This Thanksgiving I do give but ask grace.
Grace for my thin cloak of patience not to slip
Carriage heavy with groceries and laden with children
Days begun early after nights ended late, necessary calm interrupted by erupting squabbles.
Grace for my hopefullness, stuffed down deep in this time of babyhood.
Beginning, finishing, holding my own.
Excursions worth the herculean effort and late night worries to slide away.
Grace for my twitchy emotions.
Noise that shakes me to my bones with imagined slights turning me inward
Balancing my sorrow with elation, ceding control.