I scooped up the cat and marveled at her fluffiness and the velvety softness of her nose.
I eventually got around to making my assigned side dishes with my favorite tunes jamming through the house. That is, after Erik ventured out to buy me a casserole dish. A brownie pan is not suitable for a green bean casserole. Or so he claims. Whatever.
We get to my parents house where children and chaos ensue. The nephews are chasing each other through the house, my sick little niece sounds like a two year old asthmatic smoker and the baby squeals like a cherubic stuck piglet every time I grab his leg rolls.
|Jazz Hands perfected!|
|Don't let those baby blues fool ya. She's currently got the voice of an 80 year old lounge singer.|
|"Anonymous" with possibly the happiest baby in Utah.|
Dinner is aromatic and beyond delicious. I forget to savor it and am full well before I want to be.
After dinner come games of air hockey, pool and crokinole. Before I can be suckered into a frustrating game of crokinole that will most likely end with me flipping the board, scattering the pieces and frightening the children, I bundle up the kids and head out to the park.
|She was not stoked to be in her brothers coat and stuck in a stroller that her incompetent Aunt allowed to fold in on her.|
Inevitably, one of the children have to be scolded after deliberately throwing a ball at his sisters face. His apology dissolves into tears streaking down his little cheeks. I pull him in for a hug and do my best not to crush the sweet tiny life out of him.
Because of Carrie's most recent post question,
You have to give up one of your senses. Which one will it be and why?
I've been more aware of my senses today than the usual lackadaisical assumption that they're all still intact and fully functioning. And now I'm being asked to hypothetically part with one of them? How do you choose something like that?
To never bury my nose into the neck of my newest nephew and inhale his clean, perfect scent?
To never hear Erik's groggy, voice in the mornings after a night of me thrashing about and him apparently dreaming of Camelot say, "You were the most restless Ginger in all the realm last night".
To never be able to feel the warmth and strength of his hugs ever again? Or the soft squishy rolls of fat baby legs?
To never see the love in his eyes mixed with mild amusement when he looks at me after I've done or said something particularly asinine.
Which leaves what? Taste. As tragic as it would be to give up being able to taste the salt on his neck or the tang of my favorite margarita, I can't fathom living my life missing the other parts of it that have come to mean so much to me.
And so, on this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful to have the healthy function of all of my senses. Which also brings me to a side note. Which shouldn't be a side note but I don't feel like it's my post to write. Momo is a fellow blogger who I came to follow via Brett. Brett just got back from visiting Momo a short while ago. A trip that Momo had also invited me to meet up on. Never having met me, or even talked to me other than online, she was willing to welcome me into her home. That alone endeared me to her.
Last week, Momo had a stroke. She's still in the hospital and that's where she's spent her Thanksgiving. Even with all she's struggling with, she's been positive, upbeat, a fighter, and grateful. Brett wrote a beautiful tribute to her here which made me equally glad to count him as a friend all over again.
So when you find a quiet moment during your Thanksgiving, please take a minute to say a prayer for Momo, send positive thoughts and be grateful.