As you start to run out of ways to eat leftover turkey, and your kitchens start to return to their pre-Thanksgiving states, I’ll be in my own kitchen making a homemade apple pie. You see, in my family, the celebration of Thanksgiving is always followed by my favorite day of the year: my son’s birthday.

This Saturday, as Michael turns 14, we’ll go from turkey to catching shrimp in our mouths at the Japanese steakhouse. His birthday will always be extra special to me, and provides me with an opportunity to reflect on the years since the day he came into this world.

I wasn’t ready for him. In fact, the day before he was born, I was on a ladder painting his bedroom walls a light blue. I still had a month to go, I thought. I had a doctor’s appointment that day, too, and as I was leaving, I recall my obstetrician saying, “I’ll see you next week, but it’ll probably be sooner.” I remember thinking she was nuts! There’s no way he would be here before that!

Sure enough, later that evening, I began to feel weird. With this being my first baby, I didn’t really know what that “weirdness” was. So, around five in the morning, off to the hospital we went. I was wheeled in, and was greeted by nurses who said, “There’s no way she’s in real labor; she’s smiling too much.”

At about six, I called my mom and told her I was at the hospital, knowing she would be getting up for work around that time. She came as quickly as she could, and when she got there, was told that they were getting ready to send me home. No baby was coming today.

Surprise! Less than an hour later, while the nurses were preparing the paperwork to send me on my way, Michael made his grand appearance. At only five pounds, he was small but mighty, and he came into the world wiggling and moving (and he hasn’t stopped since).

When I was a little girl, I imagined myself being the mom of daughters: little dolls I could dress up, fix their hair, and show off to the world. They would look just like me, and be as sweet as can be. Life had other plans, though, and made me a boy mom. Full of dirt, bugs, blood and all things gross, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My son is my world. He is wickedly smart, more handsome all the time, compassionate and strong. He keeps his parents on our toes, and he continues to amaze me with the person he is becoming.
I got really, really lucky. My cup overflows, and my blessings all seem to be wrapped up in the love I have for this kid. For 14 years, my heart has swelled, and my pride and joy has grown right along with it. I have many things to be thankful for each year, but Michael always seems to top my list.

In the middle columns of this page, Gerald Caldwell writes about a true American hero. A man who, when confronted literally head on with serious challenges, he trudged on. Every year, when Veterans Day comes around, I look forward to reading and hearing the stories of the men and women who have sacrificed so much for this great country of ours.

I think we’d be hard-pressed to find a family without someone who has served or is currently serving in our military. Each of us has likely been affected, either directly or indirectly, by service for the country. Men and women who are willing to put service above self, who are honorable and almost fearless, and who are much braver than I, are the true heroes and they should be celebrated.

My grandfathers were all in the service. My brother served in the Marine Corps, as did my fiancé. Our family is no stranger to the selflessness it takes to be a part of our military, and I’m personally grateful to each of these men in my life who put on their uniforms in the name of America while they did.

To all of our area veterans, we salute you. We honor you. We thank you. Thank you for your service and your sacrifice. We see you. We recognize you. We owe you more than we can give. Happy Veterans Day to all who have served. And may God bless America.