Monday, June 19, 2017

Happy Birthday, Son

Carson turns 17 today. 

It's hard to believe that it's been 17 years since he came on the scene.  I'd spent the 6 years prior to him raising Blair, quite possibly the most feminine child ever to walk the earth, and so I knew a boy was definitely going to be a change of gears for us.....kind of like going from 4th to reverse. 

At first, the differences were subtle.  His baby hands were bigger.  His cry was louder.  He could pee in my face.  And I'd rock him and instead of cuddling sweetly on my shoulder, he'd try to scale me like a rock wall. 

He got older and other differences started to show.  He'd come in from playing outside and his hair would be soaking wet with sweat and soon there was this smell that would fill the room.  His sister never smelled like that before. 

There was this fascination with urinating outside. I didn't know what it was about relieving oneself off the front porch or in the backyard that was so enticing but there must've been something to it that I'd never get to experience.  I soon learned to appreciate the convenience, though, in that he was able to go practically anywhere in case of emergencies.

Everything he picked up was used as a weapon.  A stick.  A popsicle.  A banana.  A paper towel roll.  Pow. Pow. Pow.  If it was seen as unfit for a weapon, it was a truck.  One of the two.      

His daddy would come home from work and he'd immediately jump on top of him.  They'd get in the floor and roll around, wrestling and pinning each other down.  From where I sat, it looked like a miserable time of grunting, sweating, and turning red but it was like he'd been waiting all day for another dude to come around so he could unleash some of his maleness.  He'd been civilized for long enough at home with me all day. 

He'd stop me down the hall from his preschool room and insist that we kiss before we got near the classroom door.  Oh, how he loved me, but I soon learned that it would need to be our little secret. 

Most of his toys shot foam bullets or lasers or balls or darts or discs or pellets or water.  The rest of them made obnoxious noises.  Each action figure came with 12 guns, 19 knives, and 8 swords.    

The sight of big trucks or tractors or ATVs or sports cars or bulldozers or airplanes made him stiffen up, squeal, and make motor noises with his lips with spit flying everywhere from his intense sounds.    

Somehow, flatulence was a constant source of humor.  Anything that sounded like it, rhymed with it, or reminded him of it was considered hilarity at its finest. 

He'd get in the car after school and trying to pull information out of him about his day was like trying to birth a breech calf.  I was used to a constant flood of info from his sister about every little thing but, with him, it was more like a well pump.  You had to work for every little drop.   

From day one, I knew I was in for something different and I was right.  Something wonderfully different.  He was louder and rougher but, there was something incredibly tender about him under all of his busyness and smells.  He loved his Mama more than I ever imagined a little boy could love me. 
Seventeen years later and he's growing into a man. 

A good man.

And I'm blessed to be his Mama. 

Happy Birthday, son. 

And y'all have a good day!   



Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Make Your Way to the Edge of Your Seat

Well, there's not much to report here. 

It's just that suitcase time of year. 

Travel size toiletry season. 

We've got trips going in all different directions, this summer.  Blair got home from Canada, late Saturday night.  Being in my element, I burned the midnight oil and stayed up until I heard her flight had landed while Davis was in there sawing logs.  On Monday morning, Carson left for Ridgecrest, NC with his youth group and he had to be at the church at 4:30 a.m..  I only know about one 4:30 and I'm not the least bit interested in getting familiar the other one, so Davis was responsible for getting him there in the pre-dawn darkness while I was sprawled out unconscious in bed.  That, my friends, is what you call a marriage that works.  Each person coming to the table with his or her own strengths, whether it be embracing the late night or ushering in the ungodly early morning....all for the good of the family. 

Something about Carson being out of town has gotten me in project mode around here.  I don't know why that is but it seems like I always saddle up for some big undertaking when he goes on a trip.  It's not like he's 3 and always underfoot or anything but I do seem to get in gear when he's gone.  I've got a list of projects I want to accomplish around the house this summer.  Some painting projects.  Some serious cleaning.  Some new floor covering. 

So, this week, I decided to tackle painting our bedroom and master bath.  We built our house over ten years ago and everything has been repainted, at least once or twice, except those two spaces. Deeper, richer colors were the thing back when we built and so, I needed to lighten and brighten our bedroom to fit into this Joanna Gaines world in which we live.  So, for the last two days, I've been busying myself with a couple of gallons of "Lamb's Ear".  Who names these colors?

Summertime is my nesting period due to my work being slow but, this year, there's an added undercurrent to my housekeeping urgency.  My sweet friend, Regena, is coming to stay with our elderly, ornery dog, Sugar, while we're out of town for the wedding in October.  Sugar just loves her and you know when dogs get to a certain age, it's just too traumatic to take them out of their routine.....especially if they're as anxious and tightly wound as ours is.  So, anyway, when someone is coming to stay at your house and you know you won't be there to steer them away from problem areas, well, that takes you to a whole new level of manic house cleaning and that's where I am right now.

So, as riveting as this all was, it's all I've got today.  Lamb's ear in my hair, freshly painted walls, and just wanting to check in and say "hey"!

Y'all have a good day!



Monday, June 5, 2017


It's 11:00 a.m. on any given day and I talk to my mother on the phone.  She rattles off the list of people she's already talked to that morning.  Before I've got all the sleepy rubbed out of my eyes, she's had meaningful conversations with a string of family and friends.  She has a good friend who's also a widow and they talk first thing each morning to check on each other and make sure they both "made it through the night."  Then, she calls and checks on her sick friends.  She calls to keep in touch with friends who've moved away. She calls her cousins and elderly aunts in other cities and visits with them through the phone.  She calls the older ladies in her Sunday school class to see if she can help them in any way.  She's just the queen of keeping up with people.  And I'd bet that she's pretty typical for her generation. 

Our generation, well, we used to be good at that.  I mean, really good.  We'd talk and talk and talk on the phone for hours.  Our age ushered in the miracle of call waiting and caller ID and free long distance.  Exciting breakthroughs occurred on our watch. They were life changing in our phone centered world.  We'd call and check in with friends between visits.  We'd call to sing "Happy Birthday"....before Facebook.  We'd call to get a recipe.  We'd call just because we were bored.   

I remember having to shift the phone from one ear to the other to relieve the aching pressure points or to cool the heat radiating from the phone.  Pretty often, the phone would beep to warn me that it was about to go dead.  It had even had enough of my conversation.  I'd talked all the life right out of the battery laughing, telling stories.....maybe snorting.  I remember hanging up my cordless phone and seeing the call time being 2 or 3 hours.  My neck would be hurting from clinching the phone between my shoulder and cheek while multitasking in the laundry room or over the heat of the stove.  It was the way we'd always done keeping in touch except with the newfound freedom of not being tethered to the wall by a coiled cord.  Between visits and lunches and get-togethers, it's how we communicated with our friends. 

Our kids got older and they started this new texting thing.  We made fun of it at first.  Call your friends and actually talk to them, we'd preach with cordless phones stuck to our ears. We warned them they weren't going to know how to have actual conversations with other people if they didn't quit all that texting.  But, while we jeered at it, we also began to see the value of being able to shoot a quick message in a setting where a phone call wasn't possible or when we just didn't have time to spend in an involved conversation.  I mean, you have to admit it's invaluable in certain situations. 

But, then, our lives got so busy.  So, so busy.  Busy with our jobs and our families and we started leaning on it more.  I don't know how it looks from where you are, but, from here, life feels like it's spinning so incredibly fast, these days.  I don't remember it ever being this way.  People have so many commitments.  So many places to be.  We're all hanging on this twirling globe for dear life.  Just trying not to get flung off by the whirl of incessant activity.  Our time is so limited and we've become so very selfish with it.  I guess when you're running short on something, you tend to guard it more carefully.  Hover over it and hold it tighter than before.  

Well, we saw the time savings and easy maintenance that texting and social media provided in relationships.  I mean, after all, you could check in with someone without all the energy it took to sound chipper.  You didn't have to act like you were in the best mood if you weren't.  You didn't have to stop what you were doing to have a conversation.  You could carry on with your day without getting bogged down in details.  You just carefully crafted a message with a well placed emoji for emphasis and sent it and, just like that, you'd shown the recipient that they were on your busy, busy mind.  We lowered the bar a notch or two and soon became satisfied with the new way we were doing things.  We realized we'd discovered the easiest mode of maintaining a friendship and we're all about easy, these days.

Our kids, well, that's all they've ever known.  That's how they've always communicated.  How they've always done friendship.  But, us?  Well, we remember when it was different.  When it was better than it is now.  And, sometimes, I think we find ourselves feeling lonely.  Unsatisfied with our 900 Facebook friends, 400 Instagram followers, and phones that only ding and never ring.  It's like how we're doing it now just isn't cutting it. 

Yeah, it's easier.  But, maybe it's not enough.  I think if we were honest, we'd say that we find ourselves missing the voice.  The sound of the phone ringing and a friend being on the other end.  No typed word can replace that.   

I've got friends from different circles and from different moments of life.  Our varied groups try to get together as much as we can.  Even though we do a pretty good job at it, it's never as often as we'd like. I ran into one of those friends, last week.  She said something to me that I've heard so many times before...."I never talk to anybody and I need that in my life right now."

Maybe because, at our age, our kids don't require as much.  Some of our nests are emptying.  We don't feel quite as needed as we once did.  I'd dare say that many of us are struggling with the downshift in our roles as moms.  It's all we've known for a really, really long time.  Maybe we're starting to see more life in the rearview mirror than we see up ahead.  Life is changing and we just need our friends.  Maybe that's what she was really trying to say.  Maybe that's what I was thinking, too.     

I suppose time savings is a really good thing to look for when deciding how we should do our banking, our cooking, our housework, our taxes, our shopping.  But, maybe it's not the best way to do friendship.  Maybe the really important things demand an investment from us.  Maybe the good stuff refuses to come cheap.  Maybe because if valuable things came easily and without much cost, we wouldn't take care of them.  Just maybe there's no such thing as a shortcut to the things that really matter in life.     

I'm guilty. 

So guilty of taking the quick and easy way. 

Like trying to get a home cooked meal from a frozen dinner.  As quick and appealing it looks from the outside, we'll always find that the content just isn't the same. 

So, in the days ahead, if you hear a strange ringing coming from your purse, it may be me calling.

If I remember correctly, you would then pick it up and say, "Hello?" 

I'm going to try to do better.

Y'all have a good Tuesday!

And call a friend today!!   



Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Summer Days Past

Well, Memorial Day has passed and summer is finally here.  I don't know why but I've always considered summer to be official only after Memorial Day weekend.  Around here, most kids have already been out of school for a week or two.  We live on a street with a cul-de-sac and there are kids living in almost every house.  We love our sweet, little neighborhood but I can't help but notice that kids don't stay outside like we used to when we were young.  Of course, I see an occasional bicycle roll down the street or hear the faint bouncing of a basketball but they certainly don't reside outside like we did. It was almost like our job to be outside all day.  Only hopeless bookworms and kids who had fever were inside on a summer's day. 

On the typical summer weekday, I'd stagger out of my room around 9:00, greeted by my mother who was anxious to get us, kids, outside so she could commence with the house cleaning.  She'd get the bowl of made-from-scratch pancake batter from the fridge and melt the butter in the iron skillet.  I'd get out the Mrs. Butterworth syrup and tub of margarine then go put on my cut off jean shorts and pom pom socks while she finished cooking breakfast.  If it was a particularly busy day for her, she'd set out the box of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch and I'd pray the submarine prize would fall out into my bowl but, with two brothers, that rarely happened.  Anyway, on the days that she was on top of her game, she'd call us all to the kitchen where she'd fry up pancakes until we'd had enough.  By that time, I was hooked on the episode of Card Sharks playing on the TV and Mama would fix my hair into either a ponytail or pigtails while I watched to see who was going to win so I could move along with my day.

After Card Sharks, the Price is Right would start calling people to come on down and that seemed to be my mother's cue to have everyone vacate the house for the day.  It was like a fire alarm.  The Price is Right theme music meant "EVERYONE OUT!  MAMA'S GOTTA CLEAN!" If you were still in there when the Cliff Hanger yodeling started, you'd be assigned chores. 

With a full stomach, we headed outside into the Mississippi sun knowing we'd been evicted for the day.  By then, there was a small gathering of kids forming in the street.  A brief meeting was held as the crowd grew.  We'd kick the gravel on the road and break sticks as we discussed all the possibilities that the day held.  Country Jay, wiffle ball, baseball using a tennis ball, kickball, hide and seek, bicycle obstacle courses, fishing, fort building.  I don't know why but we always seemed to follow the sports seasons.  Basketball and football were reserved only for the fall and winter months.  Anyway, each possibility was carefully debated until one or two rose to the top.  I mean, we were going to need some careful planning to fill all the humid hours ahead and it usually required a patchwork of activities to get us all the way to the end of it. 

Baseball/fishing/bicycle follow the leader was always a popular combo.  Fishing was usually better in the morning so that was a good lead off activity.  We'd break up and everybody would head home to get their poles with instructions to grab some white bread from the Sunbeam bag while they were there.

Not to limit ourselves to just one bait, we'd dig for a few worms under the pine straw mound that Daddy kept down by the back fence.  The black dirt under that straw was a popular hangout for the long, slimy things. With black dirt under our fingernails and a can of doomed worms, we'd climb the barbed wire fence over into the adjoining pasture where the neighbors had a small pond.  On any given day, a couple of us would be left with long, bloody scratches down the back our legs from the rusty barbs but we couldn't be worried about lock jaw and things like that because the crabapple tree was just over the fence and they were the Sour Patch Kids of our time.  We'd stuff our cut off shorts pockets with the little sour gems and head to the pond.

The boys usually used the worms for bait because, while the girls didn't mind digging for worms, stabbing them with a hook was another thing altogether.  We'd use the white bread and toss our hooks in the water.  After an hour or so of catching various forms of small fish, we'd head back to see what else we could find to do.  Sometimes, a stop by the railroad tracks to lay out coins on the tracks before the train was scheduled to come by was in order.  We'd go back and collect the flattened currency after it had passed.  Children playing on train tracks must have been commonplace back in the 70's.  I guess our parents assumed we had enough common sense to know if a train was coming, we should get out of the way.  I guess they were right.   

By this time of day, it was usually humid and the southern sun was hotter than a $2 pistol as my Daddy used to say.  I'd usually run in the house to get a little drink before the gang got started on another activity.  Mama was usually vacuuming at this point with The Young and the Restless playing in the background so she'd shoo us away and bring a glass of Kool-Aid or sweet tea to the door. They weren't the most generous portions but we were warned if we went overboard on the drinks, we'd ruin our lunch.  Oh, the air conditioning felt so good from the door.....if only we were allowed to stay in and enjoy it.  But, there was cleaning still to do and the house hadn't yet reached an adequate saturation level of Pine-Sol fumes so we were sent on our way and told that she'd call us when it was time for lunch.

Lunch usually came after The Young and the Restless went off because, well, you didn't want the house full of loud kids when you were trying to see what was going on in Genoa City with Nicki and Victor.  This was about the time that Katherine Chancellor was presumed dead in the tragic fire so missing a day was not an option.  Now, thanks to me, my mother's Sunday School class knows that she watched a soap opera in the 70's and early 80's and for that I'm sorry.  I'm sure they'll extend mercy.     

Since there usually wasn't enough time for another lengthy activity before lunch, we'd all agree to play something like Follow the Leader on our bicycles.  Somebody would be selected as the leader usually through a process of eeny, meeny, miny, moe or something terribly sophisticated like that.  The leader would hop on her bike and we'd all follow.  She'd take her hands off the handlebars for a while.....and so would we.  She'd zigzag from one side of the street to the other .....and we would, too.  She'd pop a wheelie.  We'd pop a wheelie.  She'd ride off the side of a driveway and jump a ditch and we were right behind her.  The fact that nothing stood between our delicate heads and the pavement only made the game more exciting.  We looked like Hell's Angels all lined up in a row with the roar of playing cards flapping in our spokes.  Banana seats and streamers and fluorescent bike flags as far as the eye could see.

About the time we'd be getting tired of that, we'd hear Mama yelling for us to come have lunch.  It usually consisted of a hot dog or a fried bologna sandwich with chips, apple, and a piece of pound cake or a couple of duplex sandwich cookies.  By that time of day, there was nothing that appealed to us on TV so, after we'd eaten and gotten cooled off, we'd head back out.  The other kids would trickle back out from their peanut butter and jelly buffets and we'd usually decide to get together a game of kickball or whiffle ball.  Captains were usually selected by drawing straws or picking a number between 1 and 20 and then the draft would begin.  Of course, the older, bigger boys would go in the first round which included my older brother, Zane.  And while I don't like to brag, I went pretty early in the draft considering I weighed 70 pounds soaking wet and my arms looked like you could snap them like a twig.  Players were picked, one by one, until it was down to the tiniest, most uncoordinated of the neighbors......but there was a place for everyone in the backyard league.   

At this point in the day, most of us were barefooted.  Shoes were only for climbing barbed wire fences and pedaling ten speed bikes with the spiky pedals.  The side yard between our house and the neighbors' house was a popular ball field because of its length, width, and overall turf quality.  The bases were usually the bare spots worn in the grass from their continual use while home plate was always the water meter cover.  We'd play for innings and innings.  We'd move in when one of the kids with two left feet came to bat and we'd back up when it was one of the older boy's turn.  And if someone hit the ball out into the woods, we'd all go tromping through the brush to help find it. 

We always had the rule that you could get someone out, not just by catching, tagging, or forced outs, but also by pegging them with the wiffle ball/kickball in the head as hard as you could......or anywhere else on their body.  This only added to the allure of the game.  There was the occasional timeout called when someone would step on a sticker bush or, heaven forbid, a fresh pile of dog excrement.  Of course, rules were usually made up as we went along to fit the circumstances.  Like if the score was really lopsided, we'd declare that all the big boys had to bat left-handed or something like that. 

Sometimes, later in the day, we'd splinter off and do things in smaller groups.  If we were thirsty and Mama was mopping, we might get a drink from the hose.  If the coast was clear, I'd go in to cool off for a minute with a pudding pop but then I'd be ready to find the others and climb trees, play board games on the carport, run through somebody's sprinkler, play croquet, or find a swing set that we could make one of the legs pop up out of the ground when we'd swing really high.  I knew if I stayed inside too long, I'd be handed a rag and a can of Pledge and I wasn't real interested in that.   

We'd play until the sun started to go down.  The crickets started chirping.  The frogs started singing.  The mosquitos would begin nibbling on my skinny legs and, in the distance, we'd hear our Daddy whistle.  He had this loud, two-part whistle that the three of us recognized as our call home.  It didn't matter how far away we were, we could hear it and it meant it was supper time.  We'd pedal as fast as we could to a big supper of fried chicken, roast and gravy, or, sadly, sometimes, the dreaded salmon croquettes.  We had to get fed, bathed, take in an episode of The Waltons or Barnaby Jones, and then get some rest because, well, the next day, we had to to do it all over again.

And we couldn't wait.

Eric, David, Jennifer, Annabelle, Jeff, another Jeff, Paul, Ronald, Melissa, Stacy, Rush, Marsha, Michael, Suzy, Mike, Ken,Wesley.....and, of course, Zane, Lee, and Joni.  We had some good times on our little street.

Here's to summer days past.

Y'all have a good one.....and tell the kids to go out and play! 

It's not so bad out there. 





Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Hello, My Name is Joni

In case you were afraid I'd disappeared into the world of competitive running.....well, don't.  Oh, don't get me wrong......I'm up to 5 mailboxes now but, until they replace the 5K with the 5Mailbox, I don't think I'll be signing up for anything like that. 

No, my life has just been crazy hectic since Easter.  Crazy.  Hectic. One obligation has given way to another and another but I can officially announce that I have now checked all of my current boxes and the summer promises to bring a little less adrenaline and a little more melatonin. 
In the spirit of summer vacation, I'm currently sitting here sit relaxing in my fancy, new pajamas which my family gave me for Mother's Day.  I don't know if you've ever heard of PJ Harlow loungewear but you need to get yourself some!  The satin lounge pants are so comfy and so very fancy! I feel like I should reserve these as my good traveling with friends/hospital pajamas because they're so nice.  I mean, I'm just not used to that. On any given night, if you were to ring my doorbell, you'd likely find me in a sleepshirt looking a notch or two above a dust rag because, well, they're so hard to let go of when you've got them good and broken in and comfort is king when it comes to sleep.  So, if you need some comfy PJs that don't look like dust rags, I highly recommend.  
Last week was busy with all things graduation. My nephew, Casey, graduated from high school on Monday night and the weekend before that was spent in New Orleans for John Samuel's graduation.  I know your social media feeds have been stuffed with caps and gowns and proud parents asking where the time has gone.  It's the time of year to wonder about things like that. I couldn't help but think about how my Daddy would've loved to have been standing on the other side of Casey with my Mama.  Special milestones seem to emphasize who's missing from all the pictures. It's the kind of absence that everyone quietly feels inside in the middle of all the happiness. And it's all fun and games until you realize your baby boy, the only one standing between you and an empty nest, will be in the next graduating class.  But, I can't deal with that just yet.  I prefer to live in denial for now.  The wedding is all I can digest emotionally at this time.          

While we were in New Orleans, we met with the wedding venue's event planner and nailed down some more details.  One of the considerations we went over was the backup plan in the event of rain.  Instead of being under the oak trees, the wedding would take place on the balcony overlooking the trees.  We're praying for drought conditions during the month of October but the view would still be beautiful.  I'm just obsessed with all the beauty everywhere you turn.    

My mother of the bride dress came in and Blair picked it up while she was out traveling today.  I'm very pleased with the color especially considering I had to choose it from a two inch fabric sample.  The one I tried on in the store was black and, while I LOVE to wear black, I didn't feel the implications of the bride's mother wearing it to the wedding would be all that I chose blush.  Not pink.  I don't do pink.  It's blush.  Maybe you saw Steel Magnolias?  Just so you don't get blush confused with bashful, this is blush.....
Tonight, the annual burning of the school notebooks was held in a somber ceremony on the back porch.  Carson and his sidekick, Cade, destroyed all of the paperwork from their junior year with the use of fire.  It was a moving service and hopefully marks the beginning of a few weeks of walking at a slower pace.  

Bring it. 
Let's see if we can't get back to a more regular blogging schedule while we're at it.    

I hope y'all have a little rest headed your way, too.

We'll talk soon!   

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Yeah, I'm a Runner

So, I don't think we've talked about the fact that I've started a wedding shape up program.  I mean, there was the twist board thing and then the twist board with weights but I needed to take it up a notch.  Not so much that I want to lose a lot of weight but I would like to shift some of it around and tone it up a bit since formal wedding attire offers a woman about as much muffin top concealment as, say, a piece of Glad Wrap.   

I've not really made any changes to my diet because I'm just not willing to go there yet.  That will be a last resort.  People talk of low carb and, I don't know why, but images of Hell come flooding into my mind.  I have made some small changes like I only eat dessert on Fridays and, more notably, I've cut out my tea.  My dear, precious tea.  I've given it up for its more tasteless counterpart, water.  Oh, water, you'd be so good if I were stranded out in the middle of the desert but that's about all I can say nice about you.....oh, and the fact that I use you to make tea.  My last self-imposed restriction is that I only eat at meal time.  Nothing in between.  Consequently, I go to bed hungry every night.  Every.  Night.   

Perhaps most noteworthy, since I'm not willing to give up any of the beloved food groups, I've started running with Blair.  Ok.  Well, running is a strong word.  A slow jogging.  Or an awkward trotting.  Whatever you want to call it, we walk/run/walk/run.  The only rule I've demanded is that we must run under the cover of darkness and, if a car passes by, running must cease until it is out of sight.  I'm not ready to run for the public just yet.

I bought these fancy running shoes and some of those tight workout pants that resemble a wet suit.    And after hearing me complain, Blair bought me a sports bra which is pretty easy to put on but if anybody has a good tip for getting out of one of those without becoming overwrought with rage, please let me know. To say that I'm well equipped for my new fitness endeavor would be an understatement.  I really look the part of someone who knows what she's doing.  You know, like one of those women you see in the grocery store straight from her kickboxing/spin/yoga classes, who's shopping for beets and kale for her juicer......only minus the beets and the kale.     

When we first started, I could only run/gallop/flounder from one mailbox to the next before I started to feel like I was experiencing some sort of fatal cardiac event but, now, I can go about 4 mailboxes before I feel death is near.  That's progress, I'd say.  I think I'll get a "4" sticker for my car.  Forget those 26.2 and 13.1 decals.  Pshhh.  I do experience some aches and pains in my knee, hip, and some of my other joints when I "run" but I suppose that's to be expected in an almost 50 year old woman.  I turn 49 this week and so I'm starting to get a little rickety when I do certain things that were once done with ease.  Don't worry.  This is all just a temporary effort.  After October 6, I don't plan to ever run again.........unless it's free tea day at McAlister's or something really pressing like that.        

To date, I've lost 6 lbs. but it's a very fluid situation.  A couple of weeks ago, I looked at a peach cobbler from across a crowded room and gained one back.  You know how metabolism stops being a team player when it gets to a certain age.         

Yep, I turn 49 on Wednesday.  Hanging onto the 40's by my fingernails.  I'm not old enough to remember a Victrola, kerosene lamps, or outhouses but old enough to know about Friday Night Videos, penny candy, tube socks, nurses in white hats, and Gee,Your Hair Smells Terrific.  So, I'm old enough, ok? 

I find myself at a place where it's difficult to know things like who I should "yes, ma'am", if my eyebrows need a pencil yet and whether that's a shirt or a dress.  I'm somewhere between ovulation kits and hormone patches.  I'm way past nesting and getting closer to empty nesting.  In most ways, I love it here where I am.  Other ways are a little sad.

But, I'm thankful for another birthday and everything God has given me in my 49 years.  It's been a good ride so far.

Y'all have a great Monday! 



Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Just Checking In

So, I've been a little busy.  It's spring, y'all.  There's a lot of new merchandise coming in and I've been transitioning the stores to Mother's Day/graduation season- our last busy spurt before the long summer lull.  I can't lie.......I'm ready for a little lull in my life.   

On Saturday, we hosted a small gathering of close relatives so we could get to know John Samuel's family and they could get to know us before the wedding festivities commence.  Of course, we'd met his parents and siblings but, you know, when your family expands, it's imperative that everyone gets acquainted with the Mimi, Papa, Nana, Pops, Granny, Grandma, Gramps and other important people such as that.  It was a wonderful day spent with delightful people and, as an added bonus, neither side called off the wedding due to gene pool concerns.       

Perhaps the only concern Davis and I had with genetics at the gathering was learning that twins run on both sides of John Samuel's family.....I mean, we being the potential babysitters and all.

As both of their dads (aka their matchmakers) prayed for the excited couple, there was a circle of love surrounding them.  Everyone who'd loved them from the very start.  Those who'd taught them, disciplined them, and nurtured them through the years.  And, yes, prayed for them to find just the right person to walk beside them in life's joys and sorrows.  With confidence, I'm certain that those prayers were heard and answered and this mama's heart is so grateful.  

So, now, I'm moving on to a couple of other pressing projects and also continue working my way down the wedding checklist but I promise to check in as much as I can. 

Y'all know I dread the summer's heat but, please, bring on its sweet lull. 

Y'all have a great day! 

I miss you.