We went home for Thanksgiving - and by home, I of course mean the house I grew up in from age eight on. It was a semi-last-minute decision. We avoided traffic by travelling on Tuesday and Saturday. Our youngest travelled fairly well - which meant we avoided the usual 6 out of 7 hours of crying in the car (one way).
I left my camera in Missouri. I was a bit stressed about the weekend because I have a love-hate relationship with the holidays that occur from Thanksgiving through Valentines. A big part of me wanted to stay home and clean out closets and toilets. Another part of me wanted to fly to Arizona to relive my best Thanksgiving ever with an assortment of people who do not share my blood but feel like family. But we made the trip, and I am glad we did.
I consumed half a pan of sweet potatoes with brown sugar and marshmallows in a thirty-six hour span of time. I slept in my mom's somewhat redone (but still waiting on Ty Pennington to finish the job since she was left in a lurch) basement where there are no windows. Therefore the boys and I slept till 8, 9, 9:30 every day. That alone was worth the drive. Sleep is my love language, if you didn't know.
My oldest chased his fur-cousin and was also introduced to CandyLand and Hi-Ho-Cherry-Oh. My mother, lifetime hater of Play-doh, brought out a deluxe Veggie Tale Play-doh activity set. Apparently one's opinion of Play-doh changes when one transitions from Mom to Grandma.
The rest of the weekend? We celebrated a second birthday a couple of weeks early. And we watched my sweet Bugaboo walk. He walked around my mom's house. He walked around Mimi's with his great-grandma and great-great-grandma watching. He walked in his braces and special shoes, AND... he walked in his bare feet and in his footie jammies!!
Each lap around the living room reminded me how far he has come.
Each step made my heart beat thank-You.