Thanksmas, What’s That?

How we solved the holiday-schedule math problem by inventing our own holiday.

Let me explain why there’s a Christmas tree in my living room in October. With ornaments, lights and everything on it.
It started, like most family traditions, with a problem that needed solving.
When our two daughters married and started having kids, the annual holiday negotiation began. You know the one. Who gets Thanksgiving, who gets Christmas, whose in-laws get which weekend, and how do you explain to a four-year-old that Santa knows to find them at Grandmommy’s house this year. Fair and egalitarian — and exhausting for everyone involved.

When Schedules Collide

I don’t remember exactly what forced it, but one year the schedules collided and we had to combine everything into a single Thanksgiving weekend. Thursday was Thanksgiving. Friday was Christmas. Saturday, everybody went home.
Our daughters loved it. Santa came to their house on Christmas morning, just like he was supposed to. No hauling your own family’s presents across state lines. No complicated conversations with small children about Santa’s GPS. Of course, they said, “this was great, can we do it again next year?”
We said yes.

We always say yes.

That was years ago. The grandkids are nearly all out of high school now, and Thanksmas isn’t going anywhere.

Here’s how it works at our house.

Thanksmas actually begins Wednesday evening, when the family starts arriving. Nobody is cooking a feast that night — that comes tomorrow. Wednesday is low-key by design: a pot or two of some special soup the grandkids love, maybe grilled cheese sandwiches to go with it, maybe a pizza. It’s relatively easy by Thanksmas standards — though Glenna would tell you “easy” is doing some heavy lifting in that sentence — and it lets everyone settle in, catch up, and save their appetite for what’s coming.

Thursday morning starts with breakfast before the real cooking begins. Nothing elaborate, just enough to fuel a kitchen crew. By mid-afternoon, we sit down to the feast — and I mean a proper one. Turkey and ham, dressing, mashed potatoes, green beans, two kinds of sweet potatoes (marshmallow top or pecan mix, and people have opinions), a cranberry citrus salad [Insert link to Easy Cranberry Salad post], rolls, and at least two pies. Much of it from scratch. All of it delicious.

That evening we play the cellophane ball game. If you’ve never heard of it, picture an enormous ball of cellophane wrap with small gifts and surprises tucked into every layer. You pass it around the table and unwrap as fast as you can, keeping whatever falls out, while the person next to you tries to roll doubles on a pair of dice — because when they do, the ball comes to them.

It can get competitive. It can get loud. It is absolutely great fun.

Friday is Christmas. It starts with a come-and-go breakfast — people drifting in from bedrooms, the local hotel, and our oldest daughter’s house just down the road. Two things are always on that table, no exceptions: miniature cinnamon rolls and sausage balls. Both disappear faster than you’d think possible. Other items rotate in and out, but those two are non-negotiable. [See link to Mini Cinnamon Roll post]
When everyone has arrived and eaten, we gather around the tree. Granddaddy makes the same joke every year: “Alright, this year we start with the oldest.” People politely laugh. We start with the youngest. One package at a time. By mid-afternoon we sit down again — beef tenderloin, heavy hors d’oeuvres, more pie.
Saturday, everyone goes home.

By the end of Black Friday, we have done every bit of our heavy lifting for the holiday season — a full week before December even arrives. No last-minute rushing. No scramble. Just leftovers in the refrigerator and a quiet house.
Thanksmas isn’t for everyone. But for our family, it has become the kind of tradition that nobody wants to give up — which is really the only definition of a tradition that matters.
So when we open the door for a trick-or-treater and a confused parent on the sidewalk says, “Look, they’ve already got their Christmas tree up” — don’t laugh. Just nod and say, “Oh, they’re decorating for Thanksmas.”
You’re right. We are.

By the end of Black Friday, my wife and I have done every bit of our heavy lifting for the holiday season — a full week before December even arrives. No last-minute rushing. No scramble. Just leftovers in the refrigerator and a quiet house.

Thanksmas isn’t for everyone. But for our family, it has become the kind of tradition that nobody wants to give up — which is really the only definition of a tradition that matters.

So when we open the door for a trick-or-treater and a confused parent on the sidewalk says, “Look, they’ve already got their Christmas tree up” — don’t laugh. Just nod and say, “Oh, they’re decorating for Thanksmas.”

What I Learned

Every year I’m reminded that traditions don’t survive because they’re perfectly planned — they survive because people keep wanting them. A few things this one keeps teaching me:

A logistics problem, solved well, can turn into the thing everyone loves most about the holidays.
“Easy” and “a lot of work” can both be true at the same time — ask Glenna.
The tradition isn’t static. What worked when the grandkids were little isn’t quite the same shape now that they’re teenagers and young adults, and that’s all right.
Some years the hardest part isn’t the cooking — it’s watching a full house get quiet again on Saturday.

What’s Next

Thanksmas isn’t finished changing. As the grandkids get older, schedules get more complicated, not less — jobs, college, and eventually families of their own will all want a say in how this weekend works. Glenna and I already know a few things we’re wrestling with:

Whether Saturday departures might eventually stretch into Sunday, now that everyone’s a little more grown up and a little less ready to leave.
How the menu keeps evolving as tastes (and dietary needs) change across three generations.
Whether the cellophane ball tradition gets handed down to the next generation of kids at this table, or gets replaced by something new.

We don’t know yet what Thanksmas looks like in ten years. But we know it’ll still be worth showing up for.

Grace and Peace,

Scott Walker

GranddaddyCant.com