Thanksgiving

I had worked all day.
Changing diapers, filling cups.
Picking up the same things I had held in my hand at least 8 times.
I had grocery shopped.
I had lugged things in alone while multiple pairs of eyes had watched me do it from their seats.
I had steamed the rugs, and cleaned the counters,
and had straightened at least 30 pairs of shoes.
I was exhausted and feeling invisible as
I tucked kids in and sighed, internally mumbling,
“MY day is never done….”
I headed back downstairs for dusting.
Thanksgiving was coming and I was to be the host.

As I descended there in the dark,
I felt the seed of bitterness begin to sprout it’s too familiar root.
Pushing within my chest.
Stifling my breath.
Again there I was: Alone.
Doing it all alone.
Not able yet to sit.
I just wanted to sit.

“It must be nice” and
“You’re all by yourself”
joined at my side once more.
They love to nuzzle up close to my ear.

I grabbed the spray and a soft rag, and began yet another chore.
But as I dusted picture frames of my girls, and my family – snapshots of my life’s most treasured moments,
and as I looked at sweet memories captured there behind the glass,
I heard the word
“Thanksgiving”
whispered from somewhere deep within.

Thanksgiving,
not Thankstaking.

The thanks is not always meant for us.

We so often reach for joy and praise like it is the dangling fruit,
not even noticing that quiet Thanksgiving is like a tree from which so many good things grow;
And thanks is the only thing that,
when poured out,
will never cease to flow.

I dusted photos of the healthy children I had had after three devastating miscarriages.
I dusted photos taken in places that we had filled with so much laughter and love.
Snapshots of vacations with friends,
and of quiet nights at home.

I truly SAW my life behind glass that night.

Those toys I’d cleaned up meant joy, and provision, and children healthy enough to want to play.
The crumbs I had swept meant a family well fed.
Everything I had done that day meant that
I was not alone.

And I really hate being alone.

“Thanksgiving,” I spoke aloud,
as I placed the pictures back up on the shelf.
I was trying to hear it with more than my ears.
I drew it in,
and then breathed it back out.
Heart and eyes reset on the beauty that is all around me;
and not just focused
on myself.

I am thankful for so many things;
One of which is important lessons taught in quiet spaces when we think that we’re alone.

Mom Outnumbered

Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.