Thanks

Every year at my parents' house, my family plays a thanks-giving game. Each person writes what he or she is thankful for. Then every one takes a turn reading them and guessing who is thankful for what, or whom. We have spent the past couple of Thanksgivings here in our home in Kansas City, and it has been lovely. It is a day we are able to set aside to . . . well, to not do much really, except enjoy each other without our everyday distractions. And that is our tradition. But I usually set aside a moment or two to reflect on the things I’ve become thankful for through the year. And since this year was a big one, I thought I’d try to get them all in writing.

        I’m thankful for the heroics that kept my baby alive.

        I’m thankful that he is not stingy with his smile.

        I’m thankful for a simple sense of humor, like for fart jokes, and when someone falls down, and that Conan is back on TV.

        I’m thankful for new friends who know what it is like to have been through what we have been through.

        I’m thankful for old friends who know what we were like twenty years ago, or five, or yesterday.

        I’m thankful for siblings I want to protect, and brag about, and hug.

        I’m thankful for our parents’ love. Now I know how fast and deep and vigilant it really is.

        I’m thankful to have made some of the mistakes I’ve made.

        I’m thankful to have my job back after six months away.

        I’m thankful for the kindness of the people who care for my baby.

        I’m thankful that my husband is the kind of man I’d like my son to be.

        I’m thankful that for every moment life is hard there are at least a hundred that it is easy.

        I’m thankful. I’m thankful. I’m thankful. Those are my three things.

 

A Very Merry Half Birthday

A mother counts things.
        The ounces they’ve drank. The inches they’ve grown. Wet diapers. Smelly diapers. How many diapers you have left until you have to buy more diapers. The breaths they take. The minutes until you see them again at the end of the day. The seconds between cries in the night. The hours they’ve been sleeping. The hours they’ve been awake. The hours they’ve been here.
        We’re at 4,536. And counting.

        That’s 189 days. 27 weeks. 6 months, give or take, of Charlie. One half of one year that my boy’s been bouncing around in the world.
        And I can’t believe what an exciting life he has had already. Or that there was ever a life without him. I can’t believe how much there is to count. I can't believe how much we’ve come to count on one another.