On Thursday we hosted our very first Thanksgiving in our home. It was the first time my husband was not working on this day in six years and we wanted to celebrate as a family as we hadn’t been able to in years past or in Anders’ lifetime.
Traditionally, the actual day of Thanksgiving passes without note for us. By that day, we have already celebrated with my parents and have made plans with his parents for a day when my husband is not working. That’s why on this holiday we got up early and baked and sautéed and buttered and stirred and, finally, we carved.
The family members we had that weren’t already committed to traveling to their own in-laws or out of town came and shared our first turkey as a family with us. We have a small home, but it fit our handful of guests nicely and Anders was excited to show them the new things he had collected (not that my mother was surprised as the procurer of the majority of those items) and, after we ate, we all sat around with full bellies, thumbing through the Black Friday sale papers, listening to Anders list off the things he hoped Santa would bring him, with a holiday show on the television in the background.
The only thing unusual about the day was the fact that it was not dissimilar from the way most families in America who celebrate Thanksgiving were spending it. There was no Chinese take out, no call from my husband during his lunch hour expressing again how sorry he is that he can’t be home.
We spent the day together and for that we were most thankful.