I work today, Thanksgiving Day.
I'm not down or whining about that fact at all - if anything, my job, or more accurately my boss, is one of the many, many things I am thankful for today.
Medical stuff comes up for all of us - we get sick, our kids get sick, etc. - and employers are used to having to adjust to that. But I've really taken it to a whole new level this year. Between Millie's therapies, tests, evaluations and appointments, I've taken off a lot of time this year. Sometimes with barely a day's notice.
Through it all, my boss has been understanding and supportive.
I've said it before, I know, but it bears repeating: A reporter doesn't ask for Election Day off, especially not one in a presidential and redistricting year.
I'm fortunate to have the support I need, in so many facets.
Family, friends, all of those who have offered encouragement and help throughout the past six months. It's all appreciated, so very much.
I'm thankful for the medical community, from receptionists to technicians to therapists to doctors to specialists. You might not be able to "cure" our baby girl, but we believe everyone is working to help her reach her highest potentials. And that's fantastic. We cherish all their work.
And, this year more than any other, I'm thankful for my Ray.
We're not an overly sugary, lovey-dovey kind of couple. If found at home, we're more apt to be whipping (harmless) plastic balls at one other, trying to smack each other in the face, than we are to be whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. You won't find us dancing in the moonlight, but we might be racing down the hallway, trying to shove one another into the wall to steal their first-in-line spot for the bathroom sink.
But if I've learned anything in the past six months or so, it's that Ray and I compliment each other. (Not in the, "Wow, you are the smartest person I know," kind of way, but in the yin-yang kind of way.)
I'm a big ol' ball of stress. I could pop at any point. I'm wound up tight with worry and anxiety on a regular day; going through what we're experiencing with Millie has compounded that tenfold.
Which means I have a short fuse these days. And no patience.
So when it comes to feeding Millie or battling Lola over clothing every morning (seriously, she can't wear frilly party dresses to school every day), Ray is always in the background, ready to step in.
He can hear it in my voice, that strangled gasp of frustration when Millie turns her head from her milk for the 14th time in two minutes. or when Lola refuses yet another pair of jeans or sweatpants, reaching instead for that sparkly, twirly summer dress.
Ray is patiently persistent. He doesn't mind if it takes 75 minutes to feed a 16-month-old. He has a special knack for reasoning with Lola in ways that I can't.
I came home late Monday night after. Ray had been home all day with Millie, who still is adjusting to her medications, and Lola, who was battling yet another stomach bug. He looked tired and worn out but also quite proud of himself.
I entered the house and found the kitchen floors all scrubbed, sparkly and shiny.
I was impressed.
Lola was still awake, so I went into her bedroom to give her a kiss goodnight.
"Mommy, do you know what I did?" she said weakly.
"I threw up all over the floor."
Ah. The scrubbed kitchen. That explained that.
Moments later, I walked into the living room, where towels were draped over our couch cushions.
I shot Ray a puzzled look.
"Yeah, she threw up all over the couch too," he shrugged. As I went to check if anything had stained, he stopped me, "I scrubbed it all out. It's just drying now. Don't worry about it."
And I don't.
I know the kids are in good hands when I'm not there.
And, for that, I'm thankful.
- Bethany :)