DEAR ANNIE: Every year, I host Thanksgiving for my family, and every year I start out with the same hopeful thought: “This time will be different.” I picture everyone laughing, passing dishes around, maybe even helping with the cleanup without being asked. But by the time the turkey is carved, the dream has gone up in smoke along with the sweet potatoes I forgot in the oven.

My sister always has something to say about my cooking (“Is the stuffing supposed to be that dry?”), my brother can’t resist bringing up politics just to stir the pot, and my mother sighs loudly every time someone mentions dessert because she’s “watching her sugar.” By the time we get to pie, I’m exhausted and wondering why I keep doing this to myself.

I love them, truly. But the bickering, the side comments and the

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