Thanks

I've been reflecting a lot lately. As the new parent of a small child, one receives a lot of advice. Probably the most oft-heard is to "live in the moment" and appreciate the small things.

So what am I grateful for this holiday season? I could list the many things, but I think its easier to sum it up with this-I couldn't tell you the last time I had a bad day. I've had bad moments, bad hours even (particularly the wee ones). But I honestly can't remember the last time I've gone to bed thinking, "Thank God this day is over." It struck me that this is what happiness IS; good, safe moments that quietly outnumber those of suffering, anxiety or sorrow. I am lucky, and I am grateful for this happiness. I know there will be hard times and I cannot hope to avoid the sorrow that life inevitably brings. But I can hope to get through the bad and always return to this.

That said, I bring you a pictorial of Thanksgiving Day at the Small house. There should be more photos of our dinner with both sets of grandparents but someone forgot the SD card for the camera. Someone being me.


Our wildlife tree! Since the idea of a live Christmas tree in the house with a one-year old inspires visions of constant "no"-ing and/or lights and ornaments on only the upper half, we decorated a tree in the backyard with deer corn, peanut butter birdseed pinecones, barley biscuits and cranberry garland. Hopefully we'll get lots of critters to the banquet and it'll be a fun yearly tradition.


What Thanksgiving would be complete without shooting?





And finally, what I am most thankful for, every moment of every day:

Oh Deer

Its that time of year again. Deer hunting season is upon us. People who don't live in Wisconsin (or the Midwest really), probably don't understand the magnitude of gun season. Particularly up north. I'm trying to be more positive about hunting this year. I still dread seeing the bodies in trucks and strung in the trees outside deer camps. I'm hoping the doe and her two babies who visited our yard all summer survive the bullets. I don't like the macho idiots gun season attracts. I'm annoyed about being unable to safely walk in the woods (no matter what any hunter says, it isn't really safe. Particularly with a small child.) And I'm very glad Dave isn't MIA for a whole week hunting.

However, I remind myself that deer hunting at its best, simplest and most traditional is practiced by thoughtful folks who eat the venison, tread lightly on the land, and kill with humanity and respect for the creatures whose lives they're taking.

As the island prepares for a flood of blaze orange and people from Illinois, Max and I took advantage of the (relatively) balmy temperatures (40+) and clear November sunshine; playing ball on the deck and then a visit to Daddy's job site to watch the machines. In a nod to the season, Max wore his camouflage onesie.


"WHAT'S happening to Bambi??!!!" (Sorry, couldn't resist a Bambi dig)

The Kindest Cut

My skills as a hairdresser were sorely tested this morning. I don't know if you have ever tried to cut an 11 month old's hair, but its not easy. Not easy at all. Even with Daddy holding him straitjacket-style in front of a rousing episode of The Wiggles (fairy dance, look it up), Max wasn't that keen on the comb and clippers around his face. (I wasn't keen on having to cut his sweet, soft, wispy little baby locks. There may have been a lump in my throat.) But it was necessary. His bangs had grown past his eyelashes and he kept scratching the backs of his ears because the hair was tickling them. So off it went. Blending was a challenge. I didn't want to take off any more than absolutely necessary so we ended up with sort of a mullet in the back. With all those obstacles, it turned out okay. Mostly he looks so grown-up.


There's still a lump in my throat.

Saturday