Two kinds of potatoes
By Robin DearingJust as the house full of people sat down to enjoy their Thanksgiving meal, my precious daughter stands up and proclaims, "Git. In. Ma. Bel-lay" a la the Mike Myers character from the Austin Powers movies. She got a big laugh while I stared at my cranberry sauce with reddened cheeks. One of the friends with whom we shared the feasting holiday said, "Bill just said the same thing about 20 minutes ago." She's so like her dad. Earlier in the day while wishing my parents a happy turkey day via telephone, my mom asked me what I was bringing to the annual orphan's Thanksgiving dinner that we have with our friends. "Me, specifically? You're asking what I'm bringing to dinner?" She paused and then said, "What am I thinking? What I meant was what is Bill making for the dinner?" "Two kinds of potatoes, white and orange." Orange potatoes — some people call them yams or sweet potatoes. Bill makes them just like my mom does with lots of butter, brown sugar and marshmallows. Just before Margaret waddled off to bed last night, she ate one final bowl of orange potatoes — they are pretty much our favorite Thanksgiving dish. But believe me, Bill's garlic, mashed potatoes coupled with our host's amazing turkey gravy came in a close second. This year as I gave thanks for my wonderful friends and loving family, I placed a mental asterisk next to my husband's name. I am so lucky to have a husband who can deal with all of my idiosyncrasies with such loving grace. I am not an easy person to live with: I'm moody and difficult with a nasty temper. I have a number of irrational fears that prevent me from acting as a bona fide adult much of the time. I need constant supervision and someone to feed me or I'd end up eating Cheerios and American cheese sandwiches for every meal. My life is so much richer now since Bill foolishly fell in love with lo those 8 years ago. I have my daughter and stepson who challenge me every day to be a better person and therefore a better parent for them. I have a partner in life who never lets me take myself too seriously and sacrifices so much so I can the things I want. His selflessness overwhelms me. His biggest flaw is that he doesn't (or more accurately, choses not to) see my weaknesses as weaknessness; instead, he thinks of me as charmingly eccentric. And that is something for which I am thankful every day of the year.