Every time I get a forwarded email from my dad — something about angels watching over me and how I need to squeeze my eyes shut tight, pray two Hail Marys, and make three wishes and then forward it to everyone in my address book if I don’t want to get a menacing phone call the next day — I cringe a little at the possible implications of hitting delete… or losing my friends if I don’t. And then I bow my head in gratitude because it means that not only is Dad very much alive, he’s feeling well enough to send me chain letters. Thank you for thinking of me, Dad.

Every time my brother forwards me a text message joke, the kind that makes me cry with laughter but that I can’t repeat to ANYONE in ANY social setting EVER, I curse him a little. Not because of the way that my boss just looked at me when I received the text but because, sadly, I don’t have unlimited text messaging and this tomfoolery doesn’t come cheap. And yet! I secretly rejoice with every joke because it means that he hasn’t dropped off the face of the earth. My little brother,who can disappear for YEARS at a time, just thought about me now and tried to make me pee my pants. Thanks, Bud.

Every time I look inside my son’s backpack or dresser drawer and find fifteen Ziploc baggies filled with everything from marbles to miniature Lego men to three-month-old sandwiches, my graying hair turns a little grayer. Because that storage cabinet we just bought for all his knick-knack doohickies is doing nothing but collecting dust and looking way too INDUSTRIAL in an otherwise cute room. And then I remember that he uses the baggies because of their mobility and transparency and because he really is trying to keep me from screaming at him about that $%@! figurine I just stepped on with my wet, bare foot as I was getting out of the shower. Thanks, Son.

Every time my husband turns the thermostat dial all the way down at bedtime, I heave deep sighs of vexation as I pull on an extra pair of wool socks and blow into my already-cold hands. But then he offers me his warm feet and doesn’t complain when I shiver for that half hour it takes for me to glean all the heat from his supernatural hotness. It would be romantic if I didn’t look so silly in my knit cap and mittens. But the generosity of his warmth… it really is sweet. So thanks, honey.

I’m thankful for that episode of flu that kept me home from work for a few days. And speaking of work, I’m thankful that I’m so buried in it that I’ll be forced to avoid the shopping malls on Black Friday. It’ll save me a bundle which is FABULOUS seeing as how I’ll need some extra cash to pay for my text messaging, and maybe some earmuffs….

So are there some beautiful exasperations that you are thankful for this Thanksgiving?

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