I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
November 24, 2007
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We were joined this Thanksgiving by my grandmother, my mom and my dad and, contrary to the expectation put in our heads by every modern “home for the holidays” movie out there, it was great. I restrained myself and didn’t clean until I dropped from exhaustion (well, at least I tried not to) and for the first time in memory, my mom and grandmother turned off the special radar that they seem to have, which allows them to catch all the dirty spots around the house that I inevitably missed
I’m not exaggerating. In past years, they have cleaned out the air vents of my stove, batted old cobwebs out of ceiling corners, waxed my wood floors while I was at the gym, scrubbed the edges of my dining room table (which was completely laid out for Thanksgiving and already had been scrubbed, thankyouverymuch), colored in spots with a Sharpie where the faux paint had flaked off in the bathroom and washed my dryer filter. All unasked, of course. Surely I was grateful for these two loving attentive family members, right? Um, no. I was mortified. They were trying to help, of course, but I merely felt exposed as an inadequate homemaker, a slatternly sally posing as Donna Reed.
For years, I’ve begged them to put down their feather dusters, but neither has been able to relent…. until now. While I’m sure that this year more than any other, they were sorely tempted by all the dusty corners, smudged windowpanes, crusty oven dials, and record number of carpet stains, I’m pleased and proud to tell you that they resisted the urge to make it all better. And knowing how hard that must have been for them, I am especially and eternally grateful.
It might also have helped, that I’m (maybe just a tad bit) older and (somewhat) wiser and realize that no matter how much of an adult I become, my mother and grandmother will always see me as their little girl, in need of their help and guidance. Perhaps that made me a little more indulgent and less defensive this time around when they tried to help out.
So this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for family members who are willing to overlook the granola bar wrapper in the yard, the window marker drawings decorating our front storm door, and the dust on the chandaliers. I’m thankful that we had three days together that were fun and controversy-free. And I’m thankful that Thanksgiving, and all the cooking and preparation that comes with it, is only once a year.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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