Our First Thanksgiving

When you walk into my Granny's house (through the back door because everyone is family,) you cut through the porch, shimmy through the kitchen, slide between two recliners in the living room and you see the loveseat. 

It is black with flowers on it and its old. It still looks pretty new though because my Granny keeps a blanket over the back and she has for as long as I can remember. It is a little throw and there is also a small pillow. Last year, we gave her a blanket with pictures of our family on it. She decided to put this blanket on top of the throw on the loveseat. 

Every time, literally EVERY time I go to my Granny's, I sit on the loveseat. It's almost like we have assigned seats and this is mine. We sat there and opened presents during the holidays, smelled A's stinky baby feet, wrestled with each other, told on each other, and watched Granny open cards and gifts from the best seat in the house. I've held T there, snuggled with N, and knocked the little sister off a time or two. We nap on it, the kids climb on it, and we pick on mom when she can't quite get off the loveseat on her first try. 

Every time, literally EVERY time I sit on the loveseat, I mess up the blankets. They wrinkle into the folds of the cushions, they fall and move to one side revealing the white flowers on the back. The pillow gets crammed on the side or tossed on the floor. It's a mess and EVERY time, for as long as I can remember, I would stand up to fix the blanket and my Granny would lean up from her recliner and say, "Just leave it." I would continue to push and pull at the blanket and she would say again, "Just leave it now." 

I knew no matter how much I straightened the blanket, Granny would redo it when I left. I knew that we would have this conversation every time and I still did it. I wanted to have the conversation and I'm pretty sure she did too. It became kind of a  running joke. 

T's first Easter

This was our first Thanksgiving without my Granny and the first time no one stopped me when I straightened the blankets. I waited for it. I waited for her to tell me to just leave it. I did the best I could and walked away. Every pull and tug hurt a little more than the one before it. 

The next day I noticed that the blankets had indeed been rearranged. I'm guessing my Dad could not stand it either. I guess he misses being told to just leave it, too.