I'm grateful for a lot of things.
My home. Which, even though there is a mysterious indentation approximately the size and shape of a giant water leak in the sheet rock beneath the window next to which my kids' computer desk sits, keeps us warm and snuggly and relatively bug-and-night-air free. Though not night-aire free. We are a high music traffic zone.
For which I am grateful.
We've got musical cacophony going on around here pretty much all the time. If my oldest boy isn't flying through Malagueña on the guitar, then he's pounding out music he's heard that he thinks is cool on the piano. And if he's not doing that then daughter 2 is making stuff up on her harp. In between picking out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which her teacher assigned her but which is much more boring than making stuff up. And in the next room we have the little dude for whom music and sound effects are pretty much always in his head and pouring out of his body orifices in some way or another. To the accompaniment of his oldest sister, who belts show tunes, occasionally sits at the piano, and cranks Christmas music. All. Year. Round.
This is a good thing.
Because we don't like silence. We are household of talky-talkypants-folk. We think in a verbal streams-of-consciousness. It's how we figure things out. Except my husband. He's the quiet type. Which throws me off. For years I thought he was ignoring me. Turns out he was just thinking before he answered. Huh. Who'd'a thunk? But everyone else? Yeah. A lot is said. LOT. Tonight alone I learned about the movie "Super 8," why marble-tracks parts make the best guns, how many Shakespeare references are in the movie "Gnomeo and Juliette," why it isn't fair that just because someone says they want to play violin so you shell out the money for lessons, they actually have to keep going to said lessons, how important it is that when you pack for Thanksgiving at Grandma's you should prepare for all indoor/outdoor temperature possibilities and bring as many options as possible, what Son 1's favorite car is, how trippy it is for Daughter 1 to go back and see high school friends who are still in high school now that she's moved on and why, and the relative merits of the musical "Into the Woods" according to middle child.
It's highly entertaining.
It's easy to be grateful for the very interesting, cool, hilarious people around me. Also that I have a home and food and clothes and I am warm when it's cold and cool when it's hot. And that my cars work. Disturbing jalopy-like noises notwithstanding. It's not so tough being grateful for the obvious stuff. The kicker is feeling that same thing for the hard stuff.
Tricky relationships, for example. Not enough money–quite. An aging body that has started growing hair where it shouldn't and is not growing hair where it should. A chiropractor that I see so often I should be on the payroll. The growing necessity of hiring out a port-a-potty on wheels to roll along beside me when I go out for runs. And all of my children needing me less and less.
In the end I'm grateful for these things too. Because they teach me things I couldn't learn in any other way. They stink. But they teach me. That's important.
So, this Thanksgiving I am saying thank you for the easy stuff. And most of all thank you for the hard stuff. I don't like it. But I'm hoping if I deal with it right I'll be a better person for having it in my life.
If not, there's always chocolate dipped oreos.