A Time to Give Thanks

My dad's philosophy towards Thanksgiving is that everyone comes home.

He doesn't care too much if he sees us at Christmas and he doesn't really give a damn about Easter dinner.

Thanksgiving is THE holiday. You. Do. Not. Miss. It.

It doesn't matter that one of my sisters lives in Florida. It doesn't matter that I - and two of my other sisters - live in Southern CA.

And it certainly doesn't matter that I have three kids under the age of five -- one of whom is an infant and needs to nurse every two hours.

I had to load them up, along with my husband, four bags, a container of food, 20 DVDs, a portable potty, coats, two bags of toys, and a diaper bag, to make the 6 hour trip to San Francisco.

Except that it wasn't six hours. It was ten.

And the last two hours, BabyGirlie decided we needed to hear her dulcet tones -- at the top of her lungs.

And Girlie decided that the trip would go much faster if she whined: "I wanna go ho-ome" for three hours.

And Boyo decided that clicking his tongue was an excellent way to pass four hours of the trip.

And I got a crink in my neck as we were loading the car and I couldn't drive. At all.

Yup, my husband and I bitched and moaned the entire way up the 5: This is a nightmare. My father is unreasonable. This is insane. What the hell were we thinking? Why didn't we put our foot down?

We finally rolled into town. And once they realized we were close, my kids were vibrating with excitement. We are going to see Gam-Gam and Poppa! they kept shouting.

Once my husband could stop driving, he could relax and enjoy himself.

And once we unloaded and I got my hands on a heating pad and a glass of champagne, and I could relax and enjoy myself.

And as I wandered around my parents' house and talked to family members that I hadn't seen a year or more, I realized that the drive from hell was worth it because time with family is fleeting. And when I am gone, I want my kids to have good memories.

My husband and I make the drive so that my kids can have this: