Early in our romance, my husband and I decided to host big family, holiday dinners. I just needed to learn how to do it without losing my cool. This year, I crushed the meanest monkey mind with biking — and some butter.

The year I turned 40, I did a big bike ride with my Uncle Dizzy. Our goal: 75 miles on one summer day. He had biked the “Pedal to the Point” event, riding from Cleveland west to the Cedar Point amusement park in Sandusky, to raise money for multiple sclerosis research and treatment. 

I once biked across Maine in a similar, three-day event. So for a few years at family Christmas Eve gatherings, over our plates of meatballs and cocktail shrimp, Uncle Diz and I chatted about doing the Ohio event together.

Then it was time. 

Back in central Pennsylvania, as soon as the weather warmed, I started riding my black Schwinn cruiser on country roads beside beautiful creeks and farm fields, adding five miles to my rides each week. By the high heat of late July, I’d worked up to 65-mile solo rides. 

The early August day of the Cleveland ride brought high humidity and blistering, dangerous 95-degree heat. The kind that warps the air into waves above the asphalt and makes the cornstalks appear to sway in their tidy rows. 

In the cool dawn, Uncle Diz picked me up at my mom’s house and helped me load my bike and gear into the bed of his shiny new pickup truck, beside his bike. We headed to the starting point.

As we pedaled and ticked off our miles, we paced ourselves, drank lots of water, stopped at every snack tent for a break.

Ohio is flat terrain. On the only big hill, I down-shifted and dug in. My stamina and strong legs pedaled me up, past lots of people groaning about the hill.

I’d trained on steep hills among the ridges and valleys of central Pennsylvania, building my strength with each sweaty ride.

I crushed that hill. I crushed the ride and my goal. And I felt fantastic. 

Training and Triumph to Battle Stress

That memory of triumph popped to mind the week of Thanksgiving, as I battled my holiday hosting stress.

Hosting is both a joy — and an endurance challenge. My big challenge is when stress over all of the pieces wears me out, makes me cranky, and derails the goal for my husband and I to take good care of everyone. 

Our family would be just fine with paper plates and plastic utensils. So this pressure comes from me, and my layers of internal pressure stack up higher than a seven-layer salad. 

Especially at Thanksgiving (the one in November), which is especially emotionally loaded.

There’s my desire for our home to look its very best and be its very cleanest. My motivation for the family time to be as delightful as all those Christmas Eves my aunt hosted. 

My eco-foodie desire to use the most flavorful, local ingredients. For every dish to be really delicious. 

The fresh ginger and an organic orange for the cranberry sauce. The pie apples from the local orchard. The prettiest table runner. 

I have a creative vision for how I want everything to taste, look and feel, all together. 

OK, I’ll confess. I want it all to be perfect — and therein lies the problem.

When No One Feels Cherished

I’ve noticed my husband frozen with shock, staring as my quest to find enough polished, good vintage silver dinner forks tipped me to tears.

I once body-blocked my mother-in-law just before she was about to set out ghastly, regular paper napkins instead of the proper, matching cloth ones. She was just trying to help. 

When guests arrive to a stressed-out host, no one feels cherished, or taken care of or comfortable — which is the opposite of what I want — my friend Elizabeth reminded me when we talked about my challenge. I knew she was right.

So this year, especially since we missed our big family Thanksgiving meal last year, I wanted to crush my stress, like I crushed that hill on that big bike ride, and nail the mission of a relaxed hostess giving a comfortable holiday meal.

It was time. I was determined. My training schedule was a big, prioritized prep schedule for the month of November. I asked for help. I adjusted my creative vision to allow for some paper plates for dessert. (Gold ones.)

I imagined how great it would feel to wake up Thursday morning with the smell of roasted turkey, and the table all decorated and set. My husband cooks the turkey overnight in a roaster, makes the mashed potatoes and works with my mom and I on the final push of serving all the dishes.

By the Sunday before Thanksgiving: Our big, 12-foot Amish wedding table was set up in our clean living and dining room. Ready! Let’s do this.

On Monday: Hello Monkey Mind 

I took my struggle to the page and used my writing time to dig for the source of this internal pressure, obsession and strive for perfection at our holiday table. 

The critical, irrational meanies, I realized, are in my own mind. Good news — I could control it.

Decades ago, I learned about “monkey mind” from Natalie Goldberg, a favorite author of books on writing who teaches strategies for tuning it out. For decades, I’ve used them as a pro writer.

If you have no idea what this means, well, I’m a little jealous. Let me explain.

A Buddhist teaching is that we all have the monkey mind of ongoing, mental chatter.

“Monkey mind” for some is the restless, insatiable inner critic — or a committee of critics. This Psychology Today article on calming monkey mind quotes Goldberg, quoting the term from Buddhism, and describes monkey mind as easily distracted and related to the ego.

These monkeys are mean and nasty. Their mantra becomes “not-good-enough, not-good-enough, not-good-enough.” And for me, that means no matter how early I start, this mantra drives me to fill the extra time to make it perfect — which is impossible. 

Short version: Monkey mind running amok will screw me every time. Every. Single. Freaking. Time.

Short version: Monkey mind running amok will screw me every time. Every. Single. Time.

Warriors Breathe, Play Music & Dance

Something about hosting holidays for me wakes up the meanest monkeys, loads them with Red Bull and opens their cages.

But — I realized, I already have lots of strategies like listening to music to squash the monkey mind. I function. I finish. I publish. So I wrote up 15 of those stress-busting strategies. Read about them here.

I’d set and crushed goals before, like standing on the TEDxPSU stage in front of hundreds of strangers to tell a deeply personal and painful story without notes, and completing that 75-mile bike ride with Uncle Dizzy.

So I knew I could be my own warrior against the monkeys. I’d have to keep them far away from the steering wheel, drown out their mantra with music and dance them back to their cages if they got rowdy.

But first, the big grocery shopping.

On Tuesday: Pie Crust Disaster

After hours of work, my pie crust crumbled under the rolling pin. Nothing I tried could save it. Throughout the year, I make gorgeous pies, kind of training for Thanksgiving. Apple. Cherry. Mixed berry. Peach. All with little designs and cut-outs of hearts and stars.

Maybe that pie crust sensed my anxiety. Now, I was frustrated, behind schedule and had no pies. I won’t lie: I cried a little. Then shook it off, took a break from the kitchen, got in the car and drove over the mountain to a favorite farmers market. 

I bought squash and brussels sprouts and garlic, then stopped at the big grocery store in search of pre-made pie crust. There — I cut a corner. Small victories!

But there was an empty space in the dairy section where the pre-made pie crust should be. My anxiety built as I waited for a kind clerk to check in the back for me. No luck.

My apple pies were to be the dairy-free dessert option. 

So I bought a fresh batch of shortening sticks — and two more pounds of butter. OK – the butter made no sense — but I just felt better at the thought, and tossed the butter into my basket. The monkeys had the wheel.

I bought a fresh batch of shortening sticks and two more pounds of butter.

OK, the butter made no sense.

But I felt better at the thought, so tossed it into my basket.

I swung by Trader Joe’s, found the frozen pie crust and looked around for signs against hoarding, then tossed four boxes into my basket. Back home, I read “contains milk” on the package, stuffed them in the freezer, put the shortening sticks in the refrigerator, and called it a day. 

On Wednesday: The Scent of Victory

On Wednesday, I was fresh for the battle. Victory would be mine. I’d trained for this over many years of holiday hosting. Now, the monkeys were really pissing me off. I blamed them for the pie crust problem and imagined them as the winged monkeys from the Wizard of Oz.

Even the Wicked Witch of the West could be melted with a bucket of water. Surely, something could melt the flying monkeys. Why not butter?! I imagined pelting the monkeys with the extra sticks of butter. The monkeys vaporized.

I posted my stress-beating strategies, to focus on my game plan.

I made a new batch of dairy-free pie crust with extra-cold shortening, carefully cut in and it rolled out beautifully. The Trader Joe’s pie crust cracked into many pieces, but I patched them together, made it work and baked the pies — with tiny heart cut-outs. Done!

I made the fresh cranberry relish with oranges and ginger. Done!

I finished the final round of cleaning and washing floors, before my mom and stepfather arrived from Ohio with their dog. I took a break to relax with them. My husband picked up takeout for dinner, then I tackled the stuffing. As the music played loudly, I made a double-batch of stuffing and then dug in and pushed myself to polish the silver.

Setting the table would have to wait until the morning. Winding down and getting a full night’s rest was more important. As I slept, the turkey cooked in the roaster while my husband napped.

Thanksgiving Morning

On Thanksgiving morning: The smell of roasted turkey! Thankyou, my dear, sweet husband. I promised myself I would breathe, stay present and calm, and enjoy the day. The dogs and I took a short walk outside. The chilly air gave way to warmth. 

I played more music and scrambled to finish the silver, set the table and pull out the rest of the serving pieces. 

All the prep was relatively calm and organized. It can always be smoother. Our tall, grown-up “boys” helped my husband and mom in the kitchen with all the little, last-minute things as my mom made the mushroom gravy. They reached things high up on shelves my short mom can’t reach.

I don’t know how my mom does it, but she takes over the stove and makes a pile of brussels sprouts with bacon and a load of mushroom gravy. 

For me, that was the best, most joyful part: Our family working together in the kitchen. 

The best, most joyful part: Our family working together in the kitchen. 

I finished the flowers for the dining table at our kitchen table, listening to the people I love with all of my heart chatting and cooking together behind me, then took some time to get ready. Even mascara this year! 

My mother-in-law arrived with light snacks. She dressed the kitchen table for the little kids and read my checklist of menu items.

When the little kids arrived, we were ready to go and our family served our extended family a lovely meal. All the food turned out well. My mom had brought a gorgeous pumpkin cheesecake. The little kids loved their special table with their own tablecloth and flowers. The big kids played with the little kids after dessert. Precious.

Beautifully Imperfect & Thoroughly Enjoyable

It was … beautifully imperfect. We worked together to give each other a warm and special holiday experience — one I thoroughly enjoyed.

Last week, I crushed the meanest monkey mind, and learned a lot. Bring on Christmas.

This Thanksgiving brought much insight for the next rounds of hosting — and a lot of leftovers. Too much.

So next year: One batch of stuffing. One pie, starting with wicked cold shortening. Shop the farmers market the week before. I made notes, and stuffed them in my 2022 calendar. Would you help me remember?! 

A big bike ride challenge in 2022 also sounds pretty good. There’s time to train before the Thanksgiving prep begins. Who’s with me?!

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