Does your holiday table look something like this?
Not mine, either. But we’re at home for a change, not out murdering deer with our car while Calvin’s face swells to the size of a watermelon. So there’s that. Perspective always puts me in a thankful sort of mood. Set the bar nice and low people, and you’ll never be ungrateful.
We’re at home, and it’s one of those brittle-cold, blue-sky days where the frost on the lawn never quite thaws, and the kids and the cousins are playing soccer out back and the pecans for the stuffing (we don’t call it dressing around here) are roasting on the stove and the cat is lolling in the sun by the bay window and it’s peaceful, you know? I’m liking this.
And years from now, I won’t remember that my serving plates don’t match my ladle (Ha! As if I own a ladle!) or that my dining room floor is marred by muddy bootprints because my kids simply can’t learn to take them off at the door. And I won’t care that my corn casserole didn’t turn out right (just making an educated guess here) or that someone already spilled sparkling cider or that the dog ate the pumpkin pie off the counter (hasn’t happened yet this year, but it’s in family lore for a reason).
I’ll care that we all had somewhere to gather and people who love us. I’ll care that Toby’s still young enough to want to wear his brown paper bag Indian headband get-up to the dinner table and that Nate’s old enough to say grace. I’ll care that we watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade together for all of fifteen minutes before we got bored because it hasn’t been communally diagnosed but I’m pretty sure we all have ADD. I’ll care that after the pie has been cut and all the dishes are done and everyone’s in a coma on the couch, we’ll have leftovers.
To eat tomorrow. And the next day. Until people finally get tired of turkey/cranberry sandwiches. Because however it goes down, today is just a day, no matter that it was singled out from the rest.