Dear God, thank you for my family.
Guideth my hand, Lord, as I roll out the dough to make some sexy-ass pies, and forgiveth me for using the term sexy-ass in this prayer.
Please, dear Lord, use thy divine powers to keep the kids from bickering in the car. Granteth me deafness so that I do not leap from my seat onto the New Jersey Turnpike. Maketh my husband remember that he driveth his entire family in the car, and letteth him not tailgate or speed.
Help me remember, Father God, to wear stretchy pants and a bulky sweater so that I may partake of all the stuffing.
Heavenly Father, I implore you keep relatives from detailing their health deficits, procedures and bowel habits while we eat. Let my father-in-law refrain from lecturing my children about any subject but most especially about healthcare and cleanses. Indeed, sweet, blessed Lord, let the word cleanse falleth from no one’s lips. Ever.
Grant us strength, oh God, to not discuss politics, since rage and frustration is antithetical to all that Charlie Brown hath taught me about Thanksgiving.
Lord my God, giveth me self-control to say no to a fourth slice of pie. Alloweth my sister-in-law to accept my offer to clean up after dinner so I am not a lazy, four-slices-of-pie kind of person and guilty of the sin of gluttony (and then cut me some slack when I am).
Please, Lord, let there be babies at this dinner, wherein I can commandeer them and snuggleth with them, giving their parents a chance to eat and me a chance to sniffeth their little heads. If thou canst giveth me a baby, Lord, please granteth me a hedgehog instead (as long as I’m here, dear Lord, I figured I’d ask).
Grant me happy conversation with elders, pleasantries with strangers and the fortitude not to eat all the stuffing myself.
And Lord, please accept my sincerest gratitude at the bounty thee hath granteth me.