Giving thanks.

So it's Thanksgiving time again, so I thought I'd go the traditional route and write about what I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for having a roof over my head. In this time when so many people are dealing with foreclosure there are many who don't have any place to go, and there are more still who don't have a place as nice and roomy and comfortable as my mom's house. I know how lucky we are to have a place only a few miles from our house to move in, so close that it didn't have to change our daily routines, didn't change our driving time to work and Reed's daycare.

I'm thankful for my mom who isn't afraid to take care of her daughters who are grown and ought to be able to take care of themselves. I'm glad she still has the stamina to deal with us.

I'm thankful for having free time to write, to take pictures, to clean the house and do our laundry and cook supper. It's scary not having a job, and having to try and survive on Jason's income alone, but the silver lining is that I get moments to myself, time to think, to enjoy the silence.

I'm thankful for Duque, a dog that if he doesn't stop shitting in the house might become a roasted blue heeler and save us the money of buying a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. What I'm saying is STOP SHITTING IN THE HOUSE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.

On that note, I'm thankful for Clorox wipes.

I'm thankful for my friends, the people who have helped me pick up the pieces an infinite number of times, and will likely do so infinitely more. My closest friends can split a six pack with me, comfort me when I'm crying, laugh with me when I'm laughing, and take me out for nachos. I couldn't ask for a better group of people to be there for me in good times and bad.

I'm thankful for Reed, my child who tests the limits of my patience (fairly short) and the limits of my sanity (about the size of a cocktail weenie) every single bleeding day. Yesterday my mom and I had Thanksgiving lunch with him at his school, and he ate an entire pile of collard greens and then proceeded to recite the books of the bible. All of 'em. He astonishes me daily, almost hourly, with his ability to roll with the punches, deal with life, and still find joy in odd places.

I'm thankful for Jason, the strangest, most patient, forgiving, ornery man I've ever known. He loves me even in my ugliest moments, even when every limit I possess has been breached and I am shaking and screaming and slamming doors and sterilizing door knobs. He loves me when I am pronouncing that we'll all die of the plague, when I'm buying too many shirts, when I'm covering all my food in hot sauce. I'm thankful for the laughter that we share, for our ability to joke with each other and giggle like all is right with the world. Happy 35th birthday Jason, and happy 6th anniversary. We've been through a lot in the past few years, and if I've learned anything it's that it's never over, things can always get worse, and all we can do is keep striving, keep persevering, and keep making jokes. I'm glad we're in this together.

Lastly, I'm thankful for beer and Mexican food, without which I probably would have thrown myself out a window by now.

Duque. Duke. Dookie. Duke-a-luke.

Oh, right, so we got this dog.

He is, by far, the sweetest, most well-behaved dog I've ever owned. He is crate-trained and house-broken and he heels and walks on a leash. We can actually take him outside without a leash on and he stays right by either Jason or me.

BUT. Only a couple of buts, but still but.

For one thing, we have his crate in our bedroom. I still think that's probably best, but this dog is the wiggliest, loudest, weirdest dog ever in a crate. He doesn't freak out or jump around or anything like that. He just re situates very frequently. Also, any time he scratches or licks he has to brace himself with one leg against the side of the crate. Some day I will take a picture of this to illustrate, because that's the best way I can describe it. IT IS SO LOUD AT FOUR AM. We tried putting a towel in the bottom of the crate; he pushes it aside. We put his bed in the bottom of the crate; he doesn't like it.

Besides the crate noise, the hour-long lick sessions at three and four in the morning are getting a little tired. LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK NIBBLENIBBLENIBBLE LICK LICK. The sound of the licking on its own doesn't wake me. The crate-wiggling wakes me, and then I listen to the licklick nibblenibble for an hour or so.

Also, the motherfucking dog ate my sweet potato pie. Rather, he chewed on it and then spit it out. It was on a plate, wrapped in aluminum foil on the kitchen counter. He pulled it down, which broke the plate, gnawed open the foil and then bit the crust off of the pie, which he then politely spit in the living room floor. NO PIE FOR ME.

Also, he peed on the bottom of the couch. Just, tra la la, PEE. He is house-broken, and we haven't had any other accidents, so I can't figure this one out. He just walked up to the couch, with Jason standing right there, lifted his leg and peed.

Duque really is a good dog, and we love him so. Reed is pretty good with him, and has already started training him in the ways of letting us set things on his head. I don't have a clue why Reed thinks this is a good idea, but he does, and I agree. Duque is very quiet and calm and patient, and that is the perfect temperament for my temperament, also known as the If You Don't Shut The Fuck Up and Sit Down Right Now I'm Going To Throw Myself Out The Window. So, you know. It works.