The Day of the Turkey

This year is my second Thanksgiving as a married woman. My first as a mother. And for the first time since 2010, in a stable home. It is also my and my husband’s first real home together. We hope for it to be the ONLY home, if we can ever figure out a way to buy this property. But I digress.

This was my son’s first Thanksgiving. My mom’s first Thanksgiving in a long time surrounded by people who love and adore her. My first homemade chocolate pies. My husband’s first with one of his children. And hopefully the first of many holidays with one of my estranged sisters back in my life.

For our first “real” Thanksgiving, I couldn’t have asked for more or better. We decorated our cheap Dollar General Christmas tree, and scattered about what few decorations we had. My son ate his breakfast and lunch while watching the Macy’s parade and went berserk over the Spongebob Squarepants balloon.

We didn’t pray over our meal. We didn’t go around the table and say what we’re thankful for. We didn’t need to. We have everything we needed and everything we are thankful for right there. Right at that table. Our table was small, and only seats 4 (5 when we have my son’s high chair in the kitchen) and we don’t have much counter space. Food was scattered around the kitchen on every available surface. My pot of homemade mashed potatoes sat in the kitchen sink because it was the only space left big enough for it.

Our Thanksgiving wasn’t perfect. But it was, for the first time in as long as I can remember, filled with nothing but pure and unabashed love. No burning silent resentment. No passive aggressive behavior. Not even a snide polite insult was shared. We came together to make a great meal, to eat that meal, and to lounge around and enjoy each others company afterward.

This Thanksgiving wasn’t perfect, but it is the one I have always wanted. Love, bounty, and absolutely pure joy. I couldn’t imagine a better first Thanksgiving for my son and my little family.

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