True Grit

Grit. A word I never thought about before this fateful Thanksgiving. Ok, so I always thought of “grit” in a cinematic sense as in that grrrr-ness portrayed by Johnny-Boy Wayne, but apparently Mr. Webster disagrees and first lists the nefarious definition of “grit” as “sand, gravel.”

Ooooh holy moly. I feel so, so Texan. Snow to me is cute, and holiday-ie and involves sledding, hot toddy’s and wonderlands…

…but snow isn’t all angels and Frosty men up on a mountain. It means strolls late and early and in the middle of the day up and down what Reid calls “the world’s longest driveway” with dustpan shovels and buckets sprinkling the grit to make the road driveable for mini-buses chock full of babies. I don’t think my little mind could have perceived it. In all honesty it’s not too bad, heck I need the exercise but good gosh I’m knackered tonight.

I’m currently thankful for the rest I’m getting right now. It feels good to put my feet up and be a bit selfish with my time. Reid’s managing our Thanksgiving feast of frozen pizza, reduced price salad and freshly purchased Tesco (our not as awesome version of H-E-B) Diet Cloudy lemonade. We’re having our Thanksgiving this weekend. I truly think the N. Irish, heck everyone, should adopt this holiday. What’s not to like? Feasting and gratefulness. Those international gooses are missing out, no?

Thank goodness these kids are worth it.

With that diatribe I shall bid thee adieu! I’m also thankful you read this. 🙂

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