It’s nearly that time.

Tomorrow I will split my time—not necessarily equally—between tending to the kids, getting some work done, and hopefully doing enough meal preparation that I won’t be completely crazed on Thursday with cooking for a houseful of people.

Our preparation for our annual family trek back up north is in full swing, as well, complete with my car having developed a mystery ailment, and multiple discussions between my husband and myself about whether it might just be time to get a new car. You know, because this is the time of year that I like nothing more than spending a really big hunk of money.

Sorry; do I sound cranky? I guess I’m a little cranky.

Today, I’m thinking about all of the work I need to get done. About the assignment usually due on Thursday which (of course) I’m going to need to get done today, instead. About the client who has repeatedly ignored my advice on something which is now coming to a head, and about how saying “I told you so” isn’t particularly prudent (no matter how badly I want to). About the client who’s cutting back, and what that means for my bottom line. About the not-yet-client who keeps assuring me that they’re almost there, they’re almost ready to hire me, honest, but then goes back to radio silence every time I almost believe it’s true. About the pro bono work I did, expecting it to turn out differently, and about how my miscalculation now has me kicking myself. About everything my kids need; about how long it’s been since my husband and I had a conversation about nothing; about how long it’s been since I slept an entire night through.

Today my shoulders are up to my ears, and my outlook isn’t exactly sunny.

But tomorrow I will take several deep breaths and don my apron (stop laughing; I feel more official when I cook wearing an apron) and bliss out in the kitchen for a few hours.

It took me several Thanksgiving dinners to figure out the timing, but over the last couple of years I think I finally got it figured out. The approach is twofold: First, I make as many things the day before as I can. Second, I use a couple of crockpots.

And, you know, if that doesn’t work? I chuck cheese cubes at my guests and tell them the food is coming when it’s coming, simmer down.

So. Tomorrow I’ll make buttermilk mashed potatoes (to be heated in a crockpot the next day). I’ll prepare the pan of tarragon-maple sweet potatoes, and bake it for half the prescribed cooking time (to be finished after the turkey comes out, the next day). I’ll do all of the chopping prep for the carmelized onion and apple cornbread stuffing (to be baked in my other crockpot, the next day), and ready the green beans and red peppers for roasting. Plus I’ll make two kinds of cranberry sauce. (Traditional and this one, which was a huge hit last year.)

And then I’ll whip up the dough for the best rolls on the planet. I got this recipe from a dear friend, a while back, and I had my eye on it for Thanksgiving, immediately. I made a test batch a couple of weeks ago—my children thought they’d died and gone to warm bread heaven. Of course, I substituted in a cup of whole wheat flour, because it makes me feel more virtuous, and when I compared notes with Kira I discovered that she does exactly the same thing (proving once again that good friends are worth their weight in whole grains, or something).

I love that recipe because it’s delicious—don’t get me wrong—but I also love it because it requires a good, solid eight minutes of kneading.

Eight minutes of kneading is enough time to Get Into The Zone. It’s enough time to just breath, just smell the yeast and listen to the kids playing upstairs and maybe even listen to some music. It’s enough time to think about sharing good food with great friends, rather than obsessing over everything that needs to happen beforehand.

Is it any wonder my pants are a little snugger, these days? I’ve yet to find better therapy for a mind in overdrive than kneading bread. And (unfortunately) that tends to lead to, well, eating bread. Heh.

This too shall pass. And until it does, there will be warm bread to see me through.

Have a wonderful holiday weekend, everyone!