The year we made our first turkey dinner for Thanksgiving, we got up at the crack of dawn and began chopping, slicing and dicing onions, carrots and celery to get ready for our afternoon feast. As newlyweds, we confidently assured ourselves that we could manage this task. How hard could it be?

We had no idea.

As we processed mountains of vegetables for the gravy and stuffing, we watched Thanksgiving parades on the portable TV wheeled into the tiny kitchen area. We wrestled the turkey into the kitchen sink, sliding it from its plastic packaging. When we were sure it was thawed, we stuffed it with my mother’s signature stuffing, popped it into a roasting bag and slid it into the oven. Whew!

But we still had a lot to do, mashing potatoes and preparing vegetables, cranberries and other side dishes. We added a leaf to our kitchen table, where we would seat eight people—my parents, younger siblings and us.

Somehow, we cooked our way through that day (with countless calls to my mom!), and the meal turned out well. As I carved the turkey and laid out the side dishes, my siblings and parents teased me about my June Cleaver-like attire, consisting of a fall-themed blouse and skirt with pearls.

The only glitch I remember surfaced when it was time to open the wine. No corkscrew! Fortunately, we were 10 minutes away from my parents’ home, so my dad went home to get his. Santa gifted us with a corkscrew in our stocking that year!

That Thanksgiving we gained new respect and gratitude for our mothers and everyone who had prepared turkey dinners for years.

God bless all of our Thanksgiving cooks—and may we all pitch in and give them a hand!