I didn’t post yesterday, therefore, I won’t fulfill NaBloPoMo’s edict of posting every day in November.  I come before you in humble penance.

But y’all.  The day got away from me.  I thought I would have oodles of time in the morning, but: sleeping in and the parade and housecleaning and getting Evie ready and my own ablutions and preparing my Thanksgiving contributions and Thanksgiving celebrations and getting home close to 10pm and the Traditional Being Fat on the Couch and then…collapse.

Call it a day off.  Call it slacking off.  Although I won’t have NaBloPoMo’s 30 days worth of posts, Imma resume blogging every day.  Trust.

Wednesday night I started missing my family.  They were gathering in my hometown and starting to submit phoned-in reports to me from the home front.  I had a little pity party for myself.  I wanted to walk in the back door of my parents’ house and hear it slam behind me.  I wanted the familiar sights, sounds and smells to wash over me.  I wanted the hugs and the 20 questions and the local gossip.  I wanted the cranberry-apple-granola thing and late night stayin’ up with my sisters.  I wanted my mama’s turkey and our talk about books we’ve read and upcoming Oscar buzz.  I wanted my family.

I didn’t get my family on Thanksgiving, but I got what I wanted.  Gill, Evie and I spent Thanksgiving with another family that has opened their homes and hearts to us pretty much since we moved here.  They’ve enfolded us into their traditions and celebrations in a way that has greatly eased any homesickness we’ve felt.  So, no, I didn’t get my family, but I got to sit with Susan before everyone else arrived and chat while the air filled with the smell of turkey and gluttonous anticipation.  I got to “shop” in her closet because she read my post about being bored with my wardrobe and thought she could help me out.  I got to feel the warmth and good-natured chaos of everyone arriving and bringing in the stuffing and the green bean casserole and the corn and the beer and the pumpkin pie and the kids running around and “I couldn’t find my baster” and “Who was supposed to bring the soda?” and there’s never, ever enough ice.  I got to stuff myself to the point of physical pain and that’s okay because it’s the American way, dammit, and everyone else in this room is doing exactly the same thing.  I got to listen to my husband kick ass yet again at Star Wars Trivial Pursuit.  I got to be the designated dresser for the gender-neutral princess fashion show.  I got to take the baby and then put her right back where she came from when she started crying.  I got to bear witness to the Traditional and Mildly Hostile Discussion Of What We’re Doing for Christmas Day.  (I probably should have left the table, but I was riveted.  I didn’t know other families had that tradition!)  I got to watch my daughter play for six hours nonstop with all of her best and favorite friends and then collapse on the living room floor in a cheerleading outfit.  I got to crack up somebody’s else’s dad.  And then crack him up again.  I got to take home leftovers.

I still miss my family, and actually being with them over the holidays could never be replaced.  But we’ve been blessed to have had so many generous, thoughtful, good-hearted people come into our lives since moving to Florida, and I am thankful for each and every one.  They make us feel accepted and surrounded in friendship and love.  They make us feel home.

Thank you Hills, Lees, Wards and Pusateris for sharing your Thanksgiving with us.  You guys feel like family.

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