Thanksgiving #2 is over. There was a fire, with shooting flames. And a split head with bloody hair. And I said “rat dick” at the table to people I have never seen before. I ate a respectable amount and was smug about it and then went back and ate so much I was sick. I snuggled babies, and laughed with friends, and did dishes with my babymama. The Nanaimo bars were a hit, and so was the lemon pie. I used all my china and silverware. I snuggled with my parents dog and let him lick my ears. I slumped over into B’s long hug in the hallway. There was a Brit there, and we had a good laugh offering him some “hof and hof” for his coffee. I was the DJ for musical chairs with the kids. I rolled my eyes at irritating people. There was a girl there in a dress so small I wouldn’t have been able to use it as a spanx substitute. My back hurts from the wood chairs. I sweat in the kitchen making green beans, reaching over my mother who was making the gravy. My sister messed up the sweet potatoes. The kids didn’t eat dinner because they had so many sweets. The boys tried to stream the Blazer game. Once, for just a second, I wished that I smoked again so I could have just one cigarette. I ate more when I packed up the food. I kissed my dad goodbye on the cheek and was thankful, so thankful, for another holiday with him. I drove home to the sound of the Blazer game. I took a hot bath and read a good book. I got straight in bed with ice water and put in “Home For the Holidays”.
It was everything I had hoped it would be.