The mini-Martha Stewart, who crafted size-appropriate, hand-laminated, dry-erasable name cards for our feast.
The freakishly coordinated and uber artistic almost-four-year-old, who scrawls hand-print fowl on any blank sheet within view.
The freakishly coordinated and uber artistic almost-four-year-old, who scrawls hand-print fowl on any blank sheet within view.
The shortest yet spunkiest dude in the first grade, who is currently on track to seize the prize for most play dates in a single week.
The sweater-wearing, football-loving, family-adoring husband, who will be in town just long enough to bake my favorite apple pie and expertly roast the turkey, before jetting off to "exotic" middle-eastern locales.
Miss "I want to be an indoor kitty. No an outdoor kitty. No, wait. Indoor. Outdoor."
And Miss "I can't be bothered to look up for a photo."
They're turkeys. Every one. And I'm thankful they'll be feasting at my house tomorrow.
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