Thanksgiving Tomorrow, Preparation Triumph Today

 Thanksgiving Tomorrow, Preparation Triumph Today

By Lisa

Thanksgiving break arrived like a warm sigh. My daughters and I have been home all week — no lesson plans, no school bells, no frantic weekday choreography. Just slower mornings, shared coffee, and a growing list of holiday prep that we actually had the energy to complete. For once, the calendar felt like a gift instead of a countdown.

By 9 a.m. today, the house had officially become Mission Control. Today was the day we turned “we should probably…” into a tidal wave of done. Seven people are coming over tomorrow — family and friends who make holidays feel like home. With us, that’s ten total around the table, and we were determined to make the house feel as ready and welcoming as we’ve been imagining all week.

And let me be honest — last Friday’s maintenance spanking from Tom clearly did what it was meant to do. Not a moment of anger or sting of shame — just a grounding, adult-to-adult reset we both agreed on when stress was high. It quieted the mental noise, recalibrated me, and set the tone for action instead of overwhelm. Apparently, I needed a little structure delivered in a very traditional format to get myself realigned before the holiday marathon began.

Because today? I felt steady. Focused. Present. And weirdly unstoppable.

The laundry was our first victory — finished yesterday, which meant today we could enjoy having zero clothing crisis brewing in the background. Every sock, shirt, and sweater was folded, hung, and tucked away before the weekend even arrived. A small thing, maybe, but emotionally? Monumental.

Then the kitchen became my canvas.

The ham was seasoned, wrapped, and standing by — Tom’s non-negotiable preference, honored without hesitation. Muffins went next: fresh blueberry, warm, domed, and dusted with the kind of satisfaction that only homemade bakery energy can provide. The smell alone deserves its own Instagram account. I whipped together deviled eggs, creamy centers piped with precision, paprika sprinkled showing off for no reason other than joy. And olives? Yes — I officially spent part of my afternoon stuffing olives by hand, because apparently peace breeds whimsy in me.

While I was brining, whipping, and piping, the girls were wiping, sweeping, and surprising me.

They vacuumed the downstairs, scrubbed bathrooms, cleaned mirrors, polished furniture, and even straightened the formal dining room chairs in perfect alignment like they read my mind. They worked without complaint, phone distractions at a minimum, side-eye at absolute zero. I would’ve asked for their autographs if I wasn’t elbow-deep in deviled-egg filling.

I checked off the admin list too.

Packages labeled, stamps applied, mail officially sent — librarians of the postal world would give me a nod of respect. Then came Christmas prep: bins sorted, décor organized, and everything staged for Friday setup, which means we can dive into decorating later this week with intention instead of Christmas-crate chaos.

But the dining room? That was our masterpiece.

The long table stretched beneath the chandelier, set for 10, ready for the 7 extra chairs that will pull up tomorrow. Plates aligned. Glassware glinting. Napkins folded into tidy rectangles that whisper, I tried and I care. A centerpiece blooming with autumn warmth. Holiday music playing softly in the background, the soundtrack to productive love of home.

Then, at 5:30 p.m. sharp, the door clicked and in stepped Tom — work bag on one shoulder, softened smile already forming.

He didn’t need to ask. He could see it in the shine of the counters, the confidence of the chairs, the quiet cheer of the kitchen, and the overall lack of domestic panic.

He walked straight to me, leaned in while the girls were still upstairs doing whatever magical clean-teen things they do, and whispered in my ear:

“It looks like Friday’s maintenance spanking really grounded you, Lisa.”

I laughed under my breath, warmth blooming up my neck, equal parts caught and claimed in pride.

Then he added, softer still, eyes amused:

“I’m proud of you and the girls.”

The girls heard that part later — the proud part, not the whisper part — and they smiled like they knew in their bones they’d earned it too.

Tonight the house is calm, poised, fragrant with food prep, and set with expectation instead of stress.

Tomorrow we host.

Today we prepared.

And apparently… groundwork matters.

—Lisa 🧡