Day 1: I am grateful for my firstborn child, my son Kyle. Growing up was kind of tough for him and I must say he turned out remarkably well considering all the circumstances. Awesome, in fact. We sort of grew up together, as I was young, immature and stubborn when he came into my life. I made a lot of mistakes and I am thankful he stuck with me - tho he had little choice. He also made really good scrambled eggs from age 5, and that came in pretty darn handy.

I am thankful for my younger son Jay, aka Jaybird, Birdman or simply, 'The Bird.'

Jay was born healthy, normal and screaming. In fact I think he was furious he couldn't stay in utero. The difference between he and Kyle's hospital nursery photos is comical. Kyle, with his pointy head (forceps), was pale and pink with eyes gently closed, mouth peaceful and content, and a little finger pointed in the air like E.T. Jay? Round, red face, eyes squeezed shut in rage, clenched fists in the air, mouth open in a tribal scream. Totally different newborn; he was a demanding child upon exit from my body. In fact, he yelled so much and so distinctly that I heard (just above his wailing) a post-delivery mom shuffle by in the hallway say 'There's that Jay again.' He's been that way ever since.

Jay had a complete cardio/pulmonary arrest at five weeks of age, just a few days after his first check-up when he was proclaimed perfect and healthy. We lived just a few blocks from a hospital; I drove like a NASCAR driver while the boys' dad gave Jay CPR. The ER people must have known by the way I screamed to the entrance that there was a serious issue at hand - they were rushing toward us as we opened our doors. But then I have always recalled that time in snapshot moments - his little body, the ER staff rushing at us, tubes and wires, watching a helicopter lift into the air with him inside, not knowing if he would be alive when we arrived in St. Louis. Physicians defined the event as SIDS, and Jay suffered severe brain damage from lack of oxygen.

One could write reams on the experience of raising a child with severe and multiple disabilities, but that's true of child rearing, period. I won't task you with details. And being disabled is not necessarily what defines Jay - but it is silly and naive to say it doesn't play a huge role in who he is. And while I wish more than anything this had not happened to him and that he never had a moment of pain and confusion in his life, still I am thankful for every wonderful and every horrible moment we have shared, and what he has taught me about what is truly a 'quality' life. He is a unique individual with a vibrant (oh, is he vibrant), loving and fun personality.

There was a time when I devoted every moment of my life to Jay, now I don't see him enough. He lives in Champaign where he receives very good and specialized care, and able to participate in activities that aren't so available in my neck of the woods. Hopefully his caregivers are thankful for him as well, aside from when he's yelling. Sometimes when I walk down the hallway of his residence toward the sound of voice I still hear someone shuffle by and say 'There's that Jay again.'

Day 3: I am thankful for Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies. Seriously so. Those things matter people.

Day 4: I am thankful for my job. Not everyone has one.

Day 5: I am thankful for my Mom. She is a tiny, quiet gal from Montana who left her people, wrapped in the arms of a good-looking boy with chestnut hair and an ornery, crooked grin from the wooded depths of southern Illinois. She bore him three daughters and worked hard to make a loving home. She spent years helping him build their dream home even deeper in the woods near the Fox River. She then worked hard to support them all as her love suffered and slowly died from a malignant brain tumor. She went a little crazy for a while perhaps as she watched her world spin out of control but worked hard to pull it together and got a little feisty as a result. She watched her babies have babies and become the best gramma ever. We, of course have put her through our own brand of hell, as loving children do, but she stuck with us regardless of the sacrifice to herself. She gave us a few health scares this year, but as always, she has rallied and back to running the roads near the Wynoose Bottoms.

But she's always had a little flicker in her eyes that looks like Montana.

Day 6: I am thankful for a dry, warm place to live. Mark has a fire crackling in the wood stove and I am drinking tea with pineapple mint while Bella the annoying three-legged feline purrs near my feet on the sofa. (She's not annoying because she has three legs, but because she uses all three paws and their claws to flex-knead-flex her talons thru my holiday jam pants into my flesh. I'm too damned lazy to do anything about it other than gasp-clench-release. This is a very long paragraphed 'aside.' Sorry.)

I, of course, live in a room just like this one. As long as I have this iPhone in front of my face with this photo then this is the reality I can convince myself of.

Seriously folks, I am thankful for what I have. I hope you are as well.

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