Thanksgiving, Hitch-Life Edition
Thanksgiving always looks a little different in my world.
Not bad—just… oilfield-coded. Chaotic. Unscheduled. A little lonely. A little loud. A little held together by drive thru coffee from Starbucks.
And this year?
Cody’s still out on hitch. Seven more days to go.
Seven.
More.
Days.
Which basically means I’m doing the single-mom holiday shuffle while pretending I’m not emotionally eating the kids’ pie crust scraps over the sink like a Victorian orphan. We’re thriving.
But honestly, this whole year has been one long hitch. A stretch of life where the days blurred, the grief was thick, and motherhood felt like carrying the whole damn world in a tote bag that’s already ripping at the seams.
I’ve lived a lot of days lately with a brave face I didn’t always feel.
There’s the grief that waits for me in the quiet moments.
The kids who still need me to be fun and steady even when my heart is heavy.
The friendships that surprised me — some who drifted, some who stepped in like family.
And the little flashes of joy that showed up when I least expected them.
This year taught me things I didn’t want to learn but needed to.
That some seasons break you open.
That some empty chairs hurt like hell.
That some memories burn and warm at the same time.
That motherhood doesn’t pause for heartbreak.
And that despite everything, somehow, I’m still here doing the damn thing — one school drop-off, one late-night cry, one sarcastic comment, one load of laundry at a time.
And through all of it, there’s the oilfield.
The schedules we never get to control.
The missed dinners.
The holidays spent half-hoping the phone rings and half-hoping it doesn’t.
The life most people can’t understand unless they’ve lived it.
Cody’s gone this Thanksgiving, but I’m thankful for him — for working a job that’s brutal, exhausting, and necessary.
I’m thankful for the effort he puts in even from miles away.
The quick “love you” messages on bad days.
The FaceTime calls from the truck.
The way he shows up for us even when he can’t be home.
And I’m thankful for my girls — these little forces of nature who make me laugh when I want to scream and who drag me back into living, no matter how hard the year has hit.
I’m thankful for the people who checked in when grief made the world gray.
For the friends who didn’t need me to be okay to love me.
For the moments that softened the sharp edges.
And for the fact that even in the hardest year of my life… there is still beauty here.
So no, this Thanksgiving isn’t perfect.
My table isn’t Instagram-worthy.
My husband isn’t home yet.
My heart is still healing.
My life is held together with a prayer, a calendar notification, and a half-charged phone.
But there is gratitude.
Real gratitude.
The kind that exists because we’ve lived some heavy, messy, meaningful life this year.
So here’s to all of us spending the holiday in the thick of it — the moms, the grievers, the oilfield wives, the exhausted ones, the ones doing it solo today, the ones carrying a lot more than they show.
Happy Thanksgiving from my beautifully imperfect, gritty, honest, oilfield-wife world to yours. 🧡🦃
