Turkey Butts
You will remember we wore masks for a while, but you won’t know the rest.
You’ll remember what we did, but you won’t remember how long the stretches were when we decided it wasn’t safe to see family or friends.
You vaguely know a “turkey day” is coming. You talk about it at daycare and have gathered the hint from my not-so-subtle turkey banner hanging in the kitchen. But you don’t know it’s a treasured family holiday we’ve decided to spend solo because we love our family too much to risk seeing them in person.
On Thursday we’ll set our table for four like we normally do. I’m making a special dinner of all our favorite sides, but you probably won’t notice that. We’ll ask you to take “one more bite” and to walk your plate to the sink when you’re done eating. We’ll probably Facetime family and you’ll stay put for 0.00284 seconds of it.
Nothing will seem out of sort to you.
As your parents, we’re your “ambassador” as you navigate everything new. What you don’t know is sometimes you guide me–thriving in a period that seems so hard to do so, keeping happy focus on your small world (daycare and home), rejoicing in simplicity like racing cars on the kitchen floor to each other, and so thankfully in good health we can often forget what a blessing it is until Adrian cries and you tell me, “Mama, he has teeth going in, I think.”
To you Thursday will just be “turkey day”–a normal and happy day void of strange casseroles, hopes for football wins or a long car ride to see family. It’s not quite what we hoped for, but maybe those kind of days will come sooner because of our choices now.
And, as you so cleverly pointed out, if you look at that kitchen turkey pendant from behind, all you see are a bunch of turkey butts. And that’s actually something pretty silly to smile and laugh at.
