What are you thankful for?
by Larissa Phillips, in The Free Press
It wasn’t so long ago that I nursed my 3-month-old daughter and then laid her in a bassinet behind my chair and finally tucked into my Thanksgiving dinner. But wait, I probably also turned my attention to my 4-year-old son, the pickiest of eaters, to urge him to just try the stuffing or roasted squash before finally, quickly, tearing through my own food before the baby woke up.
God, I miss those little creatures who once ruled my life. It’s hard to imagine their chubby arms wrapped around my neck, their hot breath whispering in my ear, the endless detritus and emotion and needs of little children, which we never stopped managing. But the years flew by. They became lovely big kids, delightful companions who shared so many of my interests and seemed capable of mastering anything—horses, banjo, painting, fractions, Harry Potter.
Then we had the grueling teen years, so difficult in one case it seemed we might never recover. But we did. And now my kids are 22 and 26 and live elsewhere and manage their own lives and meals and bedtimes, and my husband and I are as free with our time as we were in our pre-parenting 20s. But the best thing is happening: Both kids are coming for Thanksgiving. For several hours on Thursday I’ll get to feel that quiet joy of having both my grown children back under my roof again, at the same time, preparing and eating dinner all together. There really is nothing else.
It wasn’t so long ago that I nursed my 3-month-old daughter and then laid her in a bassinet behind my chair and finally tucked into my Thanksgiving dinner. But wait, I probably also turned my attention to my 4-year-old son, the pickiest of eaters, to urge him to just try the stuffing or roasted squash before finally, quickly, tearing through my own food before the baby woke up.
God, I miss those little creatures who once ruled my life. It’s hard to imagine their chubby arms wrapped around my neck, their hot breath whispering in my ear, the endless detritus and emotion and needs of little children, which we never stopped managing. But the years flew by. They became lovely big kids, delightful companions who shared so many of my interests and seemed capable of mastering anything—horses, banjo, painting, fractions, Harry Potter.
Then we had the grueling teen years, so difficult in one case it seemed we might never recover. But we did. And now my kids are 22 and 26 and live elsewhere and manage their own lives and meals and bedtimes, and my husband and I are as free with our time as we were in our pre-parenting 20s. But the best thing is happening: Both kids are coming for Thanksgiving. For several hours on Thursday I’ll get to feel that quiet joy of having both my grown children back under my roof again, at the same time, preparing and eating dinner all together. There really is nothing else.
