The First Thanksgiving

If you looked at the components from a distance, it wouldn't look like the best of days.

1. Today, the 26th, started early--1 AM, when I woke up and puked for the next two hours. In between runs to the bathroom, I laid at the foot of the bed, in the fetal position and tried to figure out what was wrong. I ruled out the two glasses of wine. I ruled out overeating [because, well, I hadn't--and because that is usually alleviated by one round of yakking]. I ruled out everything eaten after 3 PM, because Joey had eating the same. And settled on the Thai lunch I had eaten almost exactly 12 hours earlier.

Joey would wake up every half hour or so and reach over and rub my back. I watched countless episodes of the CBS Early Morning Show and finally went back to sleep.

2. My day was--to my distaste--overscheduled. This happens when you're in a serious relationship. Everyone wants you to eat with them, and you are just supposed to keep eating and eating. Lunch was scheduled, an hour away, at 12:30. Dinner scheduled in our hometown at 5. So, I went and ate a leisurely lunch, and found myself with dessert at 2:45. And knew I would pay for it later.

3. We didn't leave until around 3:30--good time to make it home. But we were riding in Jim's car, which has a radiator leak [apparently]. My dad had topped off the water at home and sent us with two jugs of water. And on the way home, the car started smelling hot and we realized my mom had been watching the oil gauge instead of the temperature gauge.

Seriously? We asked ourselves.

How is it that we know how to service our own cars and Mama doesn't?

4. By the time we'd gotten all the water in, it was established that I would be late to eat dinner at Joey's. So I sent them a text saying to go ahead and eat. And when I finally got there, I ate too. I was so. goddamn. full. Joey's mom looked up at me and said, "You look miserable." And I kind of felt miserable. I certainly hate this culture of "You have to eat everything you possibly can on one day to make everyone feel ok." I didn't even eat dessert--that is how miserably full I was.

But after dinner, Joey and I lounged back in recliners for about an hour, because we didn't want to spend the entire ride home full and sick-feeling.

He was originally supposed to drive home, but he felt full and sleepy, and he has to work tomorrow at 5 AM--so I took the wheel. And thankfully, he didn't fall asleep until about 80 miles from home, so I had plenty of time to be entertained.

I've been reminded this Thanksgiving that living together is learning how to compromise. It's learning how to suspend what you really want [to NOT have to drive home] for what someone else needs [to be in the passenger seat]. Or going to two different Thanksgiving lunches when you'd rather be together.

I used to be really selfish about these types of things. I'd pout or whine or complain when I didn't get my way, would say to myself "This means he doesn't respect me." But over the past three years, I've gotten much better. I am constantly reminded that love must be a two-way street. That sometimes, respect looks much more like helping each other out. Much less like getting my way.

So this is our First Thanksgiving together, the first year that we had to work around work schedules and lab schedules. The first year when Thanksgiving wasn't just five free days to lounge around and do nothing. The first Thanksgiving that we had to work together to make things happen, and were rewarded by a long and winding car trip home, where we held hands and sang Crocodile Rock.

The first Thanksgiving where we are completely us.