Stacie Sherman

So much to be grateful for.

No matter how tough it gets, or how much I cry or complain or stress, know this: I am blessed and I am grateful.

At some point in my life — I’m not sure exactly when but I was well into my 30s — I began to focus less on what I didn’t have and more on what I did/do have.

I have so much to be thankful for. An amazing first family of siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins who love me and my kids to pieces and are always there to support us, whether it’s a family event or a promotion at work or my son’s gig or a fundraiser for my daughter.

A wonderful wonderful husband and second family. I’m more grateful for him each and every day.

Two weekends a month with no kids where I get to try to relax and just enjoy. Great friends who don’t judge, who love to enjoy life, have fun and make us smile and laugh.

A mother who gently looks down on me and guides me not through actions or words, but through stories and memories. A dad who appreciates moments with his daughter and grandkids, every spoonful of every batch of beef stew I make him.

A beautiful house, an amazing, never-dull job at an incredible company that values me and rewards me for my hard work. Enough money not to worry like I did when I was younger.

Two children who love me dearly, and vice versa. Who make me more grateful, more tolerant, more aware, more proud and more appreciative every minute.

And there are the little moments that bless me.

The moments my husband kisses the back of my neck when I’m at the kitchen sink. Grabs my hand while we walk in the mall. Cleans the kitchen just before I get home from work. Holds me when I cry. Or accompanies me to a doctor’s appointment with my daughter so I don’t have to be alone.

And then there are the moments my teenage son grabs my hand while we watch TV, or the way he tells me he loves me several times a day. The pride I feel when he spends his day off from school helping his grandma, without any request to do so. The way he holds my daughter’s hand so she doesn’t run when she gets out of the car.

There is the look of love my daughter gives me that tells me I am her #1. There are the little sounds she makes when we snuggle in her bed. Her beautiful giggles when I play surprise with her. The way she loves my singing voice like (literally) no other. The moments she climbs into my lap while I am lying down watching TV so I can wrap my arms around her, kiss her cheek and rub her arms while she plays on her iPad.

There were moments yesterday at Thanksgiving I could have chosen to focus on. My daughter twisting my hand in pain when she was trying to tell me she was ready to leave my brother’s house right after dinner. The 67 times she went to the bathroom and needed my help. The sound of her meltdown that caused heads to turn as the other kids were performing in the annual talent show.

In a moment where I could have understandably chosen to leave, or cry, or dwell, I chose to smile.

I chose to wait patiently until the meltdown was over, and to stay for the talent show and then for dessert. I don’t even eat dessert. But to be able to stay for it, and not have to leave a family gathering early, I was grateful.

Be grateful.