With all of the debate at my house, my child wanted to set the record straight about the day they were born.
My child saw what I had written about the day they were born and they felt the need to straighten some things out when it came to that day. I didn’t think that was necessary, but they insisted on lending their opinion on the events of that magical day.
So, first I already know my dad is lying because I know I was born the day after Thanksgiving and my mom was in labor for 50 hours, so they would have been in the hospital since 1 a.m. that morning and MY MOM seems to have a different story and they don’t go to my aunt and uncles for Thanksgiving.
Brave Daddy here. We did go to my brother’s and his wife’s for Thanksgiving until they moved.
Plus, I have relatives to back my story up and I have asked my dad if am adopted and he says no.
My children seem to think I can be a little different when it comes to things I say and do. I don’t know where they get this. Seems unfounded to me. Anyways, there always seems to be some different recollections when it comes to that magical Thanksgiving and for some reason, they always seem to come up around Thanksgiving.
He was in the room, so he knows I wasn’t adopted. Well I disagree. (Being adopted is not a bad thing)
My child didn’t want any of their adopted siblings to thing Wife and I loved them any less because they were adopted, so they put that last part in there.
The point is, some people in this house seem to remember the day differently. Whatever happened, and we all know who told the REAL version here, Wife and I were happy to be parents. In fact, you could say we were thankful (see what I did there?) What ever you’re thankful for, enjoy it. Happy Thanksgiving.
There are some disagreements as to exactly what and when things happened, but you, a loyal reader are very, VERY well aware of the truthfulness and accuracy of the stories and events recorded and shared.
This week is an exciting time for my family and I’m sure it is for your family as well. This is the time we all come together to visit loved ones or loved ones come to visit us. This is the time we all come together to celebrate Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving is an especially memorable time for me and Wife because it is the first time we became parents. There was one particular Thanksgiving that will always have a special place in our hearts. There are some disagreements as to exactly what and when things happened, but you, a loyal reader, are very, VERY well aware of the truthfulness and accuracy of the stories and events recorded and shared. Because of this, you know of the historical accuracy of the tale I am about to impart.
It was a quiet Thursday morning for me and Wife. We were planning to go to my brother’s house that day. The DVR was set up to record a football game. Wife and I were seated in the living room sipping our coffees. My coffee had a little something tasty in it. A little Amaretto or Bailey’s for flavor on this leisurely morning where no one needed to go to work and it would be hours before we would need to be at my brother’s.
The time finally came to hit the road. We drove to my brother and his wife’s house. There we saw relatives and loved ones. We chatted and enjoyed hors d’oeuvres. Some rooms had people sitting around talking. One room had the television on where people were getting ready to watch the football game. Wife and I made our rounds and said hello to our hosts and their various guests. Everyone knew Wife was pregnant and, if they didn’t, I think they figured it out when they saw her. Wife found a seat and rested herself. People made their way to where she was sitting and wished her a Happy Thanksgiving. Everyone wanted to know how she was doing. Would she like anything? Could they get anything for her?
People continued to talk. I divided my time and attention between the game and conversation. Then, not long after we began talking, we were called into the dining room. It was a beautiful room, elegantly decorated. The table was beautifully set with various side dishes: stuffing, vegetables, cranberry sauce, a variety of potato dishes. In one area of the table was a large bare spot. Very large.
Everything was in place. Everyone was in place. We were all ready to eat. But first, we had to give thanks for the bounty we were about to receive. After all, it was Thanksgiving.
After giving thanks, we passed sides to and fro. The turkey was carved. Wife and I passed sides to those next to us and around us. People passed sides to us. I was fortunate enough to get a drumstick, my favorite part of the turkey.
My plate was made. I was ready to go. I’ll never forget that drumstick. It was next to the mashed potatoes, which had gravy on it. The gravy was running down the potatoes and ran towards the drumstick. The tip of the drumstick had a little gravy on it. Just a little. Just enough to add a little more flavor.
I took the drumstick in my hands and brought it to my mouth. I was about to take a bite of the crispy drumstick with just a little gravy on it. I could smell the delicious aroma of the bird. I was about to take a bite when I felt something on my arm. It was Wife tapping me and saying, “I think we need to go to the hospital.”
And so we did. We said goodbye to our hosts and our fellow guests and we drove to the hospital, where we later said hello to our first child. This is the true, irrefutable story of how Wife and I first became parents. It happened on Thanksgiving. It was an exciting time, and it all happened just as you read it.
I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. If you don’t live in the United States, I hope you had a good week.
Thanksgiving has a lot of meaning for my family. Lately it’s meant something a little extra as one of the children in our house has a birthday that week. I love to share the story of how our child entered the world. Wife disputes some of what I’m going to share with you but the basic bones of the story, I think, we can all agree on.
We had been going to my brother’s house for Thanksgiving for years. This particular year it seemed like everyone was there. My brother and his wife had planned accordingly and bought the biggest turkey they could find. I don’t remember how big exactly but it was a big turkey. I was lucky. I got a drumstick. I love drumsticks.
We gathered around a table. It was a long table consisting of multiple tables one next to the other. There was stuffing. There was potatoes. There was gravy. Every vegetable imaginable. There was also turkey. Have I told you how big this turkey was?
We bowed our heads and said Grace. Following that, we proceeded to pile our plates high with the stuffing and turkey. the mashed potatoes and turkey. Corn. Yams. Gravy. I like gravy on my potatoes. I like to eat a turkey drumstick and I got one. When I was done making my plate, the tip of the drumstick was in some gravy, adding to how great this is, or is going to be.
I had the turkey in my hand. I could have used two but I wanted to keep all of the gravy on the turkey. It smelled wonderful. I was about to take a bite when I felt a tap on my arm.
“I think we need to leave,” My wife said.
It was time to go to the hospital. Of all the days. Of all the times of day. It was time to go to the hospital and welcome our first child. We got up to go. Everyone at the table wished us well. We drove to the hospital where wife was admitted. Two people went in that day. Three went out.
True story. Wife and the rest of the family dispute some of the minor details, but this is what happened.
We are celebrating Thanksgiving this year. There are a lot of things, actually everything, that is different this year. Coronapalooza means plans for everyone being disrupted. Instead of travelling to a relative’s house, we will be home. All of us: Wife, children and me will be around a table sharing a Thanksgiving meal. One will complain about having to share potatoes although there is enough to feed more than the number of people at the table. Another will complain about not being able to check his phone. You see, we have a teenager who is a secret agent for the federal government. He can’t tell us what branch or what exactly he does for fear of blowing his cover.
The Oppressed is a vegetarian. I am grateful for this because it means more turkey for me. Then again, there are three teenagers I will have to fight if I want turkey. Wife and I have stocked up on wine and beer, so after the festivities conclude, maybe we can have a drink together and enjoy a second or two without children. We will celebrate and be thankful. What are we thankful for? Plenty. I, for one, am thankful I got to coach baseball and football and got to spend more time with The Boy. The Boy is grateful there is no more games and he can go back to watching YouTube videos instead of wasting his mornings outside playing a stupid game.
I’m grateful for The Oppressed, who is healthy. Years ago, when she entered this world, she was in the NICU for a few days. She made it and now we are blessed with her unsolicited advice on how we can be better parents and constant reminders about how we only had children so we can have people do work around the house and yard.
I’m grateful for our life and house. It’s a house that is filled with children, including our Gaggle of foster children. Our life has allowed us to take in additional children. They have brought with them additional challenges such as road lessons, more school, more classes and more teacher conferences. There’s also the occasional teen melodrama from time to time, but my wife and I are able to see it through and recover just in time for the next melodramatic issue.
I’m grateful for Wife. She is constantly working long, seemingly endless hours to support us. I’m pretty sure her work schedule violates labor laws and I am glad when she can walk away from her work so we can reconnect and see what new crisis is waiting in the wings.
I’m grateful for Kitty, our fierce and wild pet who protects us from dangers outside our home. I’m grateful for her jumping on my lap and keeping me warm.
There is plenty to be grateful for and we will celebrate that this week. We will celebrate among children attacking each other, among insults and other barbs travelling across the table. I just hope the banter and rancor will stop long enough when I want another helping of something. I hope there will be a word or thought of gratitude between the shouts of, “I like your cut, G!” and the incoming slap that immediately follows. Maybe a word of thanks instead of shouting, “You’re so sus!” Maybe a word of thanks instead of the usual words we hear when one is chasing the other around a table or around the house.
I’m also grateful for you visiting. Thank you for reading. Happy thanksgiving.