We have a lot to be thankful for, and amazingly, that’s not new.
Families that aren’t really as far away as they seem, and friends who step in to make sure there’s a crowd for the holidays. Food raised, prepared, and shared with people we love. A bounty we can barely describe.
Last year was hard. It was our first Thanksgiving in a home we still weren’t settled in, in a community we hadn’t quite embraced. This year was the picture of contrast.
Eight adults, seven children, three generations. Two kinds of potatoes, three kinds of stuffing, four kinds of pie. One snowstorm, hours of backyard exploring, and some traditional Thanksgiving activities.
What’s new this year – besides the hubbub we crave – is this feeling that things are right. I am madly in love with my husband, my children, my home, my life. There are temper tantrums and dismal days, for sure, piles of laundry and lists to-do, but I am somehow deeply, peacefully happy.
It’s a little unsettling, and I knock wood wherever I go.
And yet. There’s something empowering about this feeling. Some potential ready to be unpacked. Something to be thankful for.