Give in to joy

Gratitude and being present

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it…It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb. ~Mary Oliver

I remember many, many nights when bedtime seemed to drag on forever. A book. A song. A drink of water. A trip to pee. Another song. Not feeling sleepy. Asking for Papa to come say good night. Another drink of water. A back rub. A scary thought when eyes closed. Which necessitated Mama lying down next to them.

Sometimes, I felt as if the night would never end. I’d start to feel a low-level of panic, this feeling that I would not actually be able to coax this little person into sleep. That the pile of dishes waiting for me or emails I hadn’t answered that day at work would never get addressed. I would be trapped forever in this tiny bedroom with this tiny tyrant who refused to sleep. The low-grade panic was worse on the nights I had things I had to do after the boys were asleep. Grant proposals to finish. Articles to revise. Manuals to write. I tried—hard—to savor the moment. To remind myself they wouldn’t always be this small, that the day would come when they would have no interest in me singing to them, reading them books, gently brushing back the hair on their forehead, kissing them on the cheek, being so close to them. But it was abstract. It wasn’t something I knew yet. And I was often So. Damn. Tired.

I hosted Thanksgiving many times during those years. We have a lovely tradition of sharing Thanksgiving with our dear friends who happen to be our neighbors. We take turns hosting. We bring slippers to each other’s houses. We play board or card games after dinner. Everyone is laid back and no pressure. No one expects a sparkling clean house that looks like no one lives there. No one expects a perfect meal. We prioritize the time together and the effort put into making a meal we all share together. And yet, for so many of those years, I felt immense pressure to make sure everything was just right. It had a similar panicky, feverish quality to the neverending bedtimes. Trying to juggle the needs of little people and the seemingly endless list in my head of all the things that needed doing. It felt overwhelming. I am quite sure I wasn’t particularly pleasant to be around in the hours leading up to our friends’ arrival. But somehow, Thanksgiving always happened. And it always tasted delicious. And the company was delightful.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Z is home. Our neighbors are coming over, also with a college student home for the break. I haven’t felt anxious or panicky. I started rolls this morning and D finished them while I worked. I made stuffing and as I was almost finished, realized I had (as predicted) almost forgotten to go pick up the Honey Baked Ham. D planned appetizers, a house drink, made another shopping list, and went off to get what he needed. M popped down and made a crust for the mango pie he will finish up tomorrow. We air dryed the turkey and then salted it before putting it back in the fridge for the night. I reviewed what I need to cook tomorrow morning. We put an extra leaf in the table. We cleaned up. My friend and I texted back and forth about timing, food we were both preparing. It’s all good. No need for stress. No need to worry.

I am not sure what has changed, how I have learned to let go of that panicky, anxious feeling. That worry that all should be perfect. I still feel it on occasion, but it is about things like how I will balance my worry for the boys’ safety with their need for independence and risk-taking. How I will savor having Z in the house for almost a week and not break apart when he leaves again. How I can make sure they know I am always here for them without hovering.

Perhaps it is that as my boys have grown and their needs are not as constant, I can see more clearly that these things are temporary. I have most likely lived through more than half of the Thanksgiving I will celebrate in my lifetime. I don’t know how many more Thanksgiving I will celebrate with my boys. I have more uncertainty about what life will look like in five years than I may have ever had. And so, why worry if the rolls are heavier than I’d like them? (They actually aren’t this year—they are delicious.) Why worry if despite my warnings to all, Z eats the expensive block of cheddar I bought for the salad? If I forget tomorrow to make the squash soufflé? Those things don’t actually matter. What matters is being together. Sharing a meal that was prepared with love and holds traditions and history in each dish. Pausing to acknowledge that while so very much has changed, here we are, two families, nine people, who have been gathering yearly in late November to share a feast for more than 10 years.

While I have no bedtime stories to read or lullabies to sing tonight, I am so grateful that all three of my boys are falling asleep in this house, in the bedrooms they have grown up in. The bedrooms I did read them Harold and the Purple Crayon and later, The Trumpet of the Swan and sing them You Are My Sunshine and You Can Close Your Eyes to so many years ago.

I am grateful that tomorrow, we will gather with our friends who are like family and share a meal and some games together. We will hear about the college kids’ experiences this semester and about the senior’s hopes for college next year. L may eat and leave before the games start. And that will be okay. Or he may remember that it is actually enjoyable to spend time with all of us and stay. And that will be lovely.

I am grateful to have finally matched my experience with my understanding that I can enjoy the cooking and the preparation. That it doesn’t have to be stressful. To have gotten a little better at being present in this moment. And enjoying these moments. Because we never know what tomorrow will bring us and who will be around the table next year.

I hope that all of you have a day that is meaningful and has microbursts of joy. That you are around a table with people you love. Eating food that was prepared with love.

I am grateful for all of you. For your kindness, your love, your patience, your willingness to hang in there.

The greatest beauty in life is connection and friendship.

I am so grateful for yours.

I give thanks for you.

Oh, I want to thank you for so many gifts you gave
The love, the tenderness, I want to thank you
I want to thank you for your generosity, the love
And the honesty that you gave me
I want to thank you show my gratitude
My love, and my respect for you, I want to thank you

~Natalie Merchant

All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.