We packed away the final pumpkin things and encapsulated our doorways with garland strung lights. We put the final touches on the outdoor lights and decorations and finished our home in multicolored loveliness. Thanksgiving came and went in a blur. My daughter helped me set the table. I remember the way her little hands tightly grasped the cups as they teetered from the kitchen to our dining room. She talked all the while, starting one story where the previous one ended. She pulled the ceramic turkeys from my corner cabinet to place at each setting. She said she remembered the stories I once told about my grandmother always having them on our Thanksgiving table when I was little.
This year was my first Thanksgiving cooking the entire dinner myself and it didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped. Our turkey tasted wonderful, but somehow fully cooked 2.5 hours earlier than expected, about 5 lbs of boiled potatoes strained down our drain, and my bundt cake fried in the convection oven because I forgot to change the temperature from 450 to 325. But somehow, it was all made right when family gathered around our table.
The next day, when Black Friday is filled with packed stores, tired people, and grumpy sale associates, we stay cozied up at my in-laws for our annual Thanksgiving #2. This is the scene where cousins of all ages run rampant, play with toys, play hide and go seek, and whatever else their little minds can muster up. Each room of the home is louder than the next and people are scattered, talking up their days and plans for the holiday season. The boys are in front of the television, talking football and sometimes cheering louder than the children are laughing. It's a scene that reminds me of my holiday dinners as a child. One that I hold close to my heart and I'm happy that my children are able to share.
After Thanksgiving was put to rest and our hearts were full of gratitude, we drove to our local tree farm to pick out our favorite tree. My daughter immediately loved the first tree she saw and begged for it. But my son, walked away in his oversized rain boots, dragging his outstretched arms across the silky branches. We watched him slow down at some and silently inspect the trees, then carry on until he stopped at just one. One, he said, was the "prettiest tree" he had ever seen. My daughter followed his voice to the tree where she absolutely agreed that it was our tree to come home with us...
I felt like Christmas was just a few days ago. But nonetheless, our tree is finally decorated and the village glows under the colorful Christmas lights. This was the first year where I sat back and allowed them the freedom to do the entire tree and village by themselves. I, of course, strung the lights and arranged the houses so they were accessible to electrical outlets. But, they worked together and in between the laughing and talking, they finished...
And it was beautiful, so beautiful, that I didn't have to go back and rearrange anything.
And when our home was dark and quiet, I sat beside that tree with only it's glow emanating the room. I replayed the day, the week, and even the month over in my head. I thought about family and our days spent laughing. I thought about bedtime and the way both my children persuade me to stay in their rooms, just a little bit longer. The stories they tell. I'm not sure what I did before these little conversations took place. Or the complete randomness and things out of the ordinary. But, what will always remain are the memories of holidays, their love for each other, and these little conversations that seem to linger in the air long after my children have left the room. And if the room is quiet enough, I could hear their laughter and the questions only my daughter would ask. I can hear their smaller voice in between the beats of my heart. And that's where they'll remain, until the quietest hour, so I can replay them again and again...
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