This year, Thanksgiving started out with unseasonably warm temperatures that left us milking every last ounce of daylight possible out of the day. From a long walk, to park-time--we made the most of it.
This included Tillie 'moving rock' from the front of the house to the bottom step, then to the top step, then to the doorway entry, and then finally putting them back where she found them. Basically, all without any direction.
One by one. Rock by rock. I would love to know what was going on in her head. I fear she is going to be OCD some day.
It was fitting since Grandpa was sitting with her on the front stoop while this was happening, and he is the one that tells the tall tales of 'picking rock' as a young child (i am sure in his mind he was a mere toddler himself when he had to do this)...
And there was food. Yummmm. Yum. Food. My Mom said it was untraditional, but I don't see a world where a turkey that looks like this isn't traditional...combined with twice baked potatoes/sweet potatoes, and broccoli and pumpkin pie.
It got cold. Real cold. As in a almost 50 degree drop. Just in time for the highlight of the Thanksgiving weekend: the Twinkle Parade.
But we went. We bundled up. Brought blankets, and were quite honestly pretty happy that we actually made it through dinner since last year found us tending to our screaming child, and me ultimately leaving to go home about 15 minutes into the meal.
The cold got the best of Grandpa Twiggy as he was concerned about Tillie.
To be fair, she did start crying, but it wasn't until too late that we realized she wasn't crying because she was cold, but rather had dropped a breadstick she was still working on.
What can I say? The girl loves food.
Next year, I am confident Matilda will make it through the entire parade. Me and/or Nate with this unborn child--still TBD.