A thing that happens when you write online and put yourself out there is that people feel like they know you (I love this part of it), people feel like they can correct you (I sometimes like this part of it), and tell you what they really think of you (I don’t love this part of it so much). One thing people love to comment on is how annoying I can be when talking about being an American living in Canada. “Get over yourself, Ali. It’s not that big of a deal.” And I get it, I really do. But Canadian Thanksgiving is one that still just kind of…feels wrong. Maybe it’s because Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite holiday — friends, family, football, food, f…shopping. The rituals involved make me giddy.

Each October, Canadian Thanksgiving weekend rolls around and I’m not even ready for it. I mean, sure, my Canadian job requires me to work off of a Canadian editorial calendar, and yet. It’s smack dab in the middle of a month-long marathon of Jewish holidays — so I’m usually much more focused on my soul, my fasting ability, my travel arrangements, my neighbors gawking at my sukkah (What? It’s just an outdoor hut that my family eats in, people!). It’s on Saturday. Or Sunday. Or Monday (which is it?)

But if we’re being honest, an opportunity to have a thankful and grateful heart…and to indulge in delicious food (and pie) is something I feel like we all could use every month. I’m all about counting my blessings these days. In fact, my father-in-law called me before Yom Kippur, as he does every year, to ask if he could give me a blessing for this coming year. And when he asked, I responded with, “Yes please. I could sure use one!”

So, I’ve gotten over myself. And embraced an October Thanksgiving whilst still embracing the November one. I’m thinking the end of January will be a lovely time for yet another one. Turkey and stuffing at my house — you’re all invited!

I have so much to be thankful for.

And not just because my bangs are mere centimeters away from being long enough to not need bobby pins.

(I’m so thankful for bobby pins)

Thankful for these three hooligans, who are willing participants in our early bird/worm catching activities—we like to be places like Brooks Farms when they open because I have a thing about crowds—and then will indulge in a little impromptu country antiquing even though everyone is tired and hungry and cranky and needs to pee. But, they got pumpkins out of it…and now I have to dig up some pumpkin recipes because their father (THE CHEF in the family) has decided he doesn’t wish to partake in The Great Martell Pumpkin Fest Of ’14. His loss.

This is a thing my children are learning about having a photographer for a mother when there’s a three-legged chair on the opposite side of the highway.

A normal mother: What chair?

A photographer mother: Let’s just get off at the next exit and back on the highway and pull over in the middle of rush hour so I can have a look at that broken chair. Maybe we can fix it and sand it and paint it and use it as a prop.

In other words, I’m a crazy person and an off-the-beaten-path antique shop? It’s my kind of heaven. I drooled over these amazing vintage Coca-cola wooden crates. And now that I know they have a website and they deliver, I may just have to order one. Or seven.

But I’m a crazy person who seems to be shedding the ISH in Canadian-ish. Although milk in bags is still weird.