Ruth Walker: True to tardy form, I’m a bit late in celebrating Thanksgiving this year

Suffice to say, sometimes there’s just not enough time in the day to stop and reflect on the things you’re thankful for. And sometimes life can seem so downright grim (coming back from holiday to sleet and wind and finger-numbing temperatures, the car failing its MOT, getting angry at I’m A Celebrity/Strictly/the euro crisis) that it’s hard to feel thankful. Frankly, what is there to be grateful for anyway?

So, while this may be belated, it is none the less from the heart. Those of a cynical disposition, look away now.

I’m thankful for my children, who make me laugh and cry in frustration in almost equal measure. They are bright and funny and loving and patient human beings whose hugs (The Wild One) and home truths (The Teenager) and grunting, begrudging, adolescent communication (The Mild One) I will never tire of. Watching them grow up allows me to see the world through their eyes and keeps me sane when it seems everyone else around me is going stark, raving bonkers. (If only they would pick up their dirty socks and flush the toilet more often.)

I’m thankful for my job. There, I’ve said it. Sure, some days I go home at the end of the day and want to sob or scream or get drunk and punch someone, but it gives me the opportunity to meet some incredible people and do some incredible things. And, while it is in no way secure, the simple fact of being in paid employment is no small blessing.

I’m thankful for my friends, whose uplifting emails and fun texts, shopping days, cocktail nights and Facebook ‘likes’ remind me there’s more to life than work and hoovering. For the girls and boys who can’t begin to imagine how a “You look nice today” comment or a silly joke over a cup of tea can lift me up from the daily grind and make it all worthwhile. How, after a hellish week, a glass of wine, a dance around the coffee table to Abba and a putting-the-world-to-rights moan sends me home with a smile on my face and a song in my heart (and a throbbing in my head).

And, more than anything, I’m thankful for my parents, whose love and loyalty have never wavered, though at times they must have been sorely tempted to disown me. If it wasn’t for them, I could never have worked such unsociable hours. Who else would have brought my baby daughter up to my workplace to enable me to breastfeed in my break, because the fussy besom would never take a bottle? Who would nip over to my house and wash the growing pile of dishes, or bring in the washing when it started to rain? Who would deliver food parcels when I was running low or slip a little cash into my account when I was a bit short? Take time out of their own lives so they could watch my children while I sunned myself in Mallorca or Mauritius?

So, thanks everyone. You know who you are. Now, pass the turkey.

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