Who did you think you’d marry?
My husband–I unearthed this a few years into our marriage, when we finally had the fortitude to be more vulnerable with each other–thought he’d marry someone more athletic. (I am laughing out loud as I type. Poor guy.) To his credit, when he met me, I was running every morning, performing pushups and situps at night. We played intermural sports and pickup games of soccer together. We hiked together. And to my own credit, I still live an active lifestyle. But none of these has approved the actual coordination factor.
(My parents laugh about me as a child falling repeatedly into the same hole in the yard on my way over to the bus each morning. I do not share these memories. And one has to ask, if it were true: Why did no one ever fill in said hole?)
Some of the times I’ve felt most connected with my kids–since they were very, very small–have been enjoying books together. Grant it, this was often right before naptime. So there could have been good vibes all around. But there was something about their warm heads smelling of baby shampoo…and boy sweat. My kids sweat a lot. Maybe it’s because they were so rowdy that I loved this time when we were at last not moving or wiggling as much. My daughter was the only one who was much of a cuddler, so finally, we were feeling connected. At one point I calculated we were reading about 45 minutes a day.
This year, my family is opting for a paper-plate Thanksgiving: That is to say, we’re going for a little less prep, a little more togetherness. (I hope.) Because I’m eager to make all this about something more than a meal.
It’s been almost twenty years, but I thought about it again this morning. I was unloading the dishwasher.
My husband and I sat at the empty dining-room table (um. Empty except for all the stuff my kids didn’t pick up), discussing Thanksgiving plans over a cobbled-together lunch. Him: leftover Mexican. Me: a bunch of stuff dumped in a bowl with tortilla chips. We were talking about what he hoped would happen; he turned to me.
Hypothetical question. Let’s say someone asked you to help an impoverished family this holiday season. Who would you help first?
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