When I was little, Thanksgiving was all about the food and the company. My benchmark for “Good Thanksgiving” was set during the year that cousins came to visit and we had two tables packed with people. I loved sitting at the kid table with my cousins and friends. I think I was about eight and it was hard for follow up feasts to match that one. Then during my teen years we spent several Thanksgivings in a row at my great-grandmothers retirement trailer. I remember complaining about this. I remember that it didn’t even feel Thanksgivingingish because there was not room for us to sit around her tiny table. Instead we loaded paper plates and sat in whatever space we could find available. In hindsight, I am glad that we spent Thanksgiving with Great-Grandma. She did not live long after that. By about the third year I finally absorbed the fact that delighting an old woman was more important than sitting around a single table.

I still remember the Thanksgiving of my freshman year at college. There were three siblings at BYU so we met together in my empty kitchen, my roommates all off visiting relatives. The food was lacking, but we were together. Being together was even more important when the news came of the house fire in our childhood home. One pet died and much in the house was damaged beyond repair, but all the people were fine. We were very thankful that year.

The year I was dating Howard I learned the meaning of “big Thanksgiving.” I went with him to a relative’s house where they crammed five tables and at least thirty people into their front room. In later years the people were familiar and friendly, but that first year I only spoke to Howard and his brother. We had our own little pocket of fun in the crowded space.

When the kids arrived I had my own chance to shape Thanksgiving celebrations. I learned that none of my kids are fans of the southern cornbread dressing that I considered an essential part of the feast during my growing years. I also learned that kids will be mortally offended if I serve a roasted chicken instead of a turkey. It seemed logical at the time. There were so few of us to eat the bird. I only did it once, but to this day the kids double check to make sure that there will actually be turkey for Thanksgiving.

There have been small feasts and big feasts. There have been celebrations full of people and lonely ones. There have been sad events and happy ones. And yet somehow it is always Thanksgiving. A thread links through them and ties them together. I love that we have a day which celebrates gratitude. I love that we have a day to look around at our circumstances, whatever they may be, and find cause for joy. I am thankful for many things today, but among them I am thankful for Thanksgiving itself. Because the holiday is more than just the food and the company.

This may not come as news to most Americans, but tomorrow is Thanksgiving. On one level I knew that the holiday was coming. I saw it on the calendar. I planned my week around the fact that the kids would be out of school. But somehow I did not really wrap my head around the notion that the holiday season would be arriving so soon.

I used to start thinking about Christmas gifts as soon as Halloween was over. I liked to have all the shopping done before Thanksgiving. Nothing was out of stock yet. Everything was lined up and planned. I’m afraid I was internally smug about my organization, although I never felt judgmental about people who ran their holidays differently. I had a system and it worked.

Somehow that system has fallen apart the last few years. Part of the system breakage is due to the fact that I am much busier. I don’t have much time for planning an event three months in the future. I’m too busy scrambling to cover stuff for this week. Part of the shift is because the kids are older. When they were young I could plan what everybody would give to everyone else. These days the kids need to do their own participation and gift planning. They have their own gift strategies and I have to let go of control. The letting go of control is a big part of it. I’ve had to embrace the fact that while I am the organizer of family events, there are aspects of the holiday celebration that I should not attempt to control.

Even though my holiday strategy has shifted, I am still left feeling like I ought to have done my shopping by now. I’ve been so busy this fall that I honestly have not had a thought to spare. This leads me to worry because the next few weeks will be even busier. I still won’t have thoughts to spare, but I’ll also have holiday shipping and holiday events as well. I’ll have to cram the holiday shopping thoughts into my brain on top of everything else. Perhaps for the first time I understand what feeds some of the Black Friday hysteria. The drive to hurry and get the shopping done during this time off from work.

On the other hand, taking each of the kids out on a shopping trip has some appeal. I picture each of them with their own several-hour-long outing where we partake of the holiday mood while selecting gifts. Only that brings me back to the issue of time, and brain space. It is one thing to take a child out for a relaxed couple of hours, it is another to force march a child through a store to acquire gifts on a schedule. I’m really not sure how I’m going to managed to get this holiday pulled together on time and under budget, particularly since the budget is tighter this year than in the past two years. We didn’t have a Fall book release this time.

Part of me is ready for the holiday season. I’m ready to decorate the house and play holiday music. I’m looking forward to burning down the advent candle while reading stories to the kids. Yesterday and today have had a holiday feel which is nice. I love that warm, relaxed feeling. It is the associated task list which I’d be happy to skip.

When Howard left the house, there were still two hours before the kids were due home from school. Even better, I had already gotten all my business tasks for the day done. I could feel my brain stretching out, relaxing. It was a chance for me to do whatever I wanted without being on call. I could be alone with my thoughts and perhaps even write.

Then the phone rang. The noise was almost a physical sensation. It cut across my developing calmness.

The call was from Kiki’s school. She was having cramping pain and I was needed to go retrieve her. My first thought upon hanging up was a wordless irritation. In one stroke my quiet space was gone. It was particularly regretted because it is the last opportunity for alone time before the kids are home for five days. But duty called and I got into the car.

Being in the car reminded me of the conversation I’d had with Kiki just that morning. Kiki was complaining because Gleek had the front seat. Gleek had displaced Kiki from the copilot spot because Gleek injured her knee over the weekend and the knee hurts when she bends it. This injury did not impress Kiki who was convinced that Gleek was exaggerating to get attention. I turned to Kiki and said
“You’re just irritated because the injury inconvenienced you. If you still had the front seat, you wouldn’t mind it.”

My statement floated through my brain as I drove. It was now Kiki who was in pain and I was the one irritated. The tables had turned and I had a chance to find myself hypocritical or to choose to let go of the irritation. I’d scolded Kiki for her lack of sympathy. Now I had to do better and I discovered that it was not so easy.

I frequently find myself inconvenienced by other people’s pain. My day can be completely rearranged by an illness, or a sadness, or an injury. I can choose to be irritated and angry. If I do, some of that anger spills onto the injured person, as if it is somehow their fault. Obviously the better way is to reach inside myself and find sympathy. I must let go of my schedule and know that, inconvenient or not, I should respond with kindness to the needs of others. This is true even if my response is “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take care of that yourself.”

Kiki is home from school now. As I expected, her presence here has already presented multiple interruptions to my quiet state of mind. And yet, I am still writing. I am finding the calm spaces in between the needs and it is good.

“See Wendys is over here and the art store is here by the grocery store. So if we go to the art store first, then we can stop at Wendys on the way back.”

Two heads were bowed in concentration over the hand drawn map. Kiki and Link both had money in their pockets and they were planning an expedition. All of the locations in question were within walking distance and the big street to be crossed made the trip sufficiently adventurous. This was the night-before planning session. The trip was to be executed the following afternoon.

After the planning was over, Link came to me with a nervous smile.
“I was thinking that Kiki and I are going together and it is just us. It is kind of like a date, cause we’ll be going together and getting to know each other.” We then talked about dates and dating. We talked about how a date with a sister isn’t quite the same thing, but how it is similar in other ways. Mostly Link was thrilled that Kiki wanted to share this outing with him. He was very sad when she turned the corner of teenagerhood and stopped playing games with him. But now he is rounding that corner as well and is discovering that once again his sister is ready to include him in her plans.

The next day arrived and all the intervening events (such as school and chores) were dispatched. The two explorers geared up to head out. I reviewed with them their routes and admonished them to be home before dark. Then I watched as they dashed out into the neighborhood. I was nervous. This trip was farther afield than I am accustomed to letting my children wander. But I can not hope to help them build independence if I hold them so tight that they never have the chance to test their wings. They had planned well. The neighborhood is a safe one. They would stay together. So I let them go.

They returned triumphant 90 minutes later, blown into the house on a gust of chilly air. Their eyes were bright, their cheeks were red, and their smiles were broad. They felt strong and independent and triumphant. They each clutched a bag of Wendy’s food purchased with their own money. They’d decided to bring the food home because they wanted to be home before darkness fell. Happy energy filled our home as Kiki and Link shared fries with those of us who had stayed home. Kiki also shared spoonfuls of her cookie dough milkshake. They chattered about their adventure. And Kiki displayed her spoils.

Art supplies had been the driving force behind the trip, but she had also acquired nail polish and mascara. These treasures were displayed along with a request that maybe I could show her how to use the mascara. Kiki hasn’t been interested in makeup until just lately. Link didn’t buy anything at the stores. He was in it for the the food and the adventure. He took the mission to get better acquainted seriously. Apparently he asked conversation-starter questions like “what do you like to do?” Which made Kiki laugh. But they giggled and goofed and made it home safely.

The happy mood was contagious. It spread to the whole family. I truly hope that this is not a singular event. I hope to see many more outings of this nature. I hope that even though it will make me nervous every time. If I want to see them fly, I have to let go.

It is eleven o’clock. Everyone else in the house is already asleep and the house is quiet. It is so tempting for me to stay up. I want to revel in the fact that for the next eight hours no one will be asking me to do anything. No one will call on the phone, or ask me to pour milk, or need me to find something. I can just sit and listen to the sound of silence. I can hear my own thoughts. I can compose words without interruption.

Unfortunately 6:20 am will come at the same time whether or not I’ve slept. Tomorrow will arrive and it will have demands upon me. I will be much better equipped to meet those demands if I’ve had a full night’s sleep. So I should go to bed. I really should. But instead I stand at the window. I stare out into the darkness and wonder if we will get snow tonight. I’m not ready for snow. I want more sunshine. The house is already chilly, so I head toward my bed. But then words collect together in my brain. They come together and crystallize, much as molecules of moisture freeze together in the million beautiful patterns of snowflakes. The words are there. If I crawl into that warm bed, they will melt away.

I step lightly down to my office and I type. I type and capture the words. I pin them to the page so that they will retain their shape. When I am done, I will go sleep.

We each have a limited amount of time and energy to spend. Choosing to do one thing invariably leaves less energy and time for everything else. It is a very simple calculation. We grab handfuls from our store and spread them around. When we run out, we must rest or do something else to replenish our reserves before we can hand out any more.

And yet this week I have experienced the miracle of the widow who fed Elijah. I encounter a great need in someone close to me and I empty out my reserves to respond. But need followed need without stopping. Each time I was sure that I had used the last emotional energy that I had available. But when the next need arose, I went to my store I discovered I had just enough to manage. It happened again and again all week long.

This week has not left me much time to rest or rejuvenate. There have been no spaces to process. I have poured myself out to answer the needs of others and somehow I am not empty.

It is 8:48 pm and this is the first moment I’ve had to myself all day long. Most of today has revolved around providing structure for Kiki so that she could get through her pile of homework. The other priority for the day was some long overdue house cleaning and decontamination. I’m still washing everything after the illness we had. I still have copious amounts of laundry to run through the machines, but at least the homework is under control. Even better, Kiki has not been fighting me over it.

This week it has been hard for me to find words. I have to have space in my thoughts to process my experiences and for words to come together. There has to be space for me to hold on to those words until I can write them down. One of the most frustrating experiences is when the words are just starting to come together. I’m just tentatively arranging them and then something else demands my attention. The words break apart, spinning into the corners of my brain like the shards of a dropped vase. When I find space again it is not a matter of fitting the pieces back together. It is melting down the shards I can find so that I can make something else.

This reminds me that there used to be a glassblowers stall in our local mall. It is not there anymore. This saddens me even though I never actually bought anything there. I always intended to buy something when I had more money, but now the chance is gone. I wonder what happened to the artisans who used to work there. I wish now that I’d struck up a conversation to learn more about the art of glass blowing. I hope the artists are still working somewhere because the things they made were beautiful.

I still remember the glass rose under a glass dome that was prominently displayed the year I met Howard. It was also the year that Beauty and the Beast hit theaters. I loved the movie since that particular fairy tale has resonance for me. I always stopped to look at the glass roses. That Christmas Howard and I were at a delicate point in our relationship. I was a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing and rather frightened. Howard wanted very much to show how much he loved me, but was afraid of frightening me off. I don’t remember if we exchanged gifts that year. I do remember that I put together a box of notes for him to read while I was at home for the holidays. But I remember clearly when Howard told me that he’d stood in front of those glass roses and almost bought one for me. He didn’t because he wasn’t sure if the gift would be too much for me, even though he felt like it wasn’t enough to express how he felt.

It was years later when Howard did buy me flower decorations. He came home from a trip to the Netherlands with a pair of carved wooden tulips. They sit on my dresser and make me happy when I see them. They are a beautiful thing that Howard got for me just because. On the whole I think I prefer these to the unpurchased glass rose. They are warmer and less fragile, just as Howard and my relationship has grown warmer and more durable. But still lovely.

If the glass blower’s stall were still there, I would now be tempted to go and buy a glass flower. I would do it to support a beautiful art. But I don’t know that I would choose a rose. It is perhaps just as well. Glass flowers lack scent and touch, which is what I need most from flowers. So instead of wandering the mall in search of glass, I wander through the floral section of the grocery store. I am watching for the day when Christmas lilies go on sale. I need lilies and hyacinths in the winter time.

It was only a month or so ago that I was at Writer Girls and I kept catching wafts of the most wonderful scent. It was flowers and after a bit of puzzling, I identified the scent as lily. The flower stand was fifty feet away and down some stairs, but the smell still made me happy. It is a bit silly of me to regret not buying the lilies. Buying them two months ago would not give me blooming lily now. At the time the scent was all I needed.

I can tell that my brain needs to unwind. It is traveling down odd eddies of memory this evening. But I think I’ve now wound to the end. I still have two kids to get into bed.

The company of good friends is a balm to my soul. I feel like I’ve emptied out my head and heart. It is not that any of my things were taken away, but they somehow feel much lighter when someone else knows about them and agrees that they are heavy. This is particularly true when it is the accumulation of burdens which weighs me down. Somehow it is easier to feel justified in being overwhelmed by a large thing rather than small things.

I am incredibly fortunate and grateful for the friends I have.

I feel much lighter. The last two days have been heavy. Yesterday was so full of child management that I do not see how I remained calm and coherent through the end of it. I’m pretty sure I was loaned some strength.

But this evening I’ve gotten through all the events. I helped manage the bi-weekly activity for fifteen little girls aged 8-11 and it went well. I nudged two reluctant teenagers out the door to an activity that they were dreading. They both came home from it happy and glad that they went. I went to three parent/teacher conferences and I learned that I don’t have more work to do. The structures I have struggled to put in place are succeeding. The kids are doing well. And I walked away convinced that all three kids are in class situations which are ideal for them at this time. (This is such a relief considering how much my fourth has struggled with teachers this year.)

Tomorrow there will be more work to do. I will have to confront kids and require them to do things that they don’t like. I will have to stay calm while the kids attempt to punch my buttons to get emotional reactions. But all of that is tomorrow and I can contemplate it without dread. For right now, I feel light.

Two hours spent making much-desired rag doll for Gleek who has been reading Little House in the Big Woods and who really needed loving attention. Check.

Two-hour-long homework showdown, Mom vs Kiki with ultimatums. Check

Fix dinner and feed it to kids. Check.

Corner Link and make him add details to a bare bones writing assignment. Check.

Remember to eat some dinner. Check.

Introduce Patch to Frog and Toad. Check

Make kids go to bed. About 50% at the moment.

My day appears to be all used up.