A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 14 {For Brown Paper Packages}

discovering treasures

After work, Father liked to take Pigeon on a walk to get the mail. Most days, they brought back a pile of papers that were sent straight back outside to the recycle bin; other days they brought back nothing but a couple of pine cones Pigeon had collected along the way. But every once in a while, they returned with a surprise--an unexpected note, or a magazine from a forgotten subscription full of pictures to remind them of the change of seasons sweeping other places; there might even be a box full of treats. The other day, they came back with two.

The New England Grands and Dear Aunt J had both sent surprises. Amongst other things, Grammy's box was full of autumn colors for their table, books and games for Pigeon, and a Thanksgiving treasure box they would pull out each November to help them be thankful; Auntie J had sent books and remembrances, and (of course), cookies.

coloring some of his favorite characters

Mother was thankful for the gifts themselves, but more so for the givers--and especially for the smile a surprise could bring to Pigeon's face.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 13 {For Simple Requests}

2012

Sometimes Mother found herself busy preparing for guests who never arrived. It was hard not to feel deflated and bewildered, to wonder what she was doing wrong.

So she was thankful at the end of the evening, to hear her little Pigeon coo at her side: Snuggle me?

Yes, little one. For as long as you let me. 

A simple request from her favorite guest. Easy to please, this one.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 12 {For Little Kitchen Helpers}

Years before, when Pigeon was still just a wish and a prayer, Mother would daydream about having little hands helping her in the kitchen. She had been a little kitchen helper once. She had memories of sitting on a gold-flecked Formica counter top while her aunt stirred fudge on the stove, or let her drop the chocolate chips into the giant Tupperware bowl full of fresh-whipped batter for her famous cookies. Once, she'd insisted on tasting the Crisco--it looked liked icing. It was a lesson in the disappointment of dashed expectations. Things weren't always as tasty as they appeared.

Back then, Mother was sure she was being helpful, unconscious of being helped herself--probably at some cost to the cook. But it was in that kitchen that she learned to measure, level, and stir, and to associate baking with love and acceptance. She never felt unwanted in her aunt's kitchen. Not once.

And so she tried to remember, when she found herself rushing to get things done--the floor vacuumed, dinner ready, the toilet cleaned before the guests arrived--to slow down for a few minutes to invite Pigeon into the kitchen to help her run the mixer to make the dessert; to be patient, to allow him to feel essential, and to enjoy him enjoying the lick of the spoon. Because you can learn a lot of things in the kitchen. That day, she was thankful for all she'd learned there.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 11 {For Those Who Serve}

pigeon's uncle and cousins

On most mornings, Pigeon woke up after Father had already left for work. But that morning when Pigeon woke, there was Father. Snuggle me? Pigeon said, handing him a favorite book to read. And Father did.

Mother thought of Pigeon's cousins, whose Father had left for work that past summer, and wouldn't be home again for months and months. Their brave daddy was in Afghanistan, where he'd spend a dusty Christmas away from his family so that other families could be safe.

Mother thought of her sister, who was managing life on her own without the kind of help which Mother often took for granted in Father. Her own husband was busy helping others in that far away land.

Pigeon was thankful to have Father home for an extra day, but was too young to understand the cost to other fathers and families. Mother was thankful for the many brave fathers and mothers and daughters and sons, who were giving so much so that families like Pigeon's could have these sweet, simple moments on a Monday morning--a safe, warm bed, a snuggle, and a book.

Thank you, Uncle B! Thank you Aunty and Cousins!

We love you. We are praying for a safe return.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 10 {For Rest and Worship}

pigeon at rest in his father's arms : : 2011

On Sundays
they were thankful
for the gifts

of worship and
of rest.

: :
 

Blessings, all.

 

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 9 {For Rivers in the Desert}

That Saturday, they went to the zoo. Pigeon stopped to stare at the animals he'd only ever known as drawn up or collaged in his story books. But he recognized them immediately, and said the name of each one with sweetness and love, as if he were meeting up with an old friend after a long absence.

As it happened, they had met new friends that day. The November sun was pleasant, the shade abundant, the company good. Sometimes the desert could surprise you. They were thankful to be refreshed.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 8 {For This Moment}

... for cheap dates at the bookstore.

Joining in once again with  

Soulemama & others with 

a single moment

for which we are thankful.

: :

Feel welcome to leave 

links to your moments 

in the comments below.

: :

We wish you all a

blessed weekend.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 7 {For Cousins}

a small sampling of cousins, courtesy of Mother's cousin L

Pigeon was blessed with cousins on both sides of the States. He was learning the fun of looking up to people who were much smaller than Mother and Father, but still (mostly) a bit bigger than he. He had learned to say their names, to place them with the right faces, and knew which one had sent him which toys, which hand-me-downs, which folded papers colored with hearts and letters. He treasured every scrap. He remembered which places he'd gone with each one, the things they'd together done and seen; he pointed out reminders of these memories to Mother and Father every day, pointing at some insignificant item and saying a cousin's name with a bold nod. Sometimes it took a while for Mother to place the connection, but she always did. Pigeon's memory was his own little treasure box; she was glad it was full of so many gems.

A Day of Thanksgiving: Day 6 {For The Slightest Progress}

First attempt: January 2013

Pigeon was potty training. Again. He didn't seem to care much about it, or about the puddles he left in his wake. Mother could think of nothing else from the moment she put the cloth pants on him to the moment she gave in to a diaper for bed.

(They had tried the no-pants-at-all method. Mother just wasn't built for that.)

It felt like they might be stuck in the cycle of preoccupation and frustration forever. Pigeon ignored the bribes rewards, shrugged at the praise, was uncowed by Mother's meltdowns at the mess. After a day of battling his nonchalance with ineffectual nerves, she'd hide her relief and slip a diaper on him for bedtime. She could see him again, then--not just his puffy training pants and the drips--and relax enough for a sweet cuddle before saying goodnight.

One night while she and Father were putting Pigeon to bed, thoughts about giving up--putting it off for another week, or two, or a month--tiptoed into her head as she let herself enjoy her boy for a few clean, dry minutes. Kiss, Mama? he said, tilting his chin up towards her face. Daddy, hug?
But as her resignation trickled in, Pigeon looked up from his pillow, wide-eyed. Potty, 'morrow? he said, with a nod. Sticker? Treat?

Mother was thankful and very surprised; maybe Pigeon wasn't so indifferent, after all. Maybe he just needed a little time. If he was game, she must be, too.  And so they'd try, and try again.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 5 {For People Who Value the Past}

Not too far from the New England Grands stood an old stone mill. It still ground flour and meal. Henry Ford had built it to preserve the past for future generations. Mother had gone there as a little girl; the Grands were married at the white-steepled chapel down the road. Mother's sister was married at the historic inn down the lane, where Mother and Father held a dinner for their wedding party the night before their own marriage. Mother's family still gathered for meals there yearly, charmed by the candlelight and the towering oaks, the smell and sheen of weathered wood banisters. And Father and I used to come here for picnics before we got married, Mother told Pigeon as they drove out to the old mill with the Grands that October.

When Henry Ford bought the inn and expanded the grounds in the 20's, had he pictured a little Pigeon's wonder at seeing it for the first time? Had he heard the tiny gasp at the sight of rushing water, felt the boy's delight at the living history that matched the pictures in his story books?


Mother was thankful for this man, who believed the past would make a pleasant gift for the future. She was thankful for her own father, who believed the same, who loved these old places and nurtured a love for them in his own family.


Some small slice of Mother's rich and simple memories became Pigeon's that day. His hair in the sun and his small strong legs stepping alongside his grandfather's would become part of their own past--a past worth remembering, and worthy of thanksgiving.