The stress of it all was heavenly. In time I was called to the holiday table, ate my fill and left dirty dishes at my place without so much as a backward glance. I returned to the den, watched the game and nap, then awoke to find a tray of snacks before me. American families have evolved so much in the past 20 years. Men now take children to dental appointments, do laundry, heat soup and admit they don't understand the Electoral College.
Women know how to use jumper cables, coach soccer and teach sons how to sew on their own buttons.
Yet for all that growth, on holidays we seem to revert to our old habits. Scientific studies show that 48 hours before any major holiday, many women experience an inexplicable hormonal surge. They become territorial about their kitchens and insist on preparing complicated recipes simply because years ago, a son or husband once said he liked it. Since I was first conscripted into the Womanly Holiday Workforce at age 12, I have dreamed about a Thanksgiving that required little more of me than my presence. No rising at dawn to put a turkey in the oven, no pre-Thanksgiving dessert baking day, no fretting about too much sage in the dressing or wrestling a dead turkey for the last of its flesh.