Bird is the word.

I made a fatal mistake. I decided to forgo the ten hour trip to my mom's house this year and make my own Thanksgiving dinner for my husband and five children.

It turned out we couldn't have gone anyway, since we all had strep throat for the whole holiday, but that's really a side note to elicit sympathy from the reader.

I decided to be prepared for the inevitable Thanksgiving surprises by over-preparing for the feast.

Sunday, I gathered my necessary recipes and created a "Thanksgiving Recipes 2011" reference guide. I also made the menu and printed individual menus for the diners, complete with color and gratitude quotes.

Monday, I "cleaned house". I also had to make a surprise appearance to the city council of chambers.  And somewhere in the midst of cleaning and scrambling to put together a defense for the city council, I went grocery shopping and procured the remaining ingredients I would need.

Tuesday, I was supposed to make the pies and the cranberry sauce. Instead, I made an impromptu visit to the doctor's with a sick son, picked up his medicine, and "cleaned house" again. I went to bed resolved to enjoy tomorrow, which would need to be a full day of cooking.

Wednesday, I knew I was in it for the long haul; I just didn't know how long that was. At 9:30 am, when I discovered the 20.5 pound turkey had been frozen instead of refrigerated, I had a small inkling.

After googling "how to defrost a turkey in a hot hurry", I put the bird in a five pound bucket with cold water. Then I took a deep breath as I committed to changing the bird bath every half hour until 10 pm. 

Next, I cooked up a storm. But with all the interruptions to wash hands, change diapers, pour milk, answer the phone, resolve conflicts, wipe spills, make meals, nurse my baby, and give love, the "storm" was more like a mild spring zephyr. 

By 9 pm, I had made an apple pie and a pumpkin pie (both with crusts from scratch), the dough for our dinner rolls, sweet potatoes, corn casserole, the sautéed vegetable for the stuffing, and the brine for the thawed bird. 

I took a break to nurse the baby while my husband gave me an hour long foot rub. I actually cried while he did that because I had no idea how badly my feet hurt until he took off one of my socks. 

At 10 pm, after placing the bird in the brine with gallons of ice water, I started cleaning the kitchen. And by 12 am, I headed to bed.

This morning our children came into our room shouting, "Happy Thanksgiving!" in their merriest, most contagious voices, and after gathering them around for prayer, we started our holiday.

With great execution and precision (and a hearty helping of husband assistance), I pulled off the roasting of the turkey, the cooking of the stuffing, and the baking of the side dishes. Remarkably, everything was ready to go at the same time.

But then I got a surprise from the bird. When I took his temperature, he read 181 degrees. But when we cut him open, he was still bloody. Deflated and starving, we put him back into the roaster for another ninety minutes. Meanwhile, I watched my sides go cold and tried to keep my children from eating treats and/or their fists.

In the end, I can say that this Thanksgiving was the best one I've ever had. But I've learned a valuable lesson.

Next year, we'll start with pie, end with mashed potatoes, and give the bird the bird.