November, 2010

Thanksgiving Is An Emotional Holiday.
People Travel Thousands Of Miles
To Be With People They Only See Once A Year.
And Then Discover
Once A Year Is Way Too Often.
(Johnny Carson)

Early on in our relationship, Ducky and I came to an understanding regarding holidays. I would go ape over Halloween, he'd go overboard on Thanksgiving, he'd take the lead on Christmas and I'd do the same on Easter. Worked pretty well the first two years of our relationship (even if the very first tree he found for the store put me in sticker shock for the day).

Ducky is the undisputed king of Thanksgiving and Christmas. After Lexi was born, there was some rumbling in the jungle that, now that Ducky had a 'real' family, the NCIS crew would be celebrating elsewhere. I don't know what he said to whom (some things are better off left in the dark), but everyone was at the table for both Thanksgiving and Christmas… and we nudged tradition even more by getting my parents, Ray, Barb and their tribe as well as Lily, Ev and Charlie under the roof. It was crazy, it was chaotic—and we had a blast. And it set a precedent for the coming years. (Barb never said a word, but I think deep down she was glad to have a few years off and just show up with her signature pies.)

Lexi didn't get a chance to really enjoy her first Thanksgiving (not even three months old; turkey and stuffing was out of the question). She made up for it the next year. Granted, for every bite that went in her mouth, two fell to the floor… but she was a big hit with Foot and the dogs.

The year she turned two, she bugged us nonstop to be allowed to lead grace. We figured it was the short and sweet one they used at church before the kids got their juice and animal crackers at snack and, hey, it beat having my dad say the blessing. (Normally he is only slightly chattier than Gibbs is. But you hand him a wine glass and stand him up at Thanksgiving or Christmas… and you'll be having cold turkey and congealed gravy for supper. Mother—Victoria, that is—got him to cut to the chase the first year. After five minutes of extemporaneous musings on the love of family, traditions, holidays and so forth, she turned to Gibbs. "Matthew, will you arrest him? I wish to eat." At least she didn't ask Gibbs to shoot Daddy.)

So we said yes. She spent the week waddling around the house, muttering under her breath and looking very intent. She looked so much like Ducky does before testifying in court, I had to bury me face in the tea towels to muffle my laughter.

Thanksgiving dinner was a marvel. The turkey was perfectly browned, the gravy was lumpless (the potatoes weren't—we like 'em that way). Abby had brought her killer cranberry sauce—we had enough food to feed a small nation. Which was a good thing; our crowd is verging on one.

While I resisted the temptation to snag a roll and stuff it in my mouth (I was starving), all eyes turned on the toddler seated on the booster seat next to me. Showtime.

She folded her hands neatly and stared at her plate. After a couple of nudges, everyone followed suit and bowed their heads. Silence.

In ringing tones came, "Ovah the teeth and pass the gums, wook out tummy heah it comes!"

Silence. Different kind of silence. My head jerked up and I stared at Ducky at the end of the long table. He looked the way I felt—stunned, shocked (and trying to not laugh). I don't know why, but we both looked at Gibbs.

Gibbs, however, was looking at Tony DiNozzo.

DiNozzo's hands flew up. "Not me! I swear it, Boss, it wasn't me!"

There was a sudden burst of laughter and we all turned to stare at my youngest nephew, Kevin. He was laughing so hard he couldn't even form words.

"Kevin…" my brother almost growled. Barb had her forehead in her hand and was beet red.

"I nev—nev—never thought—thought she'd—do it!" Kevin finally gasped out.

Just when I was afraid my brother and his wife would go home with one fewer in the car than they arrived with, there was a delighted giggle from next to Ducky.

"Oh, Donald!" Mother swatted at his hand with her napkin. "Don't you remember your first grace—"

"Dinner's served," I announced. I had never heard the tale—and, from Ducky's wince, I didn't want to. Not in public, anyway.