Happy Sangiving
Celebrating since my 20s
I love the idea of the holidays but celebrating them doesn’t come naturally to me. I often feel like I’m play-acting the role of a normal mom during this time of year. I mean, I understand why. Growing up, we didn’t have Thanksgiving dinner and even Christmas was sketchy. Santa visited me only once and judging by the Kraft paper wrapping, my name handwritten on a corner, I suspect it was Papi’s first wife who left that doll for me. She and her second husband were visiting the night before, on Noche Buena.
(My dad was married four times. It’s a story for another day.)
By the time my husband and I had our kids, though, I’d committed to creating different holiday memories. These “kids” are now 25 years old so we’ve had some practice in the art of holiday celebrating. Thanksgiving 2025 was just a few days ago and it was perfectly imperfect. At various points throughout the day I stopped to admire this beautiful family that my in-laws created: Sons plus their wives and kids and a handful of husbands and boyfriends. There was even a great-granddaughter. And, of course, my sister Irene. Annoying me as per usual but then making me double over in laughter. She’s a master at it.
I wasn’t hosting so I had time and mental clarity to do all this daydreaming.
For today’s post, I dug up a “Thanksgiving Diary” from 2012. This is not real writing…just my ramblings to capture what I felt was the beginning of our own perfectly imperfect Thanksgiving holiday traditions. I’d written it mostly for my brother, who didn’t join us; I wanted him to feel like he was with us. I guess I did a good job because he sent me a dozen LOLLLL texts. I’m sure he also gave me some version of, “yooooo, Patty, this shit is freaking funny!!!”
(I had to edit out a lot of the “freaking funny” stuff. Mami’s behavior isn’t fully fit for public consumption, lol.)
The twins were just 12 years old then, and their younger cousin, my brother’s son, Justin, traveled with Mami from Rhode Island. The Elderlies, our moms, couldn’t be more different but together, they paint a full picture of our combined families. Mami and my mother-in-law, Tomasina, are more fragile these days, so remembering this younger version of them makes me so thankful that I took the time to bang out this diary entry. Enjoy!
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NOT QUITE A CHAPTER, JUST A RAMBLE: Thanksgiving 2012
Good evening, my siblings. I’m sure you’re drunk somewhere so please read this tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY, Washington Heights, NYC
6pm:
Mami was supposed to arrive at 4pm but Gonzales decided not to pick her up. (She claims the dispatcher was on drugs.) Trailways wouldn’t have ditched her but Trailways also wouldn’t have brought her to the Heights so I pick my battles and wait.
7:30pm:
The esteen is pissing out 150 degrees’ worth of heat. I’m delirious. Where the freak is Mami?!
8:30pm:
La Puerta!! Por fin. “Ay, no, no, no, no. Este viaje no es facil!” says Mami. She’s clammy and wobbling as she drops all her crap on the sala floor. Justin, meanwhile, zooms in so quickly that we barely see him. It’s like he can smell that Brandon has a ball and an iPhone. Within three seconds, each boy is on a bed, throwing the ball at each other.
9pm:
Question: how does Mami eat without front teeth? Interesting. While I’m trying to figure that out she keeps interrupting my analysis with “Papo! Ven a comer!!” and “Ese niño no come. Despues yo le doy leche. Patricia, tu tiene papa en tu casa?”
10pm:
Time to go. Okay, picture us trying to get two diabetic senior citizens, one with vertigo and another with a bad knee, and three kids out the door, down the elevator, into the street and into a small SUV. The twins ask Titi if she’s coming to NJ and she just smiles all smug and says, “No, I’m going home to Sophia. It’s quiet time.” I wish I was going home to quiet house and a cute kitty.
I think we’re clear to go but Tomasina forgot her diabetes meds and has to go back up. (The lesson: Stay healthy and you’ll have less stuff to drag around.) In the meantime, we cram the boys into the truck. “Aww! My leg!” says one kid. “Shh, we’re almost home,” we reply, shoving a Mazola jug on each of their laps.
11pm:
Finally home. The Elderlies are happy except they’ve discovered that we’re out of coffee. Back out we go. I grab a Bustelo at Stop & Shop. I should’ve also grabbed a can opener because the Elderlies are now debating how to open the metal can. (We’re not can people, sorry!!) Mami slides a knife around the edges. I imagine her slicing her wrist with a sharp sliver. I’m really not in the mood to spend the weekend in the emergency room.
“Ma! Ten cuidado!”
“Que, Patricia!? Es que tu naciste en una cuna de oro. Yo no.”
I text Irene: “Apparently I was born in a golden crib.”
Irene: “Yeah, okay.”
11:30pm:
Back to the supermarket—we don’t have milk. But we’re back home now, and I need all these people to go to bed. The Elderlies bicker over who gets to sleep downstairs. I didn’t know that was the place to be. I drag Mami upstairs. The whole time she’s complaining that I need to put a gate on the top of the stairs. I say yeah yeah, I’ll put that on the list, and summon the kids to help me fix all these beds. Justin is stronger than he looks and is eager to help so we get everyone situated pretty quickly. We set all the right temperatures and I give everyone the peace sign.
“Goodnight Jr!”
“Goodnight Justin!”
“Goodnight Grace!”
“Goodnight Justin!”
“Goodnight Brandon!”
“Goodnight Justin!”
“GOOSENIGHT BEBES!”
“Goosenight Sexy!”
SHHHH. Goodnight!
THURSDAY, FRIED TURKEY DAY, New Jersey
7:30am:
What day is it? What time is it? Why is Jr up already? All I hear is blah, blah, blah...gas tank for turkey fryer...blah, blah. Back to sleep.
8:30am:
I’m woken up by my phone ringing and by the potent scent of Bustelo. Jr’s on the phone, asking if I want to go get Starbucks. I choose to go downstairs and demand coffee from the Elderlies. I find Mami and Tomasina bickering/talking about how much seasoning the turkey really needs. There’s also some bochinche because Mami wants to do laundry and Tomasina’s telling her they have more important chores today. Like making turkey.
Mami stares me down.
“Patricia, tu te bañaste?”
“Nope.”
“Es que son akerosas, Tomasina.”
9:00am:
Jr heads to the airport to pick up Christian. This news prompts Mami to tease Tomasina about her favorite grandson, which leads to talk about her favorite son, Victor.
“Ay, el bebe! MANOLOOOOOO!”
“Si, ese es mi bebe,“ says Tomasina with that Reynoso chuckle where they don’t really show teeth but shake their shoulders up and down.
I tell Mami that she’s no different with Papito. She doesn’t deny it.
9:30am:
The Thanksgiving Day Parade is on and to my shock, all three kids are sitting around watching it. Like, really watching it. Especially Justin. Then I realize that there are blonde cheerleaders flouncing around in short skirts so now I see why he’s so into it. Then one of the cheerleaders stumbles from the human pyramid and the kids think that’s the most hilarious thing they’ve ever seen. They rewind it five times, laughing even harder with each viewing.
10:00am:
Let’s see what the Elderlies are doing. Ok, here’s what I see. Mami in a red satin Hugh Hefner smoking jacket that hits her knees. It’s super shiny and boxy. “Rosi me lo dio,” she says, as if that explains why she’s wearing it without pants. Brandon comes in and in his broken Spanish tells Mami to put on pants because soon she’ll be flexing her leg at him. Which is exactly what she does. He squeals, Mami laughs and then Brandon runs to Tomasina for a comforting hug from his normal grandmother. I take a picture of both grandmas with Brandon. He’s happy as a clam and Mami is sticking her leg out.
I think that the leg pointing activated something in her because she starts acting truly bananas. She chases me with her diabetes needle and Justin saved me.
“Ven, Papo,” she says. Turns out she really needs her shot and Justin is the man to get it done. Invigorated by the insulin, she now decides to dance for the kids. I believe you had the pleasure of seeing that video.
11am to 2ish pm:
This is a blur of cooking activity and chaos. There’s a turkey in the oven, moro on the stove, potatoes boiling, wash washing. And oh--what’s this giant bottle of Strawberry Quick? It’s Justin’s liquid diet, didn’t you know? Mami insists that Justin “doesn’t eat” because, you know, he’s not human. In between all this, the kids start begging me to let them play video games before 12pm. Justin gives me the sad puppy dog look. He’s so good at it, with that little Bambi face and giant eyes. It almost works but I decide to put his Espaillat cleaning genes to good use. I tell him that they can play if Brandon’s room is spotless. Brandon zooms up and returns 15 minutes later. Suspicious, I head upstairs with Justin. I task him with doing a dust check.
He takes his job very seriously.
“Brandon, look at this dust! This isn’t good.” He runs his little finger along the dresser and shows it to me like I didn’t know it was there. My plan is working. “Titi, this dust isn’t good! Look at it here! And here!” I point out the spider webs by the window. “What’s a spider web?! Are there spiders in spider webs?” I grab a spider and show it to him.
“Wow. There are spiders in New Jersey.”
Yes, kid. There’s also silly dancing and prayer circles.
THURSDAY, FRIED TURKEY DAY, New Jersey
6:15pm:
“The cousins are here!”
Mami can’t believe how grown and tall her “amigo” is. Yes, that’s what she calls Jr’s nephew, Andres. “Mi amigo” as in, “Ay, mi amigo si esta grande! Como esta Amigo?”
You tell me. Cuando diablo has Mami talked to this 13 yr-old boy? Are they friends on Facebook? Let’s look into that. Andres is not only smart and athletic but polite as hell so he gives her a hug and smiles like you would smile at a senior citizen at a home.
The kids scurry off into the TV room to play video games or whatever it is they do.
7:00pm:
La puerta otra vez. It’s Victor/Manolo with his new girlfriend, Rosie. Mami checks her out from head to toe and declares her buenamosa. She gets Victor alone in the kitchen a few minutes later and asks when he’s having kids. I’m like, Ma, let him give me the wine he brought before you annoy him. He did the Reynoso chuckle and went to join his mother, who was all too happy to fawn over him.
“MANOLOOOOOO tiene hambre!” No, that’s not Tomasina but Mami. She says this with an arepita in her mouth, the crumbs hanging out by her lips. I catch Irene’s eye. “Why does she always have shit near her mouth?” Irene wants to know. Que se yo. Ask Justin. He gives her her insulin shots so maybe he knows.
7:15pm:
“Can we eat?” I wonder who’s asking. It’s Irene. Que milagro. “Come on, man, I’m hungry.” Suddenly everyone is so hungry, oh my god they’re going to die if they don’t eat right now.
What’s on the menu, you ask? Well, we have Jr’s fried turkey, or half of it as we’ve been picking at it all afternoon. There’s also roasted turkey; a ham from BJs’; arepitas; moro; crostini (some bougie bread/olive oil/tomato thing that Irene made); potato salad; stuffing and pasteles from a guy on 176th St.
Let me pause to explain that Jr worked hard for these pasteles. Not like in the kitchen, but in finding the guy who makes it. You can’t buy these things in the supermarket or restaurant. Instead, Jr knows a guy who makes them from his apartment in the Heights. He used to be reliably consistent during the holidays but Jr has trouble tracking him down this year. While I was in my office on Wednesday, talking about lipsticks, Jr was looking for this guy. He eventually tracked him down and bought two dozen of them, chicken and pork. Gold, I tell you, and Tomasina was keeping a close eye on them. “MANOLOOOOO, tu pastel!”
7:30pm:
The food is laid out and I’m surrounded by hungry wolves. But first, I need to make an announcement.
“Christian is with us today and since he’s a pastor now, we’re going to have him do the blessing.” People start groaning, Irene being the loudest. “But he’s a professional blesser!” I say.
Let’s do this fast.
Tomasina says she’s thankful for her sons, they are a maravilla. I catch my husband’s eye, smile, and give him a thumbs up for being a maravilla.
Finally, it’s Justin’s turn. “I’m thankful for my new baby brother,” he says. We all ooh and ahh and everyone jumps for their plates.
Whatever, let’s let these people eat.
8:30pm
Que hartura. I’m not eating again until next week.
8:35pm:
Let’s have pie!
8:36pm:
Rosie The Pretty Girlfriend made an apple pie and the minute everyone heard it was homemade suddenly they were apple pie afficionados. Que antojados! We have other pies and desserts but no. They must have this special pie.
8:36pm to 9:30ish:
Tomasina is officially done with any kitchen duties but Mami? Nope, she’s not sitting down. Instead, she keeps walking from the kitchen to the sala and back and forth, again and again. I plead with her to sit. She’s horrified at this suggestion. “Con este reguero?” she asks, pointing at my kitchen which looks like a kitchen that has been cooked in all day. There’s no reasoning with her so I let her be. Justin is walking around taking pictures of people with the disposable camera that I gave him. I stressed how important it was to capture good moments and to take good beauty shots of people. He took this job very, very seriously.
Suddenly, Justin materializes by my side and announces that there’s a special show. A show? I love it! “Yes, Titi, Brandon is going to play the drums and I’m going to dance. But we’re not ready yet so I’ll let you know, ok?”
OK! I announce that there’s a special show so everyone, let’s get upstairs. I don’t care how drunk or old you are--you’re coming up. A few minutes later, Justin gives me the go-ahead. Grace hands out tickets and we’re escorted to my home office, a.k.a. the waiting room. Mami wants to know what’s going on. I tell her to shhh that they’re rehearsing. She clearly doesn’t get it but she plays along. The door finally opens and we’re summoned inside.
10pm:
Show time! Brandon’s at the drums and he plays a set. I’m his biggest groupie, hollering like a loca with Mami dancing by the doorway. Next up: Justin is going to dance. His mom’s dancing is legendary so this I have to see. The boys give each other a secret signal and Brandon starts banging the drum. Justin is standing in the corner, by the window, and he’s ready. He gives the music a second to penetrate through his little body and suddenly the boy is possessed. He’s electrocuted. He starts doing some electric popping moves, like Justin Bieber mixed with Mr. Roboto. We can’t believe how confident this kid is. How smooth. He integrates a move where he whips off his lumberjack shirt. He keeps at it and adds this move where he sweeps his hands across his little head. Standing ovation!
Grace closes out the show with a tap-dancing routine. Ahh, I’m so proud of these kids! That was some Espaillat action right there!
10:30pm:
Now we want to dance. Jr’s been playing bachata and perico ripiao for Mami. She might have vertigo and diabetes, high blood pressure and missing teeth, but la señora can dance. She starts spinning around and clapping and doing the wiggly worm. I’m suddenly so touched. Juana Estephanie’s spirit in undeniable.
Till tomorrow, doggy dogs. Baby girl is tired.
Your writing took me back to that day. This is one of my favorite stories.