Jill Thomas is a rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who believes life takes her where she needs to go, no matter the roundabout path.
A decade ago, my hubby Stormy and I owned two restaurants. The first year owning two restaurants was terrible and that first Christmas was especially odious.
We inherited some team members from the previous owner, who weren't stellar. All kinds of crazy things were happening daily. So, we decided to start fresh and let go of our entire staff (minus two) a month before Christmas.
Stormy and I worked relentlessly, day and night, just the two of us in a busy restaurant and losing money hand over fist because we had no idea what we were doing. We were so broke - credit cards bouncing, vendors yelling, the works.
We joked about wishing we owned a small fish and chips stand and could wear pirate hats. That joke kept us going.
I remember sitting on the sidewalk outside the restaurant two days before Christmas, close to midnight, after closing the restaurant, waiting for my ride. The tiny village of Fulford was aglow in Christmas lights. I felt stressed to the point of crying. To this day, Christmas, those particular holiday lights make me anxious.
It was my turn to host Christmas that year, and I had decided the easiest thing would be to have dinner in the restaurant. Christmas Day was the only day we were closed all year.
I thought serving a family feast at the restaurant would be more efficient with a walk-in fridge and commercial dishwasher. It was meant to be just myself, my husband, our two kids, my mom, and my sister. No pressure. I was planning on wearing PJs.
My mom asked if she could bring someone, and I said sure. Then she invited 30 people, most of whom I did not know. She thought since we were having dinner in the restaurant with all that space, she might as well include some folks who didn't have family and that it was the perfect opportunity to show off our new restaurant.
Suddenly, Stormy and I were committed to hosting a holiday feast for thirty-plus people in our newly opened restaurant. The pressure was on us to serve the best food possible because our restaurant's reputation was now at stake. And we didn't have staff available to work on Christmas day or the money to pay for the extra food and booze.
It was the straw that broke me, and I found myself having a panic attack in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. Our kids were away that night, so I went downstairs to freak out alone in my son's bed. Stan came downstairs when he noticed I was gone and got into that tiny little single bed with me and said, enough is enough.
The next day, he phoned my mom and canceled Christmas. He gave her a few details and said it was not up for discussion. She was angry and insisted I offer gift certificates to the people she invited (LOL).
My sweet husband invited my mom and sister to our house but told them we were doing zero work. He told me that if I so much as stood up and got off the sofa to get someone a drink, he would lose his shit in a manner nobody would forget.
My sister brought Doodle Arts for the kids, which they loved. We ate frozen pizza. I didn't leave the sofa. It was a rather lovely day.
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