Thanksgiving was over in the blink of an eye. It seems like the older I get the quicker it goes by. Although one of my students guessed my age today – “you’re probably about thirty Ms. Beam. Am I right?” he asked.
“You’re not right, but you are my favorite student,” I replied. And I meant it!
In my last post I mentioned that JP and I were home this year – just the two of us. Which NEVER happens. We had a nice time. A quiet time. Don’t worry, mom’s sister and dad’s brothers made sure we met the glutinous requirement for a holiday in the south.
The rest of the Griswolds have been home for three days and I can’t stop being thankful for the chaos.
I’ve learned that I don’t care for quiet. I’m not a fan of an empty house. There’s a certain level of comfort hidden within the walls of our home and I’ve grown accustomed to it.
I’ve grown accustomed to hearing JP’s laughter from the other side of the house.
I’ve grown accustomed to my front row seat in the theatre of Preston’s imagination.
I’ve grown accustomed to Saturday morning breakfast dates at Stax with my dad.
I’ve grown accustomed to laughing with my sister until we literally can’t breathe.
I’ve grown accustomed to having my mom as my right hand.
I don’t try to hide the fact that our family is unconventional. But I also don’t hide the fact that I give thanks for them every single day.
Not just the fourth Thursday in November.