Don’t you love this time of year? Man, I do. I get all mushy and soft-hearted and icky. In all fairness, I'm mushy, soft-hearted and icky roughly 364 days a year, but this time of year it kicks into high gear. It's all I can do to stop myself from grabbing the stock boy at Wal-Mart and giving him an inappropriate hug. (Again…not that much different than any other day, I guess.)
This morning I went shopping for the turkey, the ham and thirty-three pounds of sugar I will need to make a good old-fashioned Southern Thanksgiving. The entire time I was throwing pecans and lemons and Chinet into my cart, I was thinking about the myriad of things for which I am truly thankful this year.
I'm thankful that at forty-one my girls are still perky, despite the fact that my step-mother used to tell me if I didn't wear a bra 24 hours a day, they'd be dragging the ground by the time I was thirty-five. Ha.
I’m thankful there is no treatment center for addiction to iTunes. Otherwise, I'd be in group therapy right now admitting to myself and to another human being exactly how much money I have spent on Michael Buble and Renee Olstead songs.
I'm thankful my name is not Gertrude.
I'm thankful the candy jar on my coffee table is filled to the top with Dove dark chocolate, Andes Mints and tiny Reece's Cups. I’m equally thankful Mr. Man hasn't noticed it yet.
I'm thankful for coffee. Everyone who has to live with me is also thankful for coffee.
I’m thankful I still cry every time I watch "It's a Wonderful Life", "City of Angels" and "Serendipity". (Which I'm totally watching right now…hang on while I blow my nose.)
I'm thankful that as an adult, I can have Pop-Tarts and chocolate milk for supper if I want and nobody can do anything about it.
I'm thankful for Berta Lou, the best, most evil red-headed friend in the whole big world. She puts up with all the "bizarre-ness" that is me and yet she somehow manages not to put her delicate hands around my throat and stop the madness. She either loves me unconditionally or she's a closet Nyquil addict. Either way, I'm thankful to have her and I'd give her my last kidney if she needed it or even if she didn't.
(Although I might think it was weird if she just showed up at my door and asked me for a kidney.)
I'm thankful for Mr. Man. In the entire universe I'm positive there is not another man alive that could possibly stand to be around me for more than five minutes in a row, much less be married to me.
I'm thankful for my kids. Sure, everybody thinks their kids are wonderful and perfect, but mine really are. My daughter is breathtakingly beautiful, funny and wise beyond her years and my son is incredibly intelligent, funny and handsome. It's worth noting that they both have a remarkable ability to find humor in pretty near anything. That's because during both pregnancies, I watched nothing but I Love Lucy reruns and ate bucket loads of Pop Rocks…which everyone knows is the funniest candy of all the funny candies.
I'm thankful for Belton, Texas. I refuse to say why.
I'm thankful Eric and BD and Trav are coming home. Berta Lou and I plan to kill the fatted calf in their honor in January. What happens in Kansas City stays in Kansas City…and that's all I'll say about that.
I'm thankful for Kev. Even though he is the biggest dork in all the land, I love him terrible anyway. I guess that would make me a dork lover. Maybe I should get a t-shirt made.
I’m thankful for Tanner, the amazing four pound Yorkie. If not for him, I would be forced to dress Mr. Man in tiny red Santa doggie boots and make him do humiliating things for cheese.
I'm thankful I get to say the words, "I love you" to at least one person every single day of my life. If I were granted one wish this Thanksgiving, it would be that everyone every where gets to say those words and hear them each and every day.
Or maybe that I could have a billion more wishes.