A Chaos-Free Thanksgiving (Is Not Possible, But I Still Try)

I am not bragging here, but we have hosted Thanksgiving for the better part of twenty-five years. This means this particular family tradition is old enough to both drink and drive and it has done both. Now that I’m staring down the barrel of this year’s turkey day, I thought I’d share some tips and tricks I’ve used over the years that may—or let’s be real, probably won’t—save your sanity.

Tip 1: If you stress about how fancy or planned out you think everything needs to be, you will spend all your time worrying about it and that’s no fun for anybody.

Our family Thanksgiving is essentially a big carry-in, where the family brings side dishes, desserts, snacks, and appetizers. We provide the turkeys (usually plural), mashed potatoes, gravy, and a couple of extra sides just in case. We also provide napkins, paper plates, plasticware (yes, girl, we fancy), and some of the drinks.

Long ago we were more deliberate about who was going to bring what, now we just say: “Bring what you always bring unless you don’t want to do that in which case bring what you want.” It works out great every time. There’s always enough food to go around and usually plenty of leftovers.

What I have learned over the years is that our family cares more about the square inches of the plates than that they are disposable. It’s casual, fun, and yes, chaotic—and we like it that way.

Tip 2: Give all the adults credit for being able to figure out when/where/and how to eat.

These days we pick a time when people can start showing up at our house, and it’s usually a couple of hours before we plan to sit down to eat. The idea is that we can visit, snack, finish whatever still needs cooking, and carve the turkey. But I’m telling you: it rarely works out down to the minute like we think it will. And that’s okay. (I’m writing this as much for myself as for you, dear reader.)

The point is, if you get flustered by things taking longer than you thought, it’s just going to make you miserable. Get a snack. Have a Goldfish. Side note: Julia Child’s favorite pre-Thanksgiving snack was Goldfish crackers, which I feel makes it completely acceptable to eat an entire handful while waiting for the turkey.

I will set up however many tables fit in our space, and it may or may not accommodate the exact number of people we think are coming here to eat (it could be 20, it could be 30). But regardless of how much I worry about it—people always manage to find a place to sit down and eat—and even go back for seconds.

Tip 3: Find every single serving utensil you have in your house (the whole house, not just the kitchen) and put them out on the food table.

There’s no deep thinking or reflection on this tip, it’s just insanely practical. There’s always a shortage of utensils and this way you might avoid the possibility of someone serving the sweet potatoes with a spatula or trying to cut a cake with an ice cream scoop. Just get them all out. (Note: You will still have to answer the question: Do you have a spoon?)

Tip 4: Take some time for yourself and don’t feel weird about it.

I learned maybe 15 years ago that it’s perfectly fine to just disappear and regroup. Stepping away for five minutes won’t ruin the day. Go to your bedroom, take a walk, or hide in the garage—it’s all fair game. When you come back, you’ll see the laughter and chaos with fresh eyes (and maybe some of the desserts will be gone, which is fine too).

Tip 5: Don’t do it like I do.

Or if you do just keep reminding yourself: this is family, they love me no matter what.

As an introvert, an overthinker, and a worrier, hosting Thanksgiving is like the trifecta for me. The introvert in me loves to do all the planning in advance, alone in my fortress of solitude, but the overthinking me ruminates over every setup I have done from every Thanksgiving and thinks: I can do better, I know I can. So every year it’s just a little bit different than the year before. And then there’s the worrier, This year to my surprise she showed up late, arriving on the Sunday before the Big Day. And then (although many lists had already started) the worrier me made more lists, counts, and notes, and there was/is a lot of hand-wringing going on.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if my overthinking me wanted Pinterest perfection, my worrier me panicked about seating, or my introvert me wished for five more minutes alone.

We’ll say grace together as a family, and a Hail Mary for our departed loved ones, and in that moment, I always find that it doesn’t matter much about the details. What matters is that we’re all here—and we’ll be back next year to do it all over again. Chaos and all.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.