Perhaps you are wondering whether it is possible to have a nice Thanksgiving dinner in a hotel room 2,700 miles from home. Well, Eric and I are here to tell you that yes, my friend, it is possible.

For one thing, we did get a hotel room with a refrigerator and a microwave. You can't do a lot of cooking with just a microwave, but it's better than nothing.

Then I wandered the shopper-stuffed aisles of the Super Wal-Mart in town for quite awhile, pondering my microwavable-feast options. There was a pre-cooked turkey breast that I could have warmed up, making for a traditional meal. But my husband, strangely enough, doesn't like turkey. He tolerates it when necessary, but he doesn't really enjoy it. Why feed him a meal he doesn't like just because it's tradition? So instead I chose a microwavable "bourbon-glazed pork meal." And since instant reheated mashed potatoes and gravy sounded yucky, and reheated canned green beans likewise, I went ahead and dispensed with traditional foods altogether. French bread from the bakery, salad from the produce section, fancy cheeses from the deli, and wine. And, of course, a pie, and canned whipped cream. Some things I can forgo, but Thanksgiving is NOT Thanksgiving without pie. Paper plates and cups and a corkscrew, too. Because nothing says classy like wine out of a styrofoam cup.




And you know what? It really wasn't bad. The pork was not the best pork I've ever had, but it wasn't bad at all. Salad and cheese and French bread and wine are reliably tasty. And the sweet potato pie? Surprisingly good! The crust wasn't as tasty as it would have been if I'd made it from scratch from my mom's recipe, but the filling was really good. Apparently in the South, even the Wal-Mart bakery knows how to make a good sweet potato pie.



And of course, the best part of the meal wasn't the food, although that was nice. It was sitting with my husband, being thankful for the love we have, his job that puts food on our table (even if it is Wal-mart food on paper plates in a hotel room this year) and our beautiful daughters--not to mention the loving families we both come from, and who are willing to watch our kids so we can have time together.



Even here in a hotel room, blessings abound.

I have not spent a lot of time in airports.

All my family lives nearby; I don't frequently jet off on fancy vacations; and when my husband travels for business, his comings and goings are at irregular times and he usually drives himself.

But yesterday, I had the chance to fly to visit my husband while he is on a business trip. That meant landing in Atlanta--the busiest airport in the world--on the busiest travel day of the year.

You might think that means chaos. You might think that means crowds. You might think that means craziness. And yes, there was a little bit of that.

But there was also magic.

I found my way to a place called the "arrivals lounge"--basically a giant hallway inbetween two baggage claims--and it was absolutely PACKED. Everywhere you looked there were people. People with handmade signs saying "Welcome Home." Men holding flowers. Little girls holding balloons. People with video cameras. Soldiers in uniform. An airport employee stood in the middle of the hallway, waving her arms like an orchestra conductor, directing the constant stream of people, "Delta this way, American that way, baggage claim over here." And everyone, everywhere, had that same hopeful, expectant look on their face--the look that says, "In just a minute, someone I love is going to walk into the room." You could practically breathe the anticipation in that place.

And all around me, it was happening. Through the crowds, two people's eyes would meet, and then they'd be striding over to each other, big grins on their faces. Hugging! I've never seen so much hugging in my life. Kids and grandparents, husbands and wives, soldiers who'd been away for who knows how long, all coming home for the holiday and being swept into the arms of someone they loved.

I was only in the arrivals lounge for a few minutes, because then my own loved one came striding through the crowd, and after that I didn't pay a single bit of attention to the giant love-fest going on all around me--just to him. But I want to tell you, that for all the negative talk that's going on about airports this year, all the fuss about security scans and pat-downs and terrorist fears--there was nothing but happiness in that room.

In fact, if you are feeling cynical--if you're starting to feel that the world is an uncaring place and there's no such thing as real love in this life--then I have a challenge for you. Go to the arrivals lounge, Atlanta airport, day before Thanksgiving, and stand there for five minutes.

I dare you not to smile.

It snowed today--just a light dusting. I would estimate it at 1/4 inch in my house, a few inches in the hills. But in the Willamette Valley of Oregon--well, that's enough to shut down the schools and send everyone scurrying for the safety of their warm houses.




Since my kids don't know the meaning of sleeping in, they were up at 6:30 and out playing in the yard at 7:30...for ten whole minutes. They went out, stomped around in their snow boots, made some lovely snow angels, marveled at the thin glaze of ice in the puddles...and then stomped back in, flinging their wet snow clothes all over the living room and declaring themselves ready for hot chocolate.

It was our kitty Charlie's first experience with snow. He thought he wanted to go outside--he dashed out as soon as I opened the door for the girls. But as soon as his feet hit the white stuff, he bee-lined to the snow-free patch of driveway underneath our car. And that's where he huddled, refusing to move, glaring at the snow, until I went outside, coaxed him over to me, and carried him in.



Later on, it started snowing again, and Charlie was alarmed. He sat by the window, keeping a close eye on the snow and meowing angrily at it.



The girls, however, were enchanted. They stood there for minutes on end (that's a long time when you're 2, 4, and 6), quietly, just staring out at the snow, watching it softly fall.

I spent this afternoon revisiting my past.

You see, a baby came to my house today. I watched the 5-month-old daughter and 4-year-old son of a friend of mine this afternoon, which gave me a houseful: my 4-year-old, her 4-year-old, my 2-year-old, and the baby. And as I held the baby in one arm and guided the 2-year-old to the bathroom with the other; bounced the baby on my hip while I wiped the counters; swaddled up the baby and quieted her when she cried; it was like taking a trip back in time--not the distant past, just me of two years ago.

Life with a baby, a 2-year-old, and a 4-year-old (actually, two 4-year-olds today, but the two mellow, sweet-natured 4-year-olds I had today probably equal the same amount of work as the one strong-willed, deviously creative 4-year-old I had back then) is not easy. Even for just two hours this afternoon, there was a near-constant demand for my attention. One or the other of them needed a snack, a toy, a nose wiped or a cry soothed nearly all the time. It wasn't bad; they weren't at all naughty. It was just busy.

And it made me realize just how far my kids have come. Even my littlest can now express her needs in complete sentences, rather than cries that keep you guessing about what she needs. Two-thirds of my children can dress themselves down to the shoes; can handle their own hygiene needs; and can even get themselves a simple snack and a drink of water with no assistance from me. They can entertain themselves. And, what's more, they understand when I tell them "Not right now." or "Please be quiet." They don't always obey when I say those things, but they at least comprehend the words that I'm saying.

It makes me wonder how I coped, when my kids were those ages. How in the world did I manage to get anything done? Maybe it's no wonder that it's only just now that I'm finding time for running, for writing, for keeping up with the housework for a change. It's amazing how fast it's all gone by--and made me thankful for how much easier it's gotten.

Yes, babies are sweet. Babies are cuddly. Babies have adorable smiles and make ridiculous funny little noises. Having this cute little bundle around brought me a tad bit of nostalgia, a little bit of sadness for the sweetness of days gone by.

But at the end of the day, what I felt the most was gratefulness for my present.

Every year, for the past couple of years, I have written a grouchy post about how Christmas is encroaching on Thanksgiving's territory. About how people put up their Christmas lights earlier and earlier, how stores push their big retail bonanza right back to the beginning of November, practically skipping Thanksgiving altogether. If it's mentioned at all, it's just a as a prelude to the big shopping day. And get this? This year some stores are actually staying open on Thanksgiving itself, so people can get their pesky thankfulness and togetherness out of the way and then move right onto the main event: consumerism!

So okay, maybe I am still a little grouchy about it all.

But. This year, I have to confess something. Today, I was singing in the shower...and I had a sudden urge to break into "Jingle Bells." Maybe it was watching my daughters rehearse an adorable Christmas dance routine at ballet class (for the record, I have no problem with pre-Thanksgiving rehearsals of Christmas-themed music). It was just so cute! And the song they were dancing to was really catchy. But still--it's before Thanksgiving! I can't be singing Christmas music yet.

And then later today I was at the store, and there was this whole display of Christmas CDs for $5 each...and I almost bought one! Not to play now, of course. But just to have, lying in wait, to break out after Thanksgiving. But then I came to my senses and put it back on the shelf.

I don't know...maybe the curmudgeon in me is fading away this year. All I can say is, it's only seven more days until the day after Thanksgiving. And apparently I'm definitely ready for the holiday season this year. Bring on Christmas!

I have amazing news to share.

My house is (kind of) clean.

I had to put the (kind of) in there, because if you walked in right now, you'd see some coats and shoes thrown down on the floor, coloring books and markers spread out on the table, and a collection of empty coffee mugs sitting on my computer desk.

But other than that--it's not really that bad. There's nothing crunching under your feet as you walk in. The dust bunnies are probably still there, in some places, but they're not so numerous that they're about to take over. The peanut-butter-and-jam smears on my kitchen cupboards are, if not non-existent, at least minimal. And I know that by the end of the day today, the clutter will be put away and I'll have a fresh, clean start on tomorrow.

And it's all due to the power of lists.

You see, after my recent post about housework and entropy, Eric and I happened to be having a conversation that led somehow to the state of the house. The problem is that neither of us is an anal, detail-oriented kind of person. We're both the type of person who can live with a mess. Both of us agree that we *like* things to be clean. Both of us feel happier when things around us are neat and tidy, vs. all over the place mess. But neither of us are very good about taking action on the mess.

But, we agreed that it was time to turn over a new leaf. We were tired of always feeling embarrassed when someone dropped by, of going on marathon cleaning sessions because the house had gotten so terrible we finally just had to do something about it.

I've tried having household schedules before--Monday is laundry day, Tuesday is cleaning day, and so on. But I never stuck to them. My schedule changes too much, my kids change too much, and I like having the freedom to change my plans for the day at a moment's notice. That's kind of the point of me not having real job right now--there's no way I'm going to say, "No, I can't come over and visit, it's laundry day." Or, "No, I can't help out with Beth's class party--I have to clean today." No, I needed simplicity and flexibility.

So here's the plan: I made a list of everything that needs to be done in the house on a daily basis to keep it looking picked up and tidy. And I made another list of everything that needs to be done on a weekly basis. And another one for monthly. I tried to keep it realistic. For instance, vacuum out the car--it only made the cut to be on the monthly list, even though it could probably use it more often than that. Other things didn't make the list at all: Declutter hall closet? Wash curtains? Scrub under the sink? I may (or may not) get around to those things at some point. But they aren't on the list.

I put the checklists in clear plastic page protectors. They live in the kitchen. Whenever I do an item on the list, I use a dry-erase marker to check it off. In theory, at the end of the day everything on the list is done and our house is liveable. Same with the weekly and monthly lists.

And you know what? I'm actually sticking with it. And the house is starting to show it.

Here's why I think it's working this time around, when I've never been good at keeping the house clean before:

It's a reminder. Those little unchecked boxes are there, every day, challenging me and taunting me. Checking them off is a tangible thing I get to do when I've done another task--and seeing them all checked at the end of the day makes me happy.

It's simple. There's no pressure to get everything done on a certain day or at a certain arbitrary time. Just as long as it's getting done. We don't get everything on the list done every day--but usually most of it. And what we don't get today, we do get tomorrow. Nothing is being left undone for weeks and weeks on end.

I'm not the boss--the list is. Before, I pretty much took command of deciding what had to be done and who had to do it. Eric and the kids would help, but I was director of housework, doling out chores to everyone else in the family. I don't like telling people what to do, and nobody likes to be nagged into doing things, but often that's what happens. With the list, everyone (those who can read, that is) can tell at a glance what still needs to be done around the house. This weekend, Eric took a look at the weekly list, saw what hadn't been done yet, and grabbed a feather duster, because he could tell by glancing at the list that the dusting still needed to be done. It was beautiful. Likewise, the girls take charge of certain chores (picking up the living room, making their beds, putting away laundry) and they know it's just part of the household routine--not some special punishment Mom is inflicting on them because I like to be mean. Or because company's coming.

We've only been doing the list for a week or two, but so far it's been fabulous. It's more work--actually DOING these chores all the time is a reminder to me of just how much I was ignoring before--but I am seeing results. And they're making me happy.

Long live the list.

I had a great, light-hearted post swimming in my head all day today. Something about how life as a full-time caregiver of small children is such a strangely delightful mixture of adulthood and childhood; how one minute I’m paying bills and folding laundry and the next minute I’m holding hands with my 2-year-old, skipping along the leaf-strewn sidewalk in my high-heeled black boots. Lovely, lovely stuff, I’m sure it would have been.

Also, this morning, I sent an e-mail to my mom about the slow but steady progress I felt sure I was making with my latest little potty trainee. And I told a friend at church on Sunday how I thought she was getting it. I eyed my stash of mini-Tootsie-Pops that we’ve been giving out as potty rewards and told myself that there would be no need to buy another bag; by the time we got done with that one, certainly she would be fully potty trained.

All this positivity was a mistake on my part. Such cockiness is unseemly. I did what Jennifer from Conversion Diary calls “angering the poop fates.”

I know this now because at about 5 p.m., just as I was in the middle of my busiest dinner-cooking time of day, Lucy came into the room and said, “She pooped! In the play room! And it’s allllll oooooover.”

And it was.

I won’t go into details, dear readers, so as to spare you the horror. I had a moment when I hoped, hoped against hope that what had actually happened was that she had climbed up the bookshelf, and gotten down the leftover Halloween candy, and that what I was actually seeing was chocolate, because that would truly have been a preferable situation to me.

But it wasn’t.

And so there are no happy skipping through the leaves posts from me today, and no more talking about how I think she’s almost there.

No more angering the poop fates. No more. I will just keep trudging humbly along.

The day we went to the pumpkin patch was rainy. Big surprise, for Oregon, right? But we're talking a majorly wet, sloppy, mucky kind of day. The kind of day where your 2-year-old gets out of the car, takes one step, and then falls flat on her bum in the mud. And then your 4-year-old does the same thing (except on her face). Yep, that happened.

But I played it off all cool, "Oh, ha-ha! You fell in the mud! Oh, that's so silly!" and didn't act alarmed at all, and the girls got into the spirit, and we all trudged through the sodden fields and came away with nice pumpkins. Evie picked a little tiny one. I didn't tell her she had to pick a little one or anything--that's just the one that appealed to her. Which was nice since Beth and Lucy picked such big ones we had to borrow a wheelbarrow from the farmer to get all three pumpkins to the car.



As you can see, Beth and Evie were both "ladybug fairies" (whatever that is) while Lucy chose to be a knight. I thought that was a fabulous choice on her part. She went around waving her sword (which she picked off the shelf because it looked much bigger and tougher than the one designed to go with the knight costume--the one SHE picked was labelled "mangling machete") and swearing to protect the beautiful ladybugs. It was pretty stinkin' adorable. And look! Their costumes were all color-coordinated, and I didn't plan that at all.



This is Beth's first-grade class. She's third from the right, kneeling in the front row. Check out the little gangster down on the left in the front row. Isn't he the most adorable mobster you've ever seen?

Kids in costumes pretty much just make my day.

As I've mentioned (aka whined) about on here before, my afternoon quiet time has taken a turn towards the sadly shortened and not-so-quiet this year. Lucy hardly ever sleeps during quiet time anymore. Which is fine. She's 4. She probably doesn't need to sleep during the day. Evie, thankfully, has mostly adjusted to the no-pacifier sleeping, but she still sleeps only about 75 percent of the time, instead of reliably, every single afternoon.

Entropy. It drives me crazy sometimes.