I am stuffed with satisfaction.
Mom arrived yesterday without any travel troubles. We had lunch, went to Target (I did not spend more than the gift card I had so HA. She bought the rug we'd been eyeing online for Anna's room though!), hit a little traffic, then took to the back roads. I had never taken that road before but it got us around some more traffic snags and was quite pretty. (Note: I am now NaBloPoMo -1 since I didn't blog yesterday. Thought about it at 10:30 pm, but thought my husband would think I was crazy. And be pretty unhappy if I woke up the girl.)
Today, food and football, of course. Oh, Brett Favre . . . I hated you the whole time, but there's no one I'd rather lose to. If we'd played the "how many times can they say Brett Favre" drinking game, we'd have been schnokered before kickoff. I thought the piece with legends from other sports offering their worship was a bit much, though. George Foreman, you wake up in the morning and think, "I'm thankful for Brett Favre"? Gimme a break. You're thankful they let you put your name on that grill, that's what you're thankful for.
Mom and I spent the day cooking enough for ten times our number. She makes the best rolls in the universe. I must say our turkey was extra good too. Anna liked the super-sweet sweet potatoes, turkey, and orange Jell-O (you have to include some, uh, fruit, right?). Later on some friends came by to have dessert with us, so we got two kinds of pie. Wonderful.
Anne Lamott wrote that there are really only two kinds of prayers: "Help me, help me, help me" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Today is a day for the latter.