My children are skateboarding through the kitchen. Which I am allowing until I regret it. (I nearly regretted it when I almost got folded into the pantry by a skateboard driveby.)
The bread rose overnight, just like it was supposed to, and I'm pretty sure that process will forever be miraculous to me.
I have cookies in the oven. Peanut Butter Goodness, is what I've named them. (Peanut butter cookie dough baked in balls in a mini muffin tin, then pulled from the oven and pressed with a miniature Reese's Cup while the dough is still soft. Pure brilliance, among other things.)
The boys are unwrapping Reese's Cups with abandon. Eating a few along the way. I let them think they're getting away with some delicious, secret coup.
I am making Sweet Potato Casserole, a time-tested family favorite that I've actually never made. Robb made it every year, even though he actually didn't like it, taste it or covet it. Such was his love for cooking for his family.
In a bit, we will go to my parents' house, where my mom has labored with love to create a feast with her hands. All the best fixins, including her famous pumpkin pie. Each year, she pours the leftover filling into a custard pan for me. It waits for me in her refrigerator with my name on it.
I'm telling you, that's as good a reason to wake up as the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
We will eat appetizers, play games, watch movies (ET!), and live the day together. Tonight, we will feast on laughter and blessings and turkey and pie.
I cannot fix what has been broken, but I can help create the joy that is new.
Thanksgiving, you might be my favorite.