Thanksgiving

I am beyond grateful: For health, for wealth, for life. For the margin in which to make mistakes and not slip into a descending spiral of consequences. For clean air, and clean water. For the many luxuries and privileges of my first-world upper-class white overeducated passing-for-hetero existence. For parents who are my friends and still together and healthy and at least putatively retired. For a brother who is home and has a job and a fabulous girlfriend. For a Grammy who is 94.5 years old and just as full of love and laughs and wonderfulness as before. For excellent in-laws who are generous and kind and welcoming. For a partner who is patient and loving and supportive and funny and also a wonderful and involved father to our son. For our sweet blind spaniel and charming shepherd mix, still going strong in their old age. For friends both online and off and the support and laughter and ease and comfort and joy that they bring to my life.

This year, too, we have a whole new Squid-induced category of thanks: For an easy labor and a healthy baby. For his smile and his chortling giggles. For the way he concentrates so hard to figure things out. For the end of colic and the beginning of independent play. For breastfeeding without discomfort, and healing quickly. For a daycare where he is loved and adored. For reading books together and having him actually look at the pages. For the adorabilityness of teeth and footie jammies. For the incoherent start of linguistic development. For slow-dancing with his cheek against mine and his wee arms clutching me tight. For a new sense of purpose and meaning in life. For the good days, which outnumber the bad. For the grin he gives me across the room when he sees me. For his delighted shriek when I pop up from a hiding place. For making my small heart grow three sizes.

And for everything else: For California weather. For movies and telly and books and the internet and fanfiction and blogs and radio and music. For warm blankets on chilly nights and long showers and chapstick. For fresh vegetables and good coffee and soy milk and goat cheese. For flowers and pretty jewelry and great shoes and cotton jersey. For soft tissues and hot tea. For swingsets and digital cameras and long-distance calling and antibiotics. For a Democratic majority and our remaining civil rights and liberal comedians and investigative journalism and people who speak truth to power. For to-do lists that get shorter instead of longer. For washing machines and dishwashers. For the way the sun shines through my windows and naps (both my own and those taken by Certain Small Persons) and houseplants that don't die. For new things to learn. For tomorrow. For today. For all of it.