So, it’s 7am on Thanksgiving morning. I should be somewhere south of the border getting ready to wear my stretchiest pants (not pajama jeans) to indulge in some sweet potato and stuffing action. And maybe a little gravy and pumpkin pie action as well. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday by far. The food, the family, the football. Which, obviously, for me, we are having grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup tonight. My husband is in Detroit going to see MY Packers play (dude doesn’t even like football. He’s Canadian. Football to Canadians means that you have to like the dolphins because that used to be the only game they’d air in Ontario on account of all the snowbirds. Also, Canadians love to vacation in Florida. It’s, like, a thing. Or something.) and much of my family is in Perth, Australia right now where it’s evening and almost not even Thanksgiving anymore.
But, you know, here I am. Sitting at my desk at work.
Note: I have been blogging since 2004. I whine the most about being an American in Canada on Thanksgiving Thursday. You can check my archives; there are likely 7 posts like this.
I might not be IN the states; but that doesn’t mean I can’t participate in some cultural customs.
(I might even stop and pick up a horn o’plenty on the way home today. Ooooooh, dream big, Ali!)
Maybe the kids and I will bake a pie tonight. Or maybe we’ll make some stuffing, just for kicks.
And we’ll go around the table and tell each other what we are thankful for.
It might be time-consuming. My list is long.
I am thankful.
For coffee. That somewhat sweet, somewhat bitter, highly-caffeinated nectar of the gods. I also, through the power of my super awesome internet research skills, have a new drink at Starbucks that doesn’t intimidate me to order, tastes like heaven, and only has 70 calories. Grande nonfat mild coffee misto with a sugar-free peppermint flavor shot. God, everything is better with a minty kick this time of year, don’t you think?
That Movember is almost over.
That I am healthy. In the past year I have started moving and exercising more. I have started eating better (and quitting diet coke. 8 months strong, baby!) I have finally shed my post-baby weight (WHAT? She’s only SIX) and am on the hunt for new jeans in a size 24. I have found the perfect pair…they are JBrand Super Skinnies. Now I just need to find a donor who wants to buy them for me.
That my little Dorothy seems to be on the mend. She takes the stage on Tuesday night and has been sans voice for the past 4 days.
For an exciting new adventure. And for the Internet…who gave me so much love yesterday that I literally wept.
For good grammar.
That Mad Men will soon return to my TV screen (for three more seasons!)
For the Overdrive app on my iphone.
For Chocolate Chex.
That I have, seriously, the greatest family and friends in the world scattered all across the globe.
That my kids give me endless material.
For my chef husband. Because of him, I fall asleep smiling every night and I wake up smiling every morning.
That I finally found this song. It was not an easy task. I first heard a snippet of it while watching Hart of Dixie one Monday evening. Some careful google searching (I told you, I am research ninja) led me to discover that the song was called Lead Me Home by a band called FM Radio.Â Unfortunately, at the time, FM Radio was more like FM GHOST. No Facebook page, no twitter account, not even a MySpace page. I had almost given up my search UNTIL I was randomly on Schuyler Fisk’s Facebook page, because I am a huge, huge fan. Like, back in the days when she played Kristy Thomas in The Babysitter’s Club movie. OH YES SHE DID. Also, her mom? Sissy Spacek. (I KNOW) Anyway, I found out that FM Radio? It’s HER. And Tim Myers. You guys, I have songs by both of them on my iphone. And I had no idea that this song was theirs. AND THEN. Finally. It was on itunes. OH GLORY.
For other bands that I am digging these days. Sam & Ruby. Good Old War. The Avett Brothers. Bon Iver. 7 Worlds Collide. Sarah Jaffe. The Icicles. Ari Hest. Citizen Cope.
That my children can all bathe themselves.
For Tic Tacs.
That Isabella thinks that KETCHUP is a number in French.
That Indiana, the panty-eating puppy, has been noshing on far fewer pairs of panties. This means two things. Fewer trips to the vet. And fever trips to lingerie stores.
For the History Channel.
For people who smell nice.
For sarcasm. And for people who get sarcasm.
For shirt dresses.
For my family.
For my good skin.
For my life. I got lucky. I have a really good one.