So in preparation for Thanksgiving, my mom and sisters and I divided up the Thanksgiving dishes (I think we are all responsible for 3-4 items, which would bring the total to 16 - more people than are actually attending Thanksgiving). I had to make my salad tonight because it has to chill overnight, so I decided to just do the bulk of my cooking since I was already in the kitchen.
One of my responsibilities is the stuffing. I put Kade in the Bumbo on top of the counter while I chopped veggies. I even handed him a rather long stalk of celery. He put it in his mouth the first time and made the most horrible face. Since he is only six months old, he frequently dropped the celery. He got to the point that I just had to put it in his hand and he made the horrible face (he didn't even have to taste it). After that, I just gave it back to torture him because I thought it was funny.
Eventually, I handed him a red, plastic cup to play with instead of the celery. I was just going about my business, making preparations, when I started on the onion. About half-way through my chopping, I look up and my poor baby is not crying, but his eyes are bright red with tears streaming and his nose is running.
Oops!
I'm thankful that he's such a good sport and that he and Spencer are such happy, content babies (most of the time). It has been a HUGE blessing this year. I am truly grateful.
My greatest blessings of this past year (many pounds ago):
I remember being at Thanksgiving last year. We were with Greg's family. I knew I was pregnant, but didn't know they were twins. I also hadn't told anyone yet. I remember Macy being so bored because her girl cousins were taking such a long time arriving. We are the last to have children on his side. Our kids are the youngest. I remember thinking that this poor baby inside my belly won't have anyone to play with when we are with Greg's side. Little did I know that God had already taken that worry off my plate. I'm thankful that Spencer and Kade will always have each other.
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My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys." ~Harmon Killebrew
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