It's Not That I'm Not Grateful . . .

it's just damn hard to express it. Sometimes when I read other people's posts during November, my first thought was, "Why can't I sound that sincere? Surely there must be something wrong with me." Seriously, I have tons to be grateful about: happy marriage, successful kids, health, a job I love . . . so why the hell can't I put that into words? Truth is, I have no f-ing idea.

So let's see if I can articulate it four days after the "official" month of gratitude has past. There are things that bring me joy on a daily basis. The blossoming cherry tree that I pass ever morning and evening on my way to a job that I love (teaching truly is the best gig in the world, people. Even with the media screaming about how teachers are basically money grubbing whores in search of a summer vacation, I wouldn't give it up for anything) brightens my day. My Tuesday Knit Nights provide at least two hours worth of recharging every week . . . much laughter, good times with friends, the occasional snack or two, plus all the yarn a girl can handle. Music. Routines. Me. Co-workers. Family. Voting. Technology. A clean fucking counter. Wine. Quiet moments. But mostly, my husband and kids.

Dave and the Girls are pretty much the reason for everything. They require little, if any, explanation for my gratitude. I'm just a better person for them being in my life. The Girls. When you have babies and kids in school, most of your identity whether you want to admit it or not, is wrapped up in being their mom. If you think I'm lying, go look at your photos or chart what you do on a daily basis. It's all about your kids. But when they leave for school, you don't quite have that "luxury" any more. Then things start to shift, and you figure out how to be a different mom. On more than one occasion, I'll read someone's blog and think, "Just wait . . . you're in for a life changing experience in ten years when your kids leave." And my Dave? He's my brand of snarky; he keeps me in check; he laughs at my jokes; he listens to my rants (although I suspect he plays Angry Birds during the rants), and he lets me cry when I need to.

I think I spent most of November in need of a good cry, but it never really came. So that need has been bubbling around for a while now. I'm hoping that it comes out before Christmas . . . otherwise, I'll put on a sappy movie or read the last chapter of The Westing Game or listen to "This Woman's Work" and get it over with. That crying jag that I know I'm headed for will have to wait a few more days . . . there are essays to grade and an Advent scarf to knit after all.