yet another Thanksgiving game, and Yours Truly and his roommates loaded up some feast dishes Kris had thrown together, enough kid crap to keep our kids manageable for a few hours, and (of course) beer, and set off for the Voigts' house.

While traversing the Florida Turnpike, Alayna - without any prior indication that she was about to do so! - projectile vomited all over herself, the car seat, and the van.

Cowabunga!!!

In a frantic bout of panic, we pulled over on the side of the turnpike and Kris rushed Alayna out of the car seat and held her hair back as she continued to spray horrible pink (we have no idea why pink, by the way) all over the side of the road.  I stripped the car seat cushions out and threw them in a plastic bag, as semis and cars whooshed past us and Abby, strapped into her seat, stared after us in a confused manner.

We ended up having to drive the remainder of the way to the Voigts' (twenty minutes) with the windows partially down, puke all over the car, and me holding a plastic bowl in front of Alayna.  Totally fun time.  Anyway, the bowl ended up being a wise move on my part, as just as we pulled into the Voigts' driveway, she exploded again.  Fortunately, this time she didn't get anything on the car seat or anywhere else in the van... more or less because when Kris opened up the side door of the van, I literally threw her out of the vehicle.

That's called quick thinking, folks.

Adam and Clint were armed with a hose and shop vac when we got to the house, and the three of us were able to clean out the van without incurring any loss of appetite while Kris stripped everything even remotely smelling like the inside of my daughter's stomach and throwing it into the Voigts' washing machine.  It took a couple loads of laundry, but we managed to save the car seat and her clothes from utter ruin.

Alayna, eating a hearty Thanksgiving feast that consisted of a bread roll and water.

After the Lions lost, we proceeded to dinner, which the Voigts had set up outside on their back patio 'cause, well, it's Florida and people can do that down here.  In November.  The food was good and it was a nice pause from the chaos we had just been thrown into.  In fact, we had all thought that we were indeed out of the clear. . .  when suddently Alayna erupted into another volcano of puke... all over the Voigts' couch.

So that, really, signaled the end Thanksgiving for us.  Can't really pass around the pie once you're daughter has thrown up her insides all over the host's couch upholstery.  After hanging out at our hosts' house for little over an hour, we were forced to load back into our van, bid everyone adieu and head back home.

Cleaning out the car seat.  Again.

Abby and the Voigts

 

The perilous trek back to Southchase...

 

(Sort of) enjoying a Charlie Brown Christmas on the way home...

Fortunately for us, Alayna managed to hold Pukefest '11 for the duration of the ride home.  This was helpful.  She had even begun to show some (small) signs of improving, so Kris and I decided that, since it was still way early and all, maybe setting up the ol' Christmas Tree would bring her spirits up some.  Kids like Christmas, right?

 

 

 

We threw up our tree fast (it's a 7 1/2 foot pre-lit, so you snap together three pieces into a base and - whoomp - there it is! - you're done), but hadn't even begun to start hanging up the ornaments when Pukezilla reared her ugly head once again.  By this point in time, the Cannonball had nothing left in her stomach but bile and saliva, so she was in a bad state.  Needless to say, no one was really feeling the 'Christmas Cheer' by that point in time, so we said 'screw it' and just let the poor kid lounge around in misery. 

  

The kids managed to say up until about 7pm, and by then they had had enough of the whole Thanksgiving thing.  Both kids fell asleep almost instantly, and so ended yet another horrifying Thanksgiving.  Indeed, the Hough Family Thanksgiving Curse had once again played out to fruition.  

But, seeing how it was only 7pm or so, Kris and I decided that, having already gotten out the tree and the ornaments, we'd set up the nicer, Hallmark ones (the ones we didn't want the kids breaking, and therefore would be hanging higher up on the tree).  We desperately needed at least some small degree or normalcy to cap off the night.

For whatever reason, watching this old film while decorating the tree has somehow become a Hough family tradition.  Done it for years.  No idea how this started...

 

Fortunately for everyone involved, nobody puked on the Christmas tree.

Happy Thanksgiving, Assholes!

- Brian