just another day of Catholic pondering by Sarah Reinhard
Non-foodies everywhere are quaking in their boots, and while the audience in the kitchen today might be made up primarily of those who savor the challenge ahead with a string of major holidays, let me be the one to call for some sanity.
In my world, hosting a major family gathering usually guarantees that my heart rate and stress level will soar while my family’s appreciation of those things will plummet.
Is it worth it?
The answer and the rest of my reflection are up over at Catholic Foodie.
It’s hard, sometimes, to get into a mindset of thankfulness. We’re conditioned for it on this day, though I often fail as I juggle whatever’s going on (and there’s always something going on during the holidays, even if you’re just staying home!).
But I am thankful. I am overcome with gratitude, so often, as I look out of my window at the beauty surrounding me, as I look down at the little person grabbing my hand, as I lay my head on my pillow at night.
There is so much to be thankful for, and maybe familiarity makes it all-too-easy to overlook the specifics. Sometimes, I forget that instead of griping and grouching about this old farmhouse, I should be glad for all the benefits it brings to my life: shelter, yes, but also a lower payment than I’d have in a fancy new airtight house and a setting that often takes my breath away. There are times when I see my kids as interruptions from the work I think I should be getting done, instead of as the temporary gifts they are. And what about the abundance…of food, of friends, of family…that I just assume will continue?
Thanksgiving is more than just a day. It’s a mindset. It’s good, though, to have a day to remind me. It’s good to stop and list the things, big and small, for which I’m thankful, to stop and savor the people who eat my turkey whether it’s good or not, to stop and turn my soul heavenward to give the credit where it belongs.
A Mary Moment Monday post
It’s one of those weeks when there’s a lot going on and I’m feeling the weight of it all. It’s not just that there’s Thanksgiving: we’re staying home and just doing “us” this year, so I can’t pretend there’s pressure there. It’s not just the earlier deadline with the parish bulletin or the appointments this week or the gift shipping that needs done or the Advent preparation or the fact that I could drop a baby any minute.
In fact, it’s not any one thing. It’s the combination of them all together.
And so, this week, I’m looking for Mary even more than usual. Whether I get my rosaries finished each day or not, I’m going to make sure I sit down and hold her hand for at least a decade at a time. I’m going to keep myself from zipping and zooming and take one step at a time, complete one thing at a time, and leave the rest in God’s lap.
Mary must understand this craziness…despite the differences in time and space, she must have faced the same need for space, for quiet, for communion with God. I invite you to join me — there’s plenty of room in Mary’s lap, you know. 
I am.So very thankful.
This year, in particular, I’m thankful for my family, both those I live with and will spend tomorrow with, and those who are scattered all around and will be gathering for themselves.
I wrote those three lines on Wednesday, intending to get back on and post pictures for a not-too-wordy Wednesday post. Or, if it was late enough, I would have posted it for Thursday.
And then whatever hit my four-year-old for 12 hours on Wednesday hit me. Much harder.
Thanksgiving Day rolled in with me huddled on a toilet, hugging a bucket. You know the drill (and if you don’t, enjoy that ignorance). I didn’t recover in 12 hours; I haven’t recovered fully in 40, though I can stand without the immediate urge to run to said position on toilet with bucket. I’ve slept most of today, and my dear husband took the kids to his mom’s. I want to get the presents in from his trunk (they’ve been there a week or more) and the dishes done and the laundry caught up…but mostly, I want to sleep.
Needless to say, the turkey’s still in the fridge. We’re cooking it tomorrow.
While confined to the sofa, aching and nauseous, muttering prayers that I get it harder than ever to keep my husband and toddler from getting it (even as I screamed in my mind for it to just! stop! already!), I reflected on being thankful. This post, after all, needed to be written. (A blogger’s priorities…)
I’m thankful for the four-year-old “waiter” who brought me a popsicle and a bowl and a smile. I’m thankful for the two-year-old turkey who squawked about not having Mommy and who blew me kisses (instead of climbing on me). I’m thankful for the cheers Christmas “Vee-cation” brought from the four-year-old and the fact that I could, mostly, laugh along with it. (Yes, I know it’s not really appropriate for a four-year-old to watch. I don’t defend it. We’re all imperfect.) I’m thankful that the two-year-old went to bed without (too much of) a fight. I’m thankful for a homemade get-well card, on my pillow, and a tray full of uneaten food. I’m thankful that, this morning, her first words to me were “Are you feeling better today, Mommy?”
But mostly, I’m thankful for my husband. In the last two days, he’s confirmed his Prince Charming status. Rather than watch football and relax, he juggled kids and served us all. Rather than putter around and stuff himself with turkey, he made Spaghettios for lunch and grilled cheese for dinner (with whatever I requested thrown in whenever he could get me to eat). He talked on the phone, despite the fact that he really hates it, and he updated various family members (calling to wish us a simple Happy Thanksgiving) of my status.
Through the fever (that got a little scary), through the puking (which got a little frightening), through the poopy diapers and the clamoring…he was unswerving.
He’s my hero.
While I’m thankful for so many other things, this Thanksgiving, I’m especially thankful for the guy I married six years ago on Sunday.
This photo (and so many others that are favorites of mine) by Heather
Here at Snoring Scholar, you'll find marriage and motherhood, book talk and rambling remarks, observations and distractions, in the midst of life in rural Ohio on a farm, with kids, critters, and Catholic flair.
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