Thanksgiving at Home: Pies, Parades & a Healing Husband

This year, Thanksgiving looked a little different in our house—and honestly, I think that’s exactly what made it so perfect.

Instead of the usual rush of who’s bringing what, who’s sitting where, and trying to squeeze five different side dishes into the oven at the exact right second, we slowed everything way down. For once, Thanksgiving wasn’t about the schedule. It was about the moments.

With my husband recovering from hip surgery, our plans simplified themselves. No big gatherings, no frantic hosting—just us, the kids, the dog circling the kitchen like she had a job to do, and the humbling reminder that sometimes the most meaningful celebrations happen when life forces you to sit still.

And sit still we did—right into the couch—watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in our pajamas. Coffee in hand, blankets everywhere, half-watching the floats while I peeled potatoes and measured spices for pies. There’s something about that parade that brings out the kid in all of us. Even the teenagers wandered in and out of the room pretending they weren’t watching… but I saw them smile when Tom Turkey floated across the screen.

In the kitchen, the real magic happened. I committed to homemade pumpkin pie—like actual from-scratch pumpkin pie—and our traditional apple pie, the ones that make the whole house smell like cinnamon and quiet joy. There’s something therapeutic about rolling out dough, pressing the edges just right, brushing on that little bit of egg wash that makes you feel like you have your life together (even if you absolutely don’t).

While the pies baked, the house filled with warm, familiar smells. The scent of “home.” The kind of smell that makes the kids wander into the kitchen asking, “Is it ready yet?” even though everyone knows Thanksgiving pies are a later thing.

Meanwhile, my husband camped out in his recovery spot, bundled up with pillows and a rotating system for ice packs. Every time I looked over, I saw a man trying very hard to pretend he didn’t mind being sidelined for the holiday. But the truth is, I think he loved the slow pace too—the chance to just be, surrounded by family, no expectations, no rushing.       

Dinner was simple but comforting, exactly what we needed. And the best part? The leftovers. So many leftovers. I’m talking turkey & ham for days. Pie for breakfast. Random combinations of stuffing and rolls showing up at every meal. That magical post-Thanksgiving stretch where you barely have to cook because the fridge is doing all the heavy lifting. Honestly, it feels like a holiday bonus.

We didn’t dress up. We didn’t host a big crowd. We didn’t have a table overflowing with every Pinterest-pretty dish under the sun.

Instead, we had cozy blankets.
Homemade pies.
The parade.
Kids who were actually relaxed.
A healing husband who got to rest without missing out.
Leftovers that will carry us well into the week.
And a day that reminded me that Thanksgiving isn’t ever about perfection—it’s about presence.

Slow. Simple. Sweet.
Kind of like the perfect slice of pie.

And honestly?
I think this might be my new favorite way to do Thanksgiving.