Thanksgiving to a Three-Year Old

 

    They were all here. Five kids and spouses, fiancés and girlfriends, not to mention the grandchildren.

    There were two toddlers, one who looks like a Cherokee princess and is as gentle as the breeze, and another who looks like Hercules and wears mischief like a t-shirt "Oh, look, a glass crock pot lid someone overlooked!"'

    A four-year old skipped up to me. "Ahma Jennie (that's what she calls me), I found some money." She handed me a penny and skipped off, and yes, she really skips through the house. It's now Saturday and I'm still carrying the penny in my pocket. Somehow, it's more valuable than gold.

    The pre-basted turkey was dry, but improvable with gravy, which was fantastic. The stuffing was lousy ---another Rachel Ray-copy failure. But they were all here, unplanned. We do an open house on Thanksgiving, because I remember the mother-in-law run, and I want our children to have fun, to visit, to come when they can. We've done it for years, but this year, I woke up Thanksgiving Day wishing it was different. I wanted that long dinner table with eighteen people gathered around. Of course, it wouldn't be, and the open house makes more sense. Still, for some reason, I pined for it.

    And then, completely spontaneous, the kids called and texted, each asking the next what time they'd be here. We knew nothing about it until they all showed up within a few minutes of each other, not because I wanted it that way, but because they wanted to see each other. That was the first moment of gratitude. Then I realized that, as much as I wanted it, we didn't have enough plates in the cupboard. But we did have cartons of plates from parents and grandparents stored in the basement. One of the boys brought a box up. A seven-year old helped me wash and dry them. Then she wiped off the card table and tray tables. She was good at that, she informed me. Gratitude point number two.

    But the take-away moment of the day came after dinner, when I was at the sink. A three-year old standing on a kitchen chair next to me was helping with dishes. "Did you have a good day?" I asked her.

    "Yes," she said plainly, like she didn't understand the question. "I have a good day every day."

    And with that, she summarized what Thanksgiving is about. It's my new favorite phrase. I think I'll frame it and hang it on a wall, so I always remember. "I have a good day every day."

    Out of the mouths of babes.