A Belated Thanksgiving

I have always really considered November a month to be endured, listed in my own personal ranking of months almost dead last--only above February and at that, by just the slimmest of margins especially considering that February is shorter.

If I have to justify my statement, I guess I will start with the weather. By November, fall's splendor is over and usually we have not yet seen the beauty of a wonderful winter day, filled with snow days and snowball fights, sledding and cinnamon rolls.

It also doesn't help that David was diagnosed in November, a fact which is recognized each year by my dear friend, who always remembers the occasion with a note, a phone call, or a card—always altered because, strangely enough, Hallmark does not have a section of cards to mark the anniversary of your child's diagnosis with a developmental disorder, so sometimes she has to get creative.

I am somewhat ashamed to admit my aversion to November, especially since I have just spent some time reading what others have so eloquently written about Thanksgiving. I do not mean to imply that I am not thankful, because I most certainly am.

So in the final hours of the month of giving thinks, I must add my little list. Taking for granted the usual laundry list of family and friends, health and home, in the land of autism, I am thankful for every word that David utters—every single one. Even when they come out in a jumble, like the consistently used sentence, "I get shut door me." Even when they might be annoying or embarrassing, such as this past Sunday, when the seemingly rhetorical question was repeated during the sermon a third time for emphasis, "What time is it?" and David answered, "Time to go home!"

I am thankful that when David has managed to finagle his way into our bed, I always feel his little bare foot inch his way toward me until he is touching my leg, his way of being connected to me--a comfort to him even in sleep.

I am thankful that David has adjusted so well to Kindergarten, in spite of the fact that I have a hard time finding elastic waist pants to fit his extremely tall, but very lean frame and so he has, on more than one occasion, accidentally flashed his SpongeBob underpants to everyone on the playground.

I am thankful that David has been blessed with a big brother who, even at a young age, protects him and worries about his future. Most recently, Andrew told me that if David is not able to have a job when he "grows up" that David and his wife will have to move into his house. Andrew decided that he would then quit his job to take care of David. When I asked him who would be earning the money in this scenario, he answered without hesitation and in all sincerity, "the girls."

I do have plenty to be thankful for and I am, but not the least of which is that November has finally come to an end.