gratitude

There was a fair bit of baking, a fine layer of sugar across the counter.
There were candles in donuts and pies and cake, balloons and wishes in the air.
There was the music of cutlery, the cramped smell of joy. Car rides passed with borrowed DVDs and raucous games of I Spy, babies coddled and wine poured. A tree picked.
There were hours and hours of together time, and countless reminders to calm down.

Sometimes holidays have a way of magnifying all that is good, and sometimes also all that is not.

At the end of a few days of celebrating all sorts of things, I peer at current circumstances --past piles of sweaters and leftovers and new books, the dishes and dust. The whole lot of it is a gift.
Tomorrow I'll go back to making peanut butter sandwiches on repeat and calling that lovely.
I want to remember to continue to offer thanks for my own smallness, to look at my limits and at the sky and call it all better than fine.