Thanksgiving weekend is upon us, and I am cooking nothing. But I do wonder what my mother-in-law is making.

Meanwhile, the boys hope that their aunt and uncle will take them to see the new Harry Potter movie because, when it comes to Harry Potter movies, their own parents metamorphose into a tagteam of sarcasm. James hopes to drive the family car down Route 95. Paul hopes to consume as much roasted fowl as possible. I hope I'll be dancing romantically to jukebox Bruce Springsteen tunes with my kindergarten nephew. Tom hopes to sleep late and drink Scotch. And the poodle hopes that we will never, ever leave her, and that no one will make her walk down any slippery staircases.

Here's hoping that you, too, have a cheerful, foolish, affectionate holiday.