We are the family you don't want to invite for Thanksgiving. I am a kosher vegetarian. The ChickieNob wants to dip everything in cranberry sauce and dribble it across your table. The Wolvog not only doesn't eat certain foods but he will not sit at the same table with those consuming salad, noodles, or cereal. Which leaves good old Josh. Perhaps you want to extend your invitation solely to him.

The President-Elect probably hadn't left Grant Park before the first slang terms started popping up in the Urban Dictionary. Even the Huffington Post grasped onto a concept that came into play that night--the baby boom predicted for August 2009--Obama Babies.

We should talk about this now because the Christmas decorations were in CVS even before the Halloween candy went to half price and Thanksgiving menus were being sketched out this week while electoral votes were being counted. Welcome to the lead up to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years--or a little time period I like to call the Infertility Minefield Trifecta.

When Josh and I got engaged, we drew up a Tenaim, which is a Jewish engagement contract. In the old days, it spoke about the dowry and the date of the wedding and what happens if we decided to break off the engagement. Our Tenaim contained all of the things that were important to us at the time--all of our intentions for the marriage.

There's something strange about a holiday where the craft projects center on the animal that you're about to consume to show your thankfulness. It seems a little cruel, no? Big fat dead turkey in the center of the table surrounded by preschool-versions of happy turkeys, oblivious to their fate, created out of handprints and construction paper. I think it's sort of time to get beyond the hand turkey.