The man with the turkey sandwich

I absolutely love the Thanksgiving holiday weekend. It’s such a great time to relax with family, to gorge on leftovers, to brave the mall and the movie theater, and just escape the grind for a few days. As I sit here in the family room, my Christmas tree is up and lit and beautiful. It’s still naked, but I will get it decorated tomorrow. Today’s task was just to drag it out of the spider webs and get it set up. I wouldn’t want to work too hard on my day off, now would I? (I did manage to move between the fridge and the microwave a few times.)

With all this free time on my hands, I’ve had a chance to take a breath and really be thankful for my life. I have a big, loud, goofy, wonderful family, I  have a precious little boy who is an absolute joy, and I have the husband to beat all husbands. A husband who braved Garden Ridge with me today, a husband who loves God and me and Jax, and a husband who makes me turkey sandwiches.

What?

It was the day after Thanksgiving of 1994. I was babysitting my niece Caitlin at my sister’s house. This guy I was extremely interested in called me and asked me what I was doing. We chatted for a while, and then I made a request of him, the first of many . . . would you bring me a turkey sandwich? And the amazing thing is, he did. Sixteen years and lots of hurdles later, he’s still bringing me turkey sandwiches. Thanks, babe. I don’t know what I would do without you!

May you all have someone in your life who will bring you turkey sandwiches.

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