Today, you’re getting a kiss. MommaKiss that is, who is my guest today. MommaKiss is an amazing lady…and her blog is equal parts big heart and big sass. Some of my favorite writing of Momma’s is when she writes about her life growing up, because she does it with a tenderness that belies her sarcastic, pigtailed bloggy exterior. Today, her favorite Thanksgiving.
I was 10. My parents were divorced. My Momma was starting a new college and had to move us from Michigan to Wisconsin. I was young enough not to get all emotional about the move, but I knew Momma was scared. I’m one of six kids, but just us two “little’s” moved with her. My third oldest brother stayed back, even though he was still in high school. He stayed with a friend’s family because he simply refused to move at the ripe old age of 16. And the other two older brothers were in college, living the dream. The oldest, my only sister, she had left long ago for the Wild West so we were used to her not being around.
So we moved. Momma packed a u-haul van and on the 6-ish hour trip, my little brother and I kept her company for most of the drive. Until we fell asleep, of course.
We settled into an apartment and it was just a week before school started. There were a few kids in the apartment complex that we got to know, but starting a new school at that age wasn’t easy. The most important thing is that my brother and I always had each other’s back. We got through the first month OK but missed home a bit. We missed our big brothers and aunts and uncles. Momma started up a calendar with a count down to Thanksgiving.
You see, at Thanksgiving, my big brothers were coming to visit us for the first time. Good Lord was I excited when the day arrived! My little brother and I spent an hour on the front deck waiting to see their car on the street. When they finally pulled into the parking lot, we raced down the steps and were banging on the doors to the car and were scooped up in Big Brother hugs like it would be our last. Of course it wasn’t, but we couldn’t help it.
Momma just waited in the kitchen, on tip toes peeking out the window. She let us be silly siblings. Now that I’m older and wiser, I’m pretty sure she was a crazy mess inside wanting to hug her boys, too. But she waited. She let us get ‘fireman carried’ and get our hair mussed up. The big boys arrived on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and it was just like last year. Except we were now in a 2 bedroom apartment. Didn’t matter. We sat close and had a slumber party on the floors. We all ate breakfast at the tiny kitchen table.
Thanksgiving morning, Momma was up with the sun cooking and baking and mixing and loving every second. Momma had borrowed a folding table from our church, which was set up in the living room of our apartment. We bumped elbows and spilled milk and ate every single morsel of food.
Momma let me say the toast – what was I thankful for – and I got all shy and bashful. I was the only girl among those 4 boys and didn’t want to get all mushy so I just said “Thank you for cooking, Momma. And Thank God Big Brother A is wearing clean socks.”
I wish I had said more. I think they know what I was feeling.
I’m still very close with my brothers. The three alive and the one in heaven. There have been many holidays since that Thanksgiving. All together in one home, or just a few visiting each other. I’ve had incredible holidays with my new family, as well. But yah, that Thanksgiving of 1984, holds a special place in my heart and is by far my favorite.