Bacon sandwiches for lunch made by Ronan. Far too many pies for a family our size baked for the day. Loads of side dishes liberally made on the advice of The Pioneer Woman. Children laughing, fighting, and then laughing again. Thanksgiving must be here again. This one being all the more poignant as it is our last American Thanksgiving.
I have worried that I am not leaving enough family traditions for my children. Things that the children look forward to each year that they can depend on to occur without fail. Traditions, while they may seem silly at times, are a part of what ties families together. On such an American holiday as Thanksgiving it brings this anxiety of not providing enough “home” in the home comes bubbling to the surface.
The flurry of culinary activity for the day is done. Bellies are full after dinner and not one but two dessert sittings (When did we become Hobbits?) Even the dogs have had too much to eat today. The children are tucked into their beds, but not necessarily sleeping, while Ronan and I are relaxing for a bit on the couch. Oh blessed silence.
It is in this silence that I realize that Ronan and I have given the children traditions. It may not be in elaborate thankfulness rituals at the dining table, while they are lovely we do not do this. It is in the laughter about turkeys with lemon boobies. It is the bacon sandwiches at lunch on Thanksgiving day prepared by their daddy. It is in the far too many pies that I bake for them every year. It is in the way they put up with me staging a family picture around the table at every holiday. It is in the love.