Come the last week of November each year, I try and take off time from the EDJ (evil day job). First on my list of to-do's for the week is spring cleaning. Yup. You heard correctly. Spring cleaning in the fall. Just before the major holidays is the perfect time to deep clean every nook and cranny.
Call it a ritual, an obsession. Whichever, I find it necessary in order to get into "service mode", something I rarely do. With Thanksgiving comes my yearly transformation from selfish pig to humble servant. Rarely also, will one catch me in my glorious grump during this time. How so?
Simple. I know my limits.
Unlike the beautiful Cherub on the right over here, I'm not the "giving" type.
To even imagine picking up behind others, slaving away before a hot stove, or laundering nasty socks, years ago would've gotten me all out of sorts (actually, that is my usual sort...but whatever). I'm sure former neighbors have wondered just what the hell was going on up the hill, with all the shouting. For their inquiring minds--that would have been the old me trying to domesticate.
But not so anymore. I am capable of caring for others, as long as it's sporadically and sparingly--and NEVER asked of me. No. I can't do that one. I can, however, decide on my own terms when and just how I will give. The house will be spotless. There'll be pies, a funky jello dessert or two, salads, veggies, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, rolls, cranberry sauce, and I'll even manage to pull off a not-so half-baked bird.
Over time, I've come to realize that I'm okay with giving this much one week out of each year. Like I said, I know my limits, and the guys seem to have learned and accepted them also.
Every day, sans the last week of November, I lift not a finger. Sugar Daddy takes the boys to and from school, packs their lunches, helps them with their homework, and they all work together to keep the house "liveable". Laundry, vacuuming, cooking, dishes, yardwork, shopping . . . Heck, Sugar Daddy even chops wood and can tune a carburator in know time flat. But come Thanksgiving each year, it's my time to give to them for a change.
<----- On Thanksgiving, Sugar Daddy loses the apron!
Though the boys will come home from school one day next week, pause just inside the door, and inhale deeply, exclaiming, "Wow. It smells great in here!" And though ten minutes after the Thanksgiving feast is served, it will be devoured, bragged upon, accompanied by a few belches, and inevitably forgotten in the turkey sandwiches of the morrow, I will smile, satisfied with a job well done. More satisfied that the job is then, done.
And that's all right with me. Because, I get the next 364 days off. Free from distractions, so I can write. Free from worries and mundane tasks. And thankfully, Sugar Daddy and the boys are okay with it. They'd better be. Curious, who's cooking for you this Thanksgiving?