November 25, 2010
I’ve had a huge two years. Three really. Three years ago right around now, my husband and I took the step from friendship to relationship and never looked back. We got married in a 3-day wedding celebration that exceeded any of my wildest dreams, on the most beautiful beach, with our family and best friends around us. Ten months later we were blessed with a daughter. Everyone thinks their child is the most incredible and I am no different. She’s magical, gorgeous, kills me with her every sound and squeal and laugh. My husband and I thank G-d daily for her. We want more children but always say that if she is the only one then thank you, G-d, thank you that it’s her.
But today, as I make pecan pie and pumpkin pie and multiple types of potatoes and every other dish I associate with this glorious holiday, I am so thankful to be an American. I know, I know, I do this every July on my Americaversary, but this Thanksgiving I am extra thankful that not only has America given me freedom of religion, freedom of expression, freedom of travel (so much of the world has none), it’s given me my family. My husband and I are both immigrants and only here, in this beautiful, free country could we have met. I was born an American, just in the wrong place. I got here as fast as I could. Thank you, America, for having me.