It’s been a wonderful Thanksgiving week. My best friend came for the weekend before, and having her here was a balm for my soul.

She held my child so I could do things around the house, made me one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in a while, and cleaned and organized my house for me whenever I put Michael down for a nap.

The evenings were filled with wine and games and deep conversations and ridiculous jokes. I laughed and I cried, and felt more alive than I had in a while. I am so grateful for her friendship.

My siblings flew home for Thanksgiving on Saturday too, and I was able to host my entire family at my house for the first time.

I made a purple sweet potato soup that turned out more vibrant and beautiful than I anticipated. I had made it with regular sweet potatoes before, but never purple ones: now I have a new favorite dish.

Guests began arriving Wednesday, and we had a delightful meal together (a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving) and a blind scotch tasting (which made the evening games a lot more entertaining).

Thanksgiving at our house is always a huge and communal affair. I think we had a total of twenty-four people this year.

This year, I made the pumpkin pies and my spiced red wine cranberry sauce, and Jake made the dinner rolls.

We also have a yearly tradition of taking photos every Thanksgiving. It’s a great way to get an updated family photo for the Christmas cards! We have a few nice ones that I’m saving for our Christmas card, but I love these more candid ones of us.

I finished Michael’s Thanksgiving sweater just in time: I frantically knit the last sleeve and wove in my ends while Michael took his morning nap, and did a quick steam block to smooth the stitches.

It was my first ever colorwork project, and I’m quite proud over how it turned out. There are a few tension mistakes but otherwise I count it a success. It fits him perfectly.

Michael got to try his first bites of Thanksgiving dinner: I think his favorite was the whipped cream.

Thanksgiving is often a complicated holiday: not only because of its origins in things I disagree with (colonization and Puritanism) but also because our culture’s emphasis on family can leave some out in the cold. Often the “nuclear family” is put on a pedestal as the highest good.

Family is wonderful and beautiful and important. It is something to be preserved and cherished. But we should not limit our understanding of homes to a nuclear family. Thanksgiving is a time to remember and include those who might have a complicated relationship with their families, or too much distance between them and their families, or have no families. For these people, we are called to be their family.

One of the things I love most about Thanksgiving is how it resurrects the virtues of gratitude and hospitality in our society. The ancient understanding of hospitality has stuck with me ever since I read Greek mythology in elementary school. For them, hospitality is a virtue because you never know when you could be entertaining gods in disguise.

As Christians, our homes and tables should always be open to all, because we know that each and every person is an icon of Christ. We don’t have to wonder if we’re entertaining gods in disguise: we know that by serving each other, we serve Christ. Every meal can be a Thanksgiving meal: a chance to open our tables to our fellow man and our hearts to the virtues of gratitude and hospitality.

So may there always be room for one more person at our tables, and may we take these virtues of gratitude and hospitality forward with us beyond Thanksgiving Day.

And just like that, Michael is ten months old. Over the past month, it seems as though he’s grown in leaps and bounds.

This week he said his first intentional word: “bye bye”, complete with adorable little wave. He’s done it several times since, but we haven’t been able to catch it on camera.

He also clapped his hands for the first time, and is very shy about repeating the action (though I’ve seen him clapping to himself a few times while playing). He occasions stands by himself without any support, but he seems content to crawl for the time being.

He is hardly ever still: he is intensely curious and wants to figure everything out. Pulling books from the bookshelves is one of his favorite past times, as is chewing on them.

He loves climbing things and has figured out how to scale our stairs, couch, chairs, and even how to pull up on the oven. He hasn’t quite figured out how to get down without going bonk, so my days are quite busy and a little frazzled.

He loves chicken and pasta and bananas, and anything else he can thoughtfully squish between his fingers.

Sleep is still his nemesis. I look forward to the day he realizes sleep is his friend.

One of his favorite things to do is throw the ball for the dogs with grandpa and sit outside by the fire pit. Grandpa is Michael’s best friend, and I love their special relationship.

The joys of motherhood greatly outshine the numerous difficulties. I love watching as Michael begins to interact with the world more and more.

Happy ten months, my son. We love you.

Last Wednesday Michael got a miserable cold that quickly spread to every member of the family (including my mom and dad). We’ve been hunkering down with a sleep-deprived, stuffy-nosed baby and slowly recovering.

Even though this illness made us cancel a trip we’d been looking forward to and has kept me from updating my blog as often as I would like, there are still many things to celebrate over the course of this week.

I had photos and an article published in the November issue of HerLife magazine! You can read it here, and I’ve included a screenshot of their beautiful spread.

They did such an incredible job, and I’m so thrilled that I have the opportunity to contribute.

Autumn on our little homestead comes with its own set of tasks. We clear away dead brush and prepare the trees for winter, and catch up on whatever other tasks didn’t get completed during the summer. It feels like the land is letting out a deep, contented sigh and getting ready to rest.

Before the illness hit us too hard, my parents were able to trim back one of our large mulberry trees. Michael enjoyed watching (even though he was snuffly). It feels so good to check these tasks off our lists and slowly start to prepare for the sleepy chill of winter.

It was Michael’s name day in the Eastern calendar on November 8th, but all of us were still recovering from this cold, so unfortunately we weren’t able to celebrate the way I wish we could have. His wonderful godmother sent him a text and prayed for us.

He always gravitates towards our prayer corner. I often have to stop him from ripping the prayer books from their stacks, but he loves it when I take down the icon of St Michael for him. He’s been keeping me accountable with doing morning prayers.

Over all the Nine Ranks (of angels), the Lord appointed the Holy Archangel Michael (his name in Hebrew means “who is like unto God”), the faithful servitor of God, as Chief Commander. He cast down from Heaven the arrogantly proud Lucifer and the other fallen spirits when they rebelled against God. Michael summoned the ranks of angels and cried out, “Let us attend! Let us stand aright before our Creator and do not consider doing what is displeasing unto God!”

Synaxis of the Archangel Michael and the Other Bodiless Powers from oca.org

I chose Michael’s name quite intentionally (as I discussed in my Michaelmas post) and I continue to be glad I chose such a strong name for my strong son. May St. Michael’s faithfulness and strength be an inspiration to all of us.

We also celebrated my dear husband’s birthday this week. Later we’ll have a date at our favorite restaurant to celebrate just the two of us, but I loved making him special meals on the actual day.

His birthday cake request is always German Chocolate Cake, which is so much fun to bake, and makes the whole house smell heavenly.

I am not the best baker — I prefer cooking, where I don’t have to be quite as precise and have more room for creative modifications — but I think these turned out pretty well.

Watching Jake become a dad has been a highlight of this year. He is such an attentive and kind father, and Michael absolutely adores him.

Jake has embraced fatherhood with all its joys and sacrifices. Despite his demanding job, he often takes time throughout the day to come in and give Michael a quick snuggle (and give me a short break). When Michael wakes at 5:30 or 6:00 am, Jake takes him to walk around the property or play in the living room so I can get another hour of sleep.

Being his wife is the greatest blessing I’ve ever been given. He’s supported me through some of my hardest times, and laughed with me during some of my best times. He makes me a happier, holier person.

May God grant you many years, my beloved.

Thank you to all of you who prayed for my grandmother. She is home from the hospital as of Friday, and while we have a long road to recovery in front of us, we’re glad to have her home again. Please continue praying for her health!

It was a quiet weekend on the homestead, and all of us were able to take some much needed time to breathe and rejuvenate. I was tempted to say that we did “nothing”, but that’s really not true. We did quiet things: things that bettered our homes and our souls.

On Friday my mom took out her nice camera and got some fun pictures of Michael as she practiced using different settings. I put him in an adorable plaid shirt and suspenders and suddenly he looked so grown up…

She got some adorable shots, and I even posed for a picture or two. When she sends them to me I’ll be sure to post a few of them here.

Saturday was delightfully slow and peaceful (well, as slow and peaceful as a weekend can be with a nine month old who abhors sleep). We made our favorite chai pancakes for breakfast and spent time doing chores leftover from the moving process around the house.

We hung a gallery wall over my piano with some prints from my favorite artists, including Loré Pemberton and Sleightholm Folk. I have two embroidery projects that I need to finish and hang in the places where the empty hoops are, but otherwise it’s complete. I love being able to look up at artwork full of wonder and magic as I play the piano.

I’ve already played a handful of hymns and simple classical pieces, and I look forward to playing Christmas carols by candlelight this winter.

My parents spent their Saturday laboring in their garden and preparing it for late fall and winter vegetables. It had fallen into disrepair as we threw everything we had this past month towards moving into our house, but now the dead plants have been cleared away and replaced with rich compost and baby seedlings.

They also seeded some of their pomegranates, as their tree is bursting with fruit. We’re hoping to seed as many pomegranates as possible and freeze them to juice at a later date for jelly. I’m excited to have a kitchen ready for our afternoons of preserving — it’s so satisfying to see the gleaming jars and hear the pop as the lids seal after all our hard work.

We ended Saturday with Jake and I having a date while my parents stayed home with Michael. We went to Vespers and then had dinner at a new pub near our house.

Sunday we had church and choir practice. Michael has learned how to climb up my parents’ stairs, but not down them. It’s his new favorite thing to do.

We ate with my parents, and then Sunday night we sat in our living room listening to the dishwasher hum while I knitted and we watched our tv show, a candle softly burning beside me.

It may have been a weekend where we did “nothing”, but I cherish weekends like these. It was full of the things we love the most: music, and family, and gardening, and good food, and worship. A perfect end to a week, and a beautiful start to a new one.

This weekend some of my oldest and dearest friends came in from out of town and stayed with us for a few days. It was an absolutely lovely time: we hadn’t been able to see them in quite a while, and they were finally able to meet Michael.

All of us are introverts, so it was a delightfully relaxing and quiet weekend. We sat and talked, and read, and ate, and made new cocktails, and knit and crocheted, and sat outside in the sunlight, and stayed up too late laughing over silly movies.

A small part of me had been nervous hosting guests for the first time in our new house. I knew there was no way we would be fully unpacked (especially with a nine month old whose new trick is pulling things out of drawers). I had no idea where a third of our stuff was. Things would be messy. Dishes mismatched. Meals simple. Boxes stacked in closets.

But the rest of me knew that didn’t really matter. Not only are these some of my oldest and closest friends, but there’s something about hospitality hallows a place and makes it into a home. Making others food and eating at the same table, playing with each other’s kids, laughing late into the night, sleeping under the same roof and waking bleary-eyed, sharing coffee and sitting in pjs with rumpled hair: together they make a magic that sinks into walls and floors and IKEA furniture and transforms them into a home.

When they drove away, our home felt more like a home than it had before.

When we sat around my kitchen table, I was reminded of the ways homes and hospitality have transformed my life. Our kitchen table is a loved hand-me-down from my parents that was in our old house. I remember my siblings’ high chairs crowded around it, eating dinner as a family when my Dad came home from work. I remember my childhood friends joining us for dinner too, we kids ate from mismatched cartoon character dishes.

And as I looked at the people sitting around my table this weekend, I was brought back to the weekly Friday night dinners I grew up with, hosted by these friends we consider family. They were foundational to my childhood: sitting around a crowded table, piano bench and folding chairs added to make enough seats for all. The smell of the barbecue, paper plates, terrible puns, the sound of wind chimes through the open patio door, children laughing; adults talking.

Now we live far away, and many things have changed since those Friday nights of my childhood. It’s a bittersweet feeling: looking around my own home and realizing it’s my turn now. It’s time for me to make my table the one crowded with friends and family. It’s time for me to make my home the same sort of place I cherished as a child. It’s time to open it to others, in spite of its flaws and messes.

It’s not unpacked boxes or clean floors or fancy meals or perfect aesthetic that make a home. It’s the Friday night dinners: the simple food, the memories, the people, the prayers, and the love.

Postscript: I would like to end with a prayer request: my grandmother is in the hospital fighting an infection, and has been pretty sick for the last two weeks. Please pray she recovers well and is able to come home soon!