Thankful

I used to be so punctual.  Oh, I still get everywhere I need to be on time, I am very rarely late for work/school even with three kids dragging their feet every morning, but when it comes to this blog, I am forever and hopelessly running behind.  

On November 1 I noticed everyone in my Facebook world jumped on the thankful train and started posting their blessings every day.  Every day I meant to do that too and, well, it didn't happen.   Wouldn't have been very hard and wouldn't have taken me very long, but once I scrolled through the daily happenings of my 246 close friends and dug for treasure I needed to log off and watch Duck Dynasty marathons clean the house, cook meals, and raise children.  

So since I very rarely have my own bloggy ideas anymore, I've decided to steal the facebook fun and move my thankfulness over here.   Will I do this more than once?  Eh?  I hope to, I have plenty to be grateful, but, you know, the whole speech, guitar, gymnastics, football, psychiatrist, part-time job thing......

Day 1......Better late than never.....

The obvious:

I always want to send a photo Christmas card to Dr. Swami who told me fifteen years ago I would likely never have children without absolutely any explanation or bedside manner whatsoever.   I am certain without a doubt that God sent us to Texas, to this job just thrown into the husband's lap, just so we'd get out of West Virginia and into a world with better medical facilities.   Should I wait until tomorrow to say how thankful I am for Texas doctor too?  Nah.  Where Dr. Swami said I'd need to have three miscarriages before she'd help me in any way, Texas Doctor dosed me up with enough hormones everytime I finally got pregnant (except the last one, which was a surprise and maybe also a miracle) so I wouldn't have to experience the inevitable that comes with a progesterone level of four.   I mean, what if I'd miscarried these children because  I had one West Virginia doctor to choose from?  Would I have three different kids?  Would I have any children at all?  Boggles the mind to think about.  

Being a mom is hard work.  There are some days I just want to shut the bedroom door and be done with it for the night and then, naturally, that's the night two of them are puking all over their beds and the third one is complaining very loudly about how horrible his life is that he has to live here.  With that.  The travesty.  Oy.  When the frustrations mount, I try to remind myself how very much I prayed for these children and how very lonely I would be without them.