turkey

Martin is having one of the best trips of his life. During a stop in West Virginia, he played with two kids, learned new games, and slept in a bunk bed for the first time. At his grandparents' house in Virginia, he's jumped on the trampoline with cousins, read with his grandmother, and frequented the local children's museum. Despite the lack of schedule, new things to do, and constant stream of people, he's had only one fit. The rest of the time, he's been having fun.

Because Martin is having fun, I can relax. I can rest assured that he's having a good time. And I don't have to deal with the negatives: no tantrums to explain to cousins, no dirty looks from museum parents, no desperate searching for organized activities to fill long days.

Thanksgiving doesn't do much for Martin. He was uninterested in any of the special foods. He ate a piece of bread for Thanksgiving dinner. Because everyone else raved about the turkey and potatoes, Martin said that his bread was delicious. I, however, love Thanksgiving. And this year I got a happy and relaxing one for the first time in years.