So, Thanksgiving happened... It was good. A good tornado.
It felt sort of like coming into our own as a household, or even as adults, to host this holiday in our house. All the work to get a new tablecloth, and then a tablecloth pad, and then votive candles, and then make flower arrangements -- it was all worth it. The table looked awesome.
My husband sat at the head of the table, expressed his thanks, and said a brief prayer. I sat to his left and was proud of him, of both of us. And since I can read my mother's thoughts, I can say that she was thrilled and surprised that he did a prayer.
It's weird to be in these traditional roles, since I don't think of myself as a traditional woman. I mean, why didn't I sit at the head of the table? Why didn't he obsess over the table centerpiece? I don't know, I just know it sort of fell into place this way and seemed to go okay.
Well it went okay except I walked in on a conversation in which a loved one was bragging about something being a good thing, while in fact I know it to be a very bad thing not worthy of bragging. So that kept me up late into the night as my mind turned it over and over. If I were a good blogger I'd tell you all the details, but for now, this is all I'll say.