I'd like to take credit for the title of this post, but I stole it from G.B. Stern. Thanks, Gladys, for letting me borrow your words.
But in the spirit of being useful and because I complain way too much, it seems like an appropriate moment to proclaim some thankfulness. Lots of my facebook friends have been doing daily thankfulness statuses for the whole month. I didn't, not because I'm ungrateful but because I'm lazy. I did quite by accident mention something for which I was thankful on Monday morning, so I've followed up with that the past couple of days. Let's start there, shall we? Please pardon the third person pronouns. It's facebook's fault.
Ellen is thankful . . .
" . . .for her Monday mornings which ease her back into work mode as gently as possible." I don't have to go to work until 11 on Mondays because it's my late night. I love that schedule of getting to sleep a bit late or having time to get some other things done in the mornings. Plus it gets my late night out of the way early in the week, so it's not hanging over my head. Of course, I'm usually so grouchy about having to go back to work, I don't fully appreciate these benefits, but this week I did.
" . . . that the zombies in her dream weren't too aggressive." Okay, that one's just silly, but when I woke up from a rather unsettling dream Tuesday morning and hopped right on the internet as is my custom, the lingering creepiness of the dream was soon overshadowed by the relief that it hadn't been grosser or more horrifying.
" . . . that she gets to spend a few nights away from the yippy dog next door." Poor yippy dog next door. How I hate her. Apparently Mr. Next Door rescued her from some terrible treatment, and he had her for months before she could make sound. I felt all sorts of sadness for her when she was an abused dog who couldn't bark. Such a tragic little figure, she was. And then her comfort and confidence grew, and she was healed enough to bark. every. morning.of. my. life. Now I feel all sorts of sadness for myself. But I'll be spending the next four nights at Shane's, so her yippiness will be someone else's Thanksgiving blessing.
And now for some previously unpublished thoughts on gratitude:
I'm thankful . . .
. . . for a ten day free preview of the HBO channels going on now. I've filled our DVR with movies, watched a couple on demand, and have done a bit of work to catch up on all the past year or more of not watching movies. For the holiday weekend, we are actually getting a free preview of the top tier package which includes access to all the premium channels, but the DVR is full, and I'll be a bit too busy basking in the warm bosom of my family to worry about it.
. . . for the interwebs. I will proclaim, with no concern for how lame it makes me, that the internet makes my life better in countless ways. And since my infrequent and often unreadable posts come to you via internet, imaginary readers, I'm sure you join me in my gratitude.
. . . for my four-year-old Bible class. My little children are precious and funny and even the ones who don't listen and make me work up a sweat are so sweet and charming. I could tell you loads of stories that seem hilarious and special to me but would probably just bore you and go nowhere. But trust me that the dozen and a half or so preschoolers who hang out with me on Sundays are the best part of most of my weeks.
. . . for pajama pants. I'm thankful for the rest of my clothes too, most of the time, but I'm always overwhelmed with gratitude when I can put on my pajama pants.
. . . for Peeps and Meeps and Weeps. Friends so precious and dear that miles and years cannot ease the hold they have on my heart.
. . . for cell-phone alarm clock capabilities that allow me to never have to wake up to a blaring alarm again. Nothing ruins a morning like a startlingly loud honking noise. "Linus and Lucy" is ever so much nicer.
. . . for chocolate-covered pretzels. How they complete my life.
. . . for her. And him.
Seriously. Don't they look like the sweetest, best parents anywhere ever? They so are.
. . . and for her (and her again) and her and her and her and her
. . . and for him and him and him and her and him and him and him
. . . and for him and her and her and her and him and her (and for the her inside that striped sweater that we wouldn't meet for another five months) and him and her and him and her and him.
. . . for traditions that hold on even when they become crowded and noisy and logistically unsound. And for the love and understanding that allow those traditions to be reevaluated and adapted into ever more good times. For last times and first times. For nostalgia and anticipation. For family and every special thing that the word evokes.
. . . for you, dear readers. For being here and reading this and making all my Google Analytics dreams come true.
Love & stuff,