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I think I’m ready. My in-laws arrive in two days and I have secured the following: a turkey, my first big girl apron and a full rack of wine. Plus, I splurged on overpriced house cleaners. Seriously, who has time to clean the toilet or the plantation blinds? I have holiday charm to cultivate and green beans to prep.

The Husband and I are hosting his parents and brother for the first time in our Austin home. Correction: they have been here before, but we were still unpacking boxes and definitely not preparing a holiday spread. Now, I’m a mid-thirty(ish) woman- certainly I’m not fretting over the feast. I must have experience with ovens and gravy boats and the like, right? Here’s the deal: I can cook, but I don’t do big meat or elaborate meals. It wasn’t until two years ago, after I hooked up with The Husband, that I prepared my first Turkey dinner and ate off of my own plates. I know. It’s kind of a shocker, but not only am I a stepmom, I’m a stepkid, so I’ve spent the entirety of my life starting the grubfest in one house (pass the rolls, please) and then traveling across town to finish it at another (just a slice of pie, if I may). I’ve never cooked the meal- I just show up to eat it.

I can cook, but I don’t do big meat or elaborate meals.

But, now I live in Texas with my new family and my original still lives in California. On one hand, I’m relieved (although I will miss them) not to have to do the schlep this year, except that means I’m responsible for refilling the nut bowls and keeping everyone happy. When the conversation gets stale, I don’t get to say, “Okay everyone, I have to go now. I’m off to the next stop.” No Maam, I have to stay put and keep the party going.

I wrote earlier this month about my T-day hostess panic attack and the pressure to be perfect. That neurosis lasted about a week, or until I went to my therapist. Side note: I highly recommend everyone make time for just one hour of T-day therapy. In fact, I think insurance companies should work out some kind of deal with grocery stores. Every stressed family that brings in a signed note from their doctor gets a free turkey or at least a can of minced meat.

Here’s what a little deep thinking did for me: The Thanksgiving meal is the perfect opportunity to celebrate imperfection because everyone has a different way of preparing a very specific menu. Take potatoes for example. Do you like yours whipped, smashed, made with buttermilk or skim? Do you put things in them, like garlic and seasoned salt, or are you more of a purist? I like and respect family tradition (there’s something very comforting about it), but I also dig the idea of mish-mashing contradictory habits together to form new ones. And it makes the job of hostess much more fun. It becomes more arty and less controlling.

I highly recommend everyone make time for just one hour of T-day therapy.

I was worried that my Southern relatives would have very particular expectations based on their cultural tastes and that I would disappoint them. Thankfully, my therapist smartened me up. “You’re acting like there’s a right and a wrong way to do things, she said. According to who?”

Excellent point.

So, here’s what I did. I gave every member of the family an assignment. My mother-in-law’s in charge of gravy, father-in-law’s handling the sweet potatoes and my brother-in-law’s responsible for stuffing. The Husband is taking on the turkey. Make it however you want to make it, were my only instructions.

To really drive the message home, I’ve posted a big sign on our fridge declaring the kitchen a “Perfection Free Zone” and I’m much more relaxed about the upcoming festivities and truly jazzed about what everyone’s going to bring to the table.

I’m making a gingerbread cake, apple cobbler, cranberry-apricot relish, green beans with roasted garlic and a wilted spinach salad. I may not be a perfectionist, but I’m still an over-achiever.

Have a happy holiday everyone! Photo courtesy of Sang An and Real Simple