Giving Thanks



Little Man’s first Thanksgiving.

We introduced him to all of our silly Griswold-ian traditions.

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dissecting a ginormous bird carcass
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because once roasted they are mighty tasty
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does anything smell better than onion, celery, apple & yellow bell peppers in butter?

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When asked the obligatory, “What are you thankful for?”, oldest daughter conceded, “Well, I know I can’t say Minecraft, so I’ll say… electricity.” Smarty pants.
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not homemade
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he’s a fan
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burning it off

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Additional traditions:

Each year, we lament the absence of my father-in-law’s Fabulous Cranberry Relish. (Dubbed as such by a nervous young me at my first Thanksgiving with Husband’s fam, years ago.)

Each year we recall we lack a proper meat thermometer. (And anxiously dismiss a rational fear of Salmonella.)

Each year we joke about the turpentine [tryptophan] from the turkey making us sleepy. (A dig at an innocent slip by an old boyfriend of Husband’s sister, eons ago.)

New highlight: Husband and myself busy chopping, basting, stirring and mashing in the kitchen when Little Man proudly delivered the contents of his training potty into the sink and onto the counter, the floor, and himself.

It was pretty chill day, with just the nuclear fam; plenty of R&R– and respite from house showings.

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For all of this, and more, we are grateful to the One who gave it.


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