Friday, November 7, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Well, not really. We're just celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow. My sons live about three hours from here, and due to their other commitments on Thanksgiving day, we've chosen to make the best of our separation and start what may possibly become a new family tradition. In the end, it matters not which day we set aside to thank God for blessing us so profusely, it just matters that we thank Him.

And above all else, I am thankful for my children.

Long ago I came across this beautiful piece of writing. I've Googled it to death to try to find out the author, but keep coming up with "author unknown." Whomever she is, she has poignantly summed up what has been my experience with being the mother of three children. I cry every time I read this.

To My First Born: (Wes)

I've always loved you best because you were our first miracle. You were the genesis of a marriage, the fulfillment of young love, the promise of our infinity.
You sustained us through the hamburger years. The first apartment furnished in Early Poverty.....our first mode of transportation (1955 feet) ....the 7 inch TV set we paid for 36 months. You wore new, had unused grandparents and more clothes than a Barbie doll. You were the "original model" for unsure parents trying to work the bugs out. You got the strained lamb, open pins and three-hour naps.

You were the beginning.

To My Middle Child: (Kellen)

I've always loved you best because you drew a dumb spot in the family, and it made you stronger for it. You cried less, had more patience, wore faded hand-me-downs and never in your life did anything "first,"but it only made you more special. You are the one we relaxed with and realized a dog could kiss you and you wouldn't get sick. You could cross the street by yourself long before you were old enough to get married, and the world wouldn't come to an end if you went to bed with dirty feet.

You were the child of our busy, ambitious years. Without you, we never could have survived the job changes and the tedium and routine that is marriage.

You were the continuance.

To My Baby: (Molly)

I've always loved you the best because endings generally are sad, and you are such a joy. You readily accepted the milk stained bibs. The lower bunk. The cracked baseball bat. The baby book, barren but for a recipe for graham pie crust that someone jammed between the pages.
You are the one we held onto so tightly. For you see, you are the link with the past that gives a reason for tomorrow. You darken our hair, quicken our steps, square our shoulders, restore our vision and give us humor that security and maturity can't give us.

When your hairline takes on the shape of Lake Erie and your children tower over you, you will still be "the baby."

You were the culmination.

No comments: