I really wanted to post about our Thanksgiving, and while I know it’s a little late for that, the relevance and significance of that day will last for a long, long time in my heart. Life had all but returned to normal after Hurricane Sandy by the time November 22nd came around, yet I hadn’t actually cooked a meal for my family… Something that I had so desperately needed to do, and missed doing. Cooking and the significance of homemade, yummy food is what my normal is. It’s also how I know that everything is ok, even for that moment that we sit down to enjoy a meal and each other.
I truly don’t know if there is a more comfortable place for me to be that isn’t in the kitchen cooking while my family is around, picking and prodding at whatever I’m fixing. I know that might sound 19th century, but it’s true. The only way I could be happier is if my mom is there cooking with me.
Having been displaced three times in thirteen days with my family during and after Hurricane Sandy, emptying and restocking our fridge two times (first time after initial power outage, the second time after a building fire), we were so ready to feel at peace in our home with each other.
As usual, I stayed up until the wee hours of Thursday morning making cranberry sauce, two pies, and preparing the turkey to brine. The next morning, I put the turkey in the oven and we set out to catch a quick peek at the balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. We couldn’t miss it this year, as it’s Beau’s first time and our family’s last time watching it as NYC residents.
We took a pit stop for a snack at the New York Public Library, which just happened to be long enough for Beau to fall and split his head open on one of marble steps. The following three hours were spent frantically searching for a first aid supplies and then at our pediatrician while she tended to his wound. We spared him a couple of stitches and made it home in time to salvage the turkey and the rest of our holiday.
Beau devoured his first Thanksgiving meal. He is so joyful and hilarious (I mean, he patted his belly like Santa Claus after he ate), even when he’s destroying something-which is almost all the time. We’ve affectionately coined him The Trasher, just like his big sister was at this age. Doesn’t seem absurd that he will turn one on Friday? No one told me that having children would hit the gas pedal on time. Though, by now I should be used to it I suppose.
It was a really special day for all of us, one that we so desperately needed. Just peace with each other in our home (despite the ever present hiccups that come with small children). Such a welcomed day and time to kick off what will be our last holiday season in New York City.