I’m thankful for my family, for the ones I get to hug everyday and the ones I get to hug every month or so, and the ones I haven’t hugged in years. I’m thankful for the memories, the good ones that make the corners of my mouth turn up in unconscious glee and sentimentality, and the ones that are hard to relive.
I’m thankful for my senses. All of them, but especially smell. I love the smell of a roasting chicken (sorry veggie friends), sea-soaked air tinged with cocoa butter, the smell of my children’s necks in that small curve between the bottom of their hairlines and top of their backs–where the primal loveliness lives, and the smell of cigars (sorry everyone) and tea rose perfume. I remember how everyone I love and have loved smells, so again…I’m thankful for the memories.
I’m thankful for football, the Real Housewives, and peace and freedom. This is a crazy world and I’m so grateful to live in a corner of it, geographically and metaphorically, that is peaceful. So peaceful that bone-crushing sport and mind-numbing, makeup-covered cat fights are entertainment. Of course there is real conflict too in my small corner and neighboring places, and pretending it does not exist is beyond silly–it’s dangerous. But I’m thankful that there are more ways and places to find hope than there are reasons to dwell in madness.
I’m thankful for friends who lift me up, and extend their hands and their hearts in all kinds of ways. The ones at work who make a pretty stressful job seem not so bad, the ones I don’t talk to enough but who I think of often, and the ones who are not just like family–they are family.
I’m thankful for my 10 year old coffeemaker and the sound it makes every morning as it pulverizes and soaks those blessed beans into sweet, caffeine-drenched goodness.
I’m thankful for my husband who disagrees with me all the time, and tells me I’m wrong about so many things but manages to do it with a look in his eyes that tells me there’s no one else in the world he’d rather disagree with.
I’m thankful for my kids’ teachers and caregivers and the love they show to these three maniacs. And to me. For teachers who bring magic into their lives and make them feel safe and smart and loved. For our Ewa. Our crazy, wonderful, I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-you-think, every day faithful babysitter. The woman who I trust implicitly with my kids’ lives, the woman who holds them like they are hers and held me, like I was hers, when my mom was gone and never lets me leave the house with my hair wet.
I’m thankful for my sister, who technically was covered in the first stanza, but deserves one all her own. Because she shares my heart. And because all the best and worst-but-important memories include her face, looking up to me, crying with me, holding my hand and one of my trembling and poorly shaved legs as my oldest daughter made her way into this world and laughing so hard she peed her pants with me more times than I can count.
I’m thankful for my babies.
I’m thankful that I ordered what is hopefully the last of my Diaper Genie refills this week.
I’m grateful for all of you who read my drivel.
Love and peace to you all.
The Brood, circa 2013.