Frumpy Mom: Packing everything to go to Big Bear for Thanksgiving

As I’m writing this, I’m starting to pack for our cabin weekend in Big Bear. This seemed like a good idea at one time, until I realized all the things we have to haul up there to make life pleasant.

I need Cheetah Boy to get one of my seven camping coolers out of the garage so I can fill it with food to eat between Wednesday night and Sunday. Yes, I have seven coolers. Doesn’t everybody? Trying to explain why I have seven coolers would take up the rest of this column, so let’s just say I misplace things.

I bought a bunch of frozen stuff like lasagna to go into the cooler, so there won’t be much cooking involved once we get up there. It will be a relief to get it out of the freezer because right now there’s so much stuff in there that it only closes if I slam it really hard. This makes the freezer groan with pain. Not a good sign. Do not piss off your refrigerator.

Everyone has heard that joke, “I don’t make dinner. I make reservations.” Well, in this case, I made reservations to take everyone out to have Thanksgiving dinner up at Big Bear, even though I don’t really have the money. My friend was supposed to come and cook with me, but she had to cancel. I don’t enjoy cooking alone, and the kids don’t cook, so we’ll go out to eat. However, I do like roasting a turkey, so I bought one on sale and put it in the oven yesterday morning.

This 15-pound turkey was frozen. I know, you’re mentally yelling at me right now that you can’t cook a frozen turkey. Well, yes, you can. You just have to cook it longer. It took six hours at 325. Was it delicious? No, it was not, although it was definitely edible. All I did to prepare this bird was to cut off the plastic wrap, rinse it off, slap it into a roasting pan and shove it in the oven. No basting, no stuffing, no putting garlic slices under the skin – none of my usual tender loving care. And I learned a lesson: You need that stuff.

I also discovered to my chagrin when I stuck my hand into the right drawer that my meat thermometer was broken – like every other one I’ve owned. What happens to these things? How do they always get broken? Do poltergeists slip into my house and wreck them? Does my son do something weird with them? I can’t imagine what, since he doesn’t cook. You could stab someone with it; otherwise, it’s now utterly useless.

So, with no meat thermometer, I couldn’t monitor the bird’s progress. That meant I had to wait until the little red timer thingy popped out (does that thing have an actual name?), which it did after about six hours. Unfortunately, at that point, the bird was slightly overcooked. Oh, well, it will still be good for sandwiches and soup. I can’t freeze any of it because (see above) my freezer door already won’t close.

I took the meat off the bones, put it in the fridge for sandwiches and tossed the rest into the Instant Pot for soup.

So I had my Thanksgiving dinner backwards, with the leftovers first. This worked out fine, because my big gripe about going out to invariably expensive holiday meals is that you have no leftovers to munch the next day.

But I digress. In addition to the cooler full of frozen edibles, I have learned that it’s going to be cold up in Big Bear, which is around 8,000 feet in altitude. I hate to be cold – yet another reason to wonder why I thought this trip would be a great idea. But it won’t be all that cold, above freezing at least, and no rain or snow forecast.

So that means packing warm clothes and extra blankets. Then, of course, I don’t know exactly what the kitchen of this cabin contains. On one memorable trip, we arrived at a rather pricey condo in San Felipe, Baja, to discover the kitchen was completely bare. Like, there was a coffee maker but not a single cup or spoon. Were we supposed to drink it straight from the carafe? Really, just do not mess with my morning coffee. I can forgive other things, but not that.

So I feel like I need to bring cooking pots and utensils since I have no idea what is up there. And what about soap? And shampoo? Dish soap? A sponge? Paper towels? Chapstick? Extra toilet paper? Tissues? This is why I like hotels. They give you everything you need and if you’re missing something, they go get it for you.

My favorite thing about these kinds of rental places is how they charge you a $150 cleaning fee and then send you dire warnings about how everything needs to be immaculately clean when we leave. I always do clean thoroughly, but really? That’s annoying. What’s the $150 for? Washing the sheets, I guess. For $150, I’d happily wash my own sheets.

In a burst of motherly enthusiasm, I bought some new board games to bring up, including Operation, Sorry and Trouble. Those three titles seem to go together, don’t you think? I realize that I’ve had all of the above. I’m hoping I can get everyone off their phones long enough to play. We’ll see what happens.

We’re supposed to leave at night and luckily we live in an area that doesn’t have much holiday traffic. OK, that’s a joke. I’m just girding my loins for the ordeal.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Want to contact me? My email is mfisher@scng.com