I used to loathe Thanksgiving. Instead of a happy grumble of excitement in my belly looking forward to the day, I stressed at the thought of it. Because of this I found myself in Reno in 2007 and NYC in 2008. The latter being one of the best days (trip for that matter) of my entire life.
My animosity for the aforementioned holiday did not come from a distaste of any particular Thanksgiving course much like Chandler, the star of the show from which this blog title is stolen from, or the "stomach-is-overcapacity" message that my brain received a turkey-bite too late. I was plagued by the symptoms of any child of divorced parents.
[This is in no way a poor-me, post. In fact, it's quite the opposite.]
With each turn of the pages in my planner closer to our Thursday celebration, a nauseating feeling would rise in my stomach.
I felt slaughtered. Much like the turkeys that many would be feasting upon (except for the lucky SOB that ended up at The White House and was pardoned). Or the way the Natives did after the Pilgrims, well, slaughtered them. Now I'm being dramatic.
Where was I to go? Who was I to spend it with? Running around town sounded like too much work and the thought of leaving one parent for another brought indescribable guilt of picking favorites. After you ate dinner you were supposed to sit. Let the fat absorb and well, get fat. Unbuckle that top button; loosen that belt. Not go to dinner #2.
So I didn't do it. Goodbye Portland. Hello anywhere else.
I had to float away for a little bit to find my way home...and float I did. Just like the giant Shrek I watched fly down that New York street in November 2008. But after this glorious flight, Shrek was deflated into nothing but a glob of green wrinkled plastic without the assistance of helium and his team of people that held his strings down to keep him aloft.
Like the helium in a balloon, these ideas of stress surrounding what should be a happy holiday had blown up to capacity in my head. And I wasn't allowing my special "team" to help me through it.
Enter Thanksgiving Twenty-Ten.
I woke up at my dad's and took my brother his favorite pie that I make annually, no none of that Pumpkin business, Sweet Potato Pie. And then I held her. Miss Olivia.
Her first Thanksgiving. She wouldn't be feasting on Turkey, pie, or gumbo (another family tradition), she'd just be spending time with those who loved her. Eating. Sleeping. And that's all it took was a look in those big dark eyes staring up to me. The importance of my team.
After sufficient cuddling time, I went to dinner #1 at mom's with my grandma and uncle. We watched Charlie Brown [granny and I share a love for Charlie Brown], I slept and then awoke in time to head to my next destination.
To dinner #2 I went with dad, other grandma, my 2 other uncles and cousins. I sang 'The Beatles' while my cousins played back up guitar and drums on Rock band followed by the annual never-ending Domino game. We lost. But we had fun.
I was afforded the luxury of seeing all of my family in a day's time. How lucky I am to not only have the ability to see them all, but to have people that actually care that much about me in my life. It's easy to lose sight when you have these things within your grasp and you forget about those who don't have that love in arm's reach.
We're born within this small group of people out of 6 billion other ones walking upon this Earth, in such a specific moment in time. There's no choice to where you end up. But there is the choice to love.
I'm thankful for my team. This indescribable bond we share that requests nothing in return and I only feel for a very few select people on this Earth. I now realize what a unique experience this is.
What a gift.
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