Thankful

I never thought I would be the sort of person who double checks a pie recipe, stops dead in her tracks, and hysterically screams, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S TWO CRUSTS?!" But I did that. Today.

Last year, I tried to plan Thanksgiving at our place. But every time I tried to entertain the thought, I started having chest pains, trouble breathing, and, actually, umm...my hair fell out. I promise, I'm not that kind of girl who freaks out just because she's hosting. I love hosting. But holidays such as Thanksgiving can be a tad tricky when you can't use gluten, dairy, corn, soy, yeast, eggs, or nuts. That eliminates...everything. Stuffing? No. Pie of any kind? No. Green bean casserole? No. Corn? Hell no. Mashed potatoes, gravy? Bowl of nuts? No, no, and no. Biscuits or banana bread? Not unless you're gonna hang out at the ER later anyway. Our diet even eliminates most turkeys unless you want to pay $35 for an organic, free range version that's not much bigger than a roaster chicken.

I don't know why I thought this year would be easier. He still has the same allergies. More, even, than last year.

I feel like we don't have any good options. I host, I freak out and spend...omg. So much money. I don't host, and I'm a nervous wreck watching William's every move, snatching up the plates, drinks, and crumbs people leave lying everywhere. Don't even mention the film of flour that's usually covering the floor, cabinet knobs, and counters of anyone who's just hosted Thanksgiving. *shudder* That's a celiac Mom's worst nightmare, thank you very much.

Our parish celebrated a liturgy in honor of Thanksgiving this morning, and our priest talked about preparation for a feast, and requiring a community with which to serve and feast. Orthodox Christians are all about preparation. It made sense. Go home, start this preparation with Christ in mind, with gratitude in your heart. And give thanks with loved ones. Yes.

And of course, that's when I looked down at my little guy who was quietly running a toy car in small circles on the pew. Not screaming to be let go, not running back and forth in a storm of sensory madness. Not even staring off into space with no hope of ever connecting to anything. Just playing with a toy and liking it.

Ka-bam. And that is what I have to be thankful for this year, friends.