I had Thanksgiving morning all planned out. After Ben woke up, I would bring him into our bed and the three of us would snuggle and giggle and stretch and wake up slowly with no place to be. We do this on weekends, and it is one of the sweetest times we all spend together, so I was looking forward to getting a "bonus" snuggle in on Thanksgiving.
After we were all awake, I would make a cinnamon roll recipe I found on Pinterest, which promised to be quick, easy, and delicious. Then, we would all gather around the Thanksgiving Tree and while we enjoyed our decadent, sugary breakfast treat, we'd read the things we'd written on the tree and reflect on all of our blessings.
Once we'd licked our fingers clean and our last blessing had been counted, we'd migrate to the couch and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which is really nothing like I remember when I was growing up, but I still can't bring myself to stop watching it because, after all, it's a tradition. Broadway numbers and shameless NBC sitcom plugs be darned, Ben will grow to love the parade the way I did!
That's what I'd planned. Starting Thanksgiving 2011 and repeating every Thanksgiving to come. A tradition.
Ben woke up fussy on Thanksgiving. I fed him and brought him into our room and instead of cooing and smiling or playing games on the pillows, he just fussed. Disappointed but not deterred, I went to the kitchen to bake these.
They were easy and quick and really, how could dough, butter, sugar, and syrup in any combination not turn out great?
I pulled the rolls from the oven and dumped them out to cool and went to start cutting our tags off the thanksgiving tree.
I'd tied them on really well. Perhaps a little too well? I didn't want to tear them, so before long I was just frustrated, untying, then clipping, untying, then clipping... the rolls were getting cold.
After clipping all 492 tags off of our little tree, I carried them and our plates to the living room floor. We sat and ate and read through what we'd written. Ben vacillated between trying to eat the tags and playing in the firewood basket next to the fireplace.
Perhaps expecting a 7-month-old to participate in a family tradition is asking a bit much.
We hurried and finished and turned on the parade. It really does get worse every year. It wasn't long before Tim was watching football and I was scrubbing sugar and syrup out of my bundt pan.
So, the morning wasn't quite as romantic and seamless as it had played out in my mind, but our Thanksgiving Tree tradition is off to a good start. It really was fun to take some time, just the three of us, and reflect on all the great things God has given us this year.
What more could we ask for?
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