One week until Thanksgiving. I’m starting to get excited. I’m starting to believe that it’s real, that we can really go to the woods of south Georgia where Michael’s maternal grandmother lives, where Thanksgiving lives for our family. I’m starting to believe we will really ride on red clay trails and gather wildflowers and firewood and look up at the full moon and hear a coyote off in the distance. That we will sit at a matriarch’s table and tell stories and help prepare bountiful meals. I’m ready. It’s time for some serious thanks-giving.
This morning on the way to school, the boys and I had a long talk about kindness. We need more of it in our home and in our daily lives. I challenged the boys to do something kind and unexpected for someone else today at school and report back to me when they got home. By that time they’d long forgotten the challenge, but it caused them to reflect and remember how they’d treated others today (and me, too). I won’t stop working on this. The universe and our family and our community have been so kind to us. I can’t sit idly by and watch opportunities for kindness be intentionally passed over.
As per tradition, tonight we had the Thursday-before-Thanksgiving dinner with Michael’s paternal grandmother down in Venice. I’m grateful I fed Benji a hearty snack after school, because his hunger for dinner got the better of him and he decided to go on one of his meal strikes. No turkey, no asparagus, no sweet potatoes, no pumpkin pie. My heart was silently breaking, knowing he wouldn’t listen to reason, knowing what would happen when we came home and he took his medicine. As I was putting him to bed and he was clutching his tummy, I asked him what happened. He said honestly that he didn’t know. He wished he’d had the turkey. I told him I knew he did. I understood. But of course, I can’t really understand. The issues that have evolved with food are ones I never would have expected at the beginning of this journey. I’m grateful that I have dedicated time toward a detoxification and nutrition plan. I hope to help Benjamin overcome some of these confusing patterns. They serve none of us well, least of all him.
Tomorrow morning Benjamin will participate in his school’s annual Jog-a-thon fundraiser. He won’t run all of the laps, but he’ll be there, right where he should be, and I’ll be on the sidelines cheering him on.