Well, it’s been an eventful week. I told y’all about my mother turning 80 and all the hoopla surrounding that milestone. What I didn’t tell you was she was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. It was caught early and the doctors are very encouraging so we have no reason to feel anything but positive about her prognosis. She had surgery this week and, after some radiation treatments, we hope to leave this bump in the road behind us. 

I’ve told y’all before that my mother is a natural-born caretaker. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to be a caretaker for a caretaker. I was getting confused on who’s really in charge of who. It’s hard to take care of someone who keeps listing all the things she could make you to eat. “Do you need a blanket? Aren’t your feet cold?”…. “Um, I don’t think you understand how this works, Mama.” I suppose a caretaker’s gotta try to caretake, but they sure make it hard for a person to look after them. 

She went for her normal mammogram. Went back for a repeat. Went for a biopsy. Went for an MRI. Went to the oncologist. All before finally telling her children just a few days before her birthday. All I knew was she’d cancelled our Tuesday outings for a couple of weeks, saying she just had a lot to do. We can’t really knock her though, because we do the same thing to her. We’ll tell her things after we have all the facts or after the worrisome event is over. It’s a family game we play. Maybe you’ve heard of it- it’s called Don’t Tell Mama. Perhaps you and your siblings have even played it before at home. It’s a game for 2-6 players and the object is to keep the other players from unnecessary worry or stress for as long as possible. Apparently, there’s also a version called Don’t Tell the Children, which is sold separately, and that’s the one we’ve been playing here, recently. It’s just good, clean fun for the whole family with no assembly required. It’s probably where I get my love for ignorance and its accompanying bliss. 

So, two quick takeaways from these last couple of weeks. One- October is breast cancer awareness month and we’ve talked before about the importance of getting mammograms here on M&M. When my mother got diagnosed, she and I started naming all the people we knew who’ve had breast cancer. It was an astonishing number of names we listed. Young, old, in-between. Most survived- sadly, some didn’t. We all know the best ways women can try to stay on top of their health are self-exams, checkups, and yearly mammograms. Yes, it’s like running your breasts through a printing press or a pasta machine. Yes, you’ll think they’ll never reinflate again. Yes, you’ll feel like you and the technician have gotten to know each other a little too well. Yes, she’s going to tell you to lean in closer even if it feels like the upper lobe of your lung is already in there. But- we are women and we’re made of tough stuff and uncomfortable things are what we do best. The ten minutes a year is so worth it if it can possibly save our lives. 

The second thing I was reminded of is how we can get lulled to sleep by life cruising along in its usual rhythmic pattern. When one day is like the one before it and the four dozen before that, we start to assume we can expect more of the same up ahead. But, every now and then, we hit the rumble strip and get startled- realizing that life can change in a hurry. Lately, if my thoughts have seemed scattered and I’ve come across as distracted, it’s because, well, I have been. The good, the bad, and the busy can divert our attention for a time. We all go through patches like that. I do thank God that my mother’s problem was caught early on a routine test. And whatever you may be going through or whatever is coming up around the bend, I hope we can all trust God to carry us. Through the smooth and the rough places. 

Have a great Thursday and we’ll talk next week! 

JONI 

Well, the air is finally cool and crisp and a breeze is blowing in the very earliest signs of the loveliest time of year. With the fall air has come my mother’s birthday today and it’s a big one, so everyone has been here to attend Grandma’s 80th Birthday Palooza Extravaganza Jamboree Weekend. All of the fun couldn’t be contained in just one day so it was an ongoing weekend event. Really, the only thing we were missing were armbands and commemorative t-shirts. 

Of course, when there’s a celebration of any sort, someone has to plan it. They don’t just plan themselves. As you know, I’m the only daughter in my family and, while that distinction comes with its own unique powers, it’s also saddled with a set of unwritten responsibilities as well as tribulations. If you and your siblings are like mine, we all fit the general birth order molds and typical roles. Typical middle child people-pleaser, peacemaker, diplomat, here. However, being the only girl adds a list of duties which are heaped on top of the normal birth order roles and you don’t find out about those until you’re much older. 

When the oldest child is a son, I’ve read that the oldest girl will usually take on the role of sibling organizer and I have found that to be true in our family. That’s just a fancy way of saying that for the rest of her life she’ll be telling her brothers where they need to be, at what time, and how much they owe her. She will be in charge of planning gatherings, notifying participants of details, buying group gifts, making food assignments and reservations, and, most notably, finding a date on which all 17 people in her family have no conflicts- even unto her death.

We did some fun activities together, went to church with her, and ate at some good restaurants. But, the real fun started when we met a photographer friend at the lake for some family pictures on Sunday afternoon. I’m not sure what it is about the men in my bloodline and pictures, but I could have just as easily arranged to have 17 orangutans photographed together with similar results. It would have likely been preferable for the poor photographer. I can’t wait to get the proofs. All that to say, I just want all the only daughters out there to know that I am here for you. If anyone needs a support group, it is us. It has fallen our lot in life to help our brothers appear thoughtful to our mothers and that is not a task for the faint of heart. This night owl collapsed in the bed last night when everyone left and was asleep by 10:00 if that tells you anything. 

No, really, I just enjoy giving my brothers a hard time. No amount of fuss is too much for our Mama. She’s spent every one of her 80 years making a fuss over other people. She’s the one who slept with us in the recliner when we’d have stomach viruses, doling out Sprite by the tablespoons through the night. She always pretended to be the customer when my friends and I were playing store. She taught us songs and we’d sing them while she pushed us in the swing. She made blanket forts and quilt pallets and told stories with theatrics that would keep us mesmerized. She regularly gathered us up to work on little art projects together at the kitchen counter. She always found something my little hands could do to help her make all the Christmas goodies. We had scrumptious homemade meals and delicious desserts with mountain high peaks of meringue. She taught me to play duets on the piano with her. She found each of her children’s gifts and nurtured and encouraged them. She made our childhood holidays so magical. She stopped in our rooms every night and read the Bible to each of us and prayed for us specifically. She taught the mostly disinterested young me about cooking and setting tables and other “things you’re going to need to know one day.” 

As a grandmother, she’s done all of those things for our children, too. She was a lifesaver when I had newborns. She can’t ever come over and just be a guest without finding something she can help do. Laundry that needs folding or someone’s clothes that need ironing and I mean dry cleaner’s level- you could hang it in a clear bag and staple a ticket to it. She always asks how she can make my day easier. She prays for each of us daily. She knows each of her grandkids’ strengths and struggles and ministers to them in individual ways. She takes time to call them weekly or be with them one on one and encourages them in the places where they have need for it. She never misses a chance to share Godly wisdom with us all in conversations. There’s nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice, nowhere she wouldn’t go, not one thing she wouldn’t do to help any one of us. Whatever our hearts are longing for, hers is hoping for it even more on our behalf. Whatever we’re burdened with, it’s weighing even heavier on her. Whatever we’re praying for, she’s praying even harder. She is a mother and a grandmother in the purest and most beautiful and sacrificial form. 

We are blessed by her life. 

Happy Birthday, Mama. 

“When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness. She carefully watches everything in her household and suffers nothing from laziness. Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her: ‘There are many virtuous and capable women in the world, but you surpass them all.’ Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised. Reward her for all she has done. Let her deeds publicly declare her praise.” Proverbs 31:26-31