Now I lay me down to pray,

that I'll survive Thanksgiving Day.

That the special dinner I agreed to host,

won’t make me a laughing stock on post.

That I will keep hold of my sanity,

and have no outbursts of profanity.

That our turkey will completely thaw,

so that stuffing her won't require a hacksaw.

That the kids will happily play a game,

and won’t bellyache that the Macy's Parade is “lame.”

That hubby will assist when the moment is opportune,

and not disappear with shipmates to drink beer before noon.

That if guys must play football so they feel athletic,

no one will get tackled and require a paramedic.

That the turkey will fry to a nice golden brown,

without a conflagration that burns the base down.

That the beans will steam, the potatoes will boil,

and the gravy won't resemble a batch of crude oil.

That our friends won't mind if the cranberries are canned,

and when the smoke detector goes off, they'll all understand.

That everyone will gather at our table without haste,

before the mashed potatoes become wallpaper paste.

That the children will remember to put napkins on laps,

chew with mouths closed, and not feed the dog scraps.

That no one will giggle when we all say the blessing,

and my husband won’t grimace at the neighbor’s vegan dressing.

That while carving the turkey, a wishbone we'll find,

not the sack of giblets that got left behind.

That dinner conversation will be without drama,

and no one will bring up Trump or Obama.

That around our table, stories will be told,

about experiences we’ve had, both young and old.

About patriotism, honor, joy and strife;

about the laughter, wisdom and strength in military life.

That sharing our stories will help us to see,

that our sacrifices make America the home of the free.

And before we get too sentimental with tears in our eyes,

someone will remind us that we haven’t yet had pie.

That dessert won’t send me on a guilt trip,

because even store bought pie tastes good with enough Cool Whip.

That after dinner everyone will help clear the grub,

so I'm not left with a sinkful of dishes to scrub.

That while watching football, my husband will squelch

his manly urges to itch, scratch and belch.

And if the quarterback fumbles, he’ll turn a blind eye,

rather than throw the remote and let expletives fly.

That our friends won't linger because they've had too much booze,

or lay on our couch and take a long snooze.

Gathering with military friends was surely long overdue,

but they’ll politely take the clue and bid us adieu.

That they'll leave our house with just coats and umbrellas,

and not any symptoms of acute salmonella.

That we'll have a quiet moment to let tryptophan digest,

and agree that the day was one of the best.

And if we happen to go in for round two of the pie,

that we'll have Pepto Bismol in our supply.

Now, as I lay my head down to rest,

I pray that Thanksgiving Day will be blessed without stress!

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