Thanksgiving here was really nice. It was just our family, no visitors. I made the turkey, stuffing, gravy, and a creamed spinach dish that was quite tasty, and heated up a couple of cans of corn. Alison made this homemade cranberry sauce recipe that she makes every year, plus she did the mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. I think there was something else too, but everything turned out fantastic. At one point during the meal, my 13-year-old Stephen turned to me in shock. He just had a bite of the creamed spinach and was shocked that he liked it. "I thought I wouldn't like it," he said, dumbfounded.
Writing-wise, I’ve been bouncing between work on a couple new stories. Monday was a real downer for me for some reason. I just felt sad/depressed until, at night, I started playing with Ellie. Sebastian, my 11-year-old, came in the room and started talking about "forgiveness." His youth group had been talking about it, and he had his own ideas about the subject. It was actually a pretty good conversation, and between the Ellie playing and the Sebastian talk, I just really perked up.
Yesterday, Alison was driving the boys somewhere when a story came on NPR about families who use their children as drug mules. The boys were shocked. We talked about it at dinner. And it made me feel good, in a weird way, knowing that we're not the kind of parents who would even think about using their kids as mules. I guess in this day and age, that qualifies us as being successful parents, no?