But I Digress: The Great Family Potato Uprising

Five days before Christmas, my mother phoned me and asked me to bring mashed potatoes for the Christmas table. I agreed, potatoes being among my favorite things.

My husband’s parents were staying with us. The routine was to spend Christmas Eve with my in-laws, Christmas morning with my father and his family, and Christmas afternoon with my mother and stepdad.

It would be a full house at Mom’s place, so I decided that, instead of buying Idaho potatoes which needed to be peeled, I’d get and make thin skin red potatoes which didn’t.

My mother called on Christmas Eve to pin down some details. As she was about to hang up, she said she was sorry I had to do so much work peeling and mashing the potatoes.

“No problem, Mom,” I said. “I’m making the red potatoes that don’t need to be peeled.”

There was a muffled gasp on the other end of the line. “What?! Why, the family will be up in arms! They’ll never accept that.”

“Mom, we’re talking about potatoes. They’ll taste perfectly fine.”

I can't tell the difference.

“Never mind, I’ll make them.”

“It’s Christmas Eve! It’s going to be a mob scene at the store. These potatoes will be perfectly. . .”

“I’m making them and that’s final,“ Mom said as she slammed the phone down.

My father-in-law had been standing by, eavesdropping on this conversation.

“Well,” he said, “I understand what she means, potatoes have to be just right . . .”

“Too bad for you, then, because you’ll be eating these every day you’re here.”

Christmas morning, I still couldn’t believe how strange my family was about potatoes. We headed over to my father’s house at around 10:30 and by the time we got there everyone was eating from the buffet and drinking wine. I found myself standing next to my sister-in-law.

“You know, I just don’t understand why the family is so upset about the potatoes.”

“What potatoes?” she asked