I guess this is a poem? I don't know, I just have Thanksgiving feelings so...wrote it down.
My holiday memories - packed with fun, never uncomfortable, always exciting.
My holiday memories - driving to the cousins house, sitting on a piano bench, playing Yukon Trail.
Did I forget, or did I not ever notice the hustle and bustle of cooking for 20+ people?
Did I forget, or did I not ever notice the time it takes to do hours of driving, visit, and hours back?
My holiday memories - they sparkle in my mind and seem so fun, so appealing.
My holiday memories - colored cards under the tree, no labels with names so we couldn't peek.
Did I forget, or did I not ever notice the days and days of wrapping that had to happen?
Did I forget, or did I not ever notice the packages and recycling and sorting of bubble wrap?
My holiday memories - everything felt so warm, so inviting, so homey.
My holiday memories - all in one house, and my dad saying "all my babies are home from college".
Did I forget, or did I not ever notice the soothing of squabbles and assurance of equal fairness?
Did I forget, or did I not ever notice the time it took to make sure everyone had a space of their own?
My holiday memories - are they real, or looking back with rose-colored glasses?
My holiday memories - they happened, but who made it all happen?
I forgot, or maybe I never noticed, that mom carried a lot of the labor to make it happen.
He'll forget, or maybe he doesn't notice, the effort I've put in this week, this month, this season.
I hope that the only thing left will be ... magic.
Thanks, mom, for my magical memories. I'm recognizing how hard that must have been as I sort through my own feelings about the holidays now as the adult who bears a lot of the planning burden.
