March 28, 2024

Gobble up! It’s Bill Murray Day!

“A pumpkin! Mama, look! Pumpkin! Pumpkin!”

“That’s not a pumpkin, baby. That’s Bill Murray.”

My 2-year-old was not convinced.

“Pumpkin! Pumpkin! Pumpkin!” he repeated, bashing his pointer finger into my magazine at the picture of the “SNL” alum.

My son is slightly obsessed with pumpkins. Not jack-o'-lanterns. Pumpkins. Nothing has brought him more delight in his short life than our neighborhood's Halloween decorations. In the week that followed the haunted holiday, my son became quite distraught by the disappearing squashes. He would look up with his puppy eyes, questioning, Where have all the pumpkins gone? Cue Pete Seeger song.

But now, finally, he had found his long lost love in the periodical I was paging through. Only it wasn’t a pumpkin. It was Bill Murray.

I found an actual picture of the orange squash and said, "Here, baby, that's a pumpkin."
My son took the photo and giggled excitedly, slurring words under his joy, "Bill Murray."

Good gravy.

As a first-time mom experiencing such a bizarre switcheroo, I came to the natural conclusion that my son has a neurological disorder. Perhaps it’s some form of synesthesia, but rather than hear music when he sees letters or smell bacon when he digs in the dirt, my son associates gourds with Ghostbusters. Or if it’s not symptomatic of sensory processing issues, perhaps some unknown brain trauma to my child has created this odd holiday confusion. We’re celebrating Halloween, but he thinks it’s Groundhog Day. Bill Murrays everywhere!

I know what you’re thinking. 1) A disorder that made you see Bill Murrays at every door come late October would be awesome, but 2) I’m just a neurotic mom, and my son does not have said disorder or brain damage.

And you may be right. But if you’re wrong, the Thanksgiving holiday may cause some serious issues. For instance, what if his brain problem-thingy is real and he confuses Turkey Day with Easter? Sure, it seems cute when he is breaking open the rolls thinking they are Easter eggs and expecting to find jelly beans inside. But what if he confuses the turkey with something else? Watching Mom carve into a 20-pound Easter Bunny is the kind of trauma you don’t bounce back from!

If his confusion stems from some weird sensory association between Bill Murray and pumpkins, how will my son feel about being served his Thanksgiving pumpkin pie? Is it cannibalism? Might he report us to the police? Or will the pie be all the more delicious because it’s seasoned with Murray’s improvisational wit and humor?

Is this simply a gourd issue, or do my son's potential problems extend to all Thanksgiving vegetables? Are the yams Justin Bieber? The green-bean casserole Vladimir Putin?
Friends and family have unanimously discouraged me from getting my son tested (or I'm sure they would if I dared to ask), but I have found solace in knowing that this Thanksgiving will be relatively free from trauma. This year, we're skirting tradition — and ordering pizza. Yes, pizza.
Why, you ask? It's simple math, really.

Turkey Day has always been about family, friends and football. My husband and I moved away from family long ago, and over the past two years, our beautiful group of friends, our surrogate family, has moved away from us. Of the required family, friends and football, we have been left alone on Thanksgiving with the pigskin. And where there is just football, there is pizza.

I do wonder sometimes whether this year’s festive faux pas is destined to become one of the defining moments of my son’s childhood. Will he grow up weird because he never had to sit around the table and listen to Grandpa’s endless stories about ear hair? Will he be diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder for not ingesting copious amounts of sedatives known as turkey during his formative years?

Then I think about how fabulous it will be to not spend the day in the kitchen. Watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in pajamas with my baby, eating scrambled eggs and Stove Top stuffing for breakfast. Sure, ordering pizza seems lame. That is, until I use cookie cutters to cut out turkey shapes from the pizza pie! So fun! We will have marshmallows without the yams! Cornbread without the corn! Thanksgiving without the trauma!

Well, potentially free of trauma. Let’s be honest; it’s not Thanksgiving without a warm slice of Bill Murray pie.