We traipsed through the hot sand with our 6 chairs, 3 umbrellas, and cooler of Baptist beverages and found an opening on the crowded beach. We plopped down between what looked to be the annual tanning convention of the Ladies of the Order of the Sun and a family of three little boys under 7. It was a nice spot. The tanning convention women were a jovial bunch as they enjoyed their music and libations while achieving skin darkness that would make burnt toast envious. I was pretty sure I’d seen some of them on educational posters hanging in my dermatologist’s office, but they were having fun and that was all that mattered to them in that moment. I did, however, feel a temptation to tell them about my new neck cream, though, as I was sure they were gonna need it. To the left, the young parents were just trying to make sure they left with as many little boys as they had brought with them. A task not unlike herding cats as the little guys were running in every direction in their matching blue gingham swimsuits. There we sat in the middle. It’s always important to choose your beach neighbors carefully as you’ll be spending six or seven hours in their nearby company. Like real neighbors, they can make your experience a good one or not so much. I thought we’d done well with our choices that day. 

The young family reminded Davis and me of all those years of vacations when it was difficult to discern if it was actually fair to call it a vacation for fear of giving vacations a bad name. By the time we got everyone in their swimsuits, coated them down with sunscreen, packed all the snacks, juice boxes, sand toys, and then hauled it all out to the beach to the melodious sounds of whining children, we felt like we needed a nap. Of course, that option was off the table. All of that started flooding back as I watched that mom trying to slather lotion on her three moving targets. When they were all deemed sufficiently sun-protected, the parents attempted to take a group picture of the littles. Their dad planted them in a row by the water and the children behaved exactly how you’d expect from their birth order. The oldest was looking at the camera and smiling, the middle was squinting and contorting his face, and the youngest was turning a purply-red color from screaming and crying in lieu of breathing. I was sure it would be a picture that would be shown at their graduation celebrations and rehearsal dinners. After a couple of takes, the parents quickly abandoned that effort and started applying floaties and life vests on everyone and then dad took the baby under the umbrella to bounce him to sleep. Meanwhile, on the other side, the ladies of the sun put a fresh slim can in their coozies and flipped over to even out their color. 

I was tired just watching the young family. They’d already done more work than I’d done since our vacation started. We sat there between our grown children and their significant others. No one was asking me to get a straw into a Capri-Sun. No one had pooped in their swimsuit or, at least, was admitting to it. No one was eating sand. No one wanted to go in because it was too hot- oh, wait….that was me. No one wanted to go to the pool. Everyone was just quietly reading and I put my head back, closed my eyes, and relaxed while my airpods played music from my bikini days that none of them would want to hear. I wanted to tell the young mother that it wasn’t long ago when I was her- doling out goldfish crackers and yelling for them to not get so far out in the water. She would’ve taken one look at Carson’s full beard and Blair’s baby bump and she wouldn’t have believed me for a minute. But, she’ll learn soon enough on her own, I suppose. It just takes a few blinks before those days are gone. 

This was our trip to celebrate our men- who are also at different stages in life. Carson turned 24 last week and birthdays are BIG deals in our family. They’re all about tacky paper decorations and balloons and getting to pick all the food we eat. This year’s birthday theme of sharks seemed appropriate. Carson’s just starting out in life and his career. He has a sweet girlfriend who we all just adore. He’s at the age where he’s free to go in any direction and we’re excited to see how his future unfolds. We celebrated Father’s Day for Davis and John Samuel. John Samuel had his first Father’s Day as an expectant dad. He’s starting to feel the nearing responsibility of having a baby and what changes that will bring for them. It’s a time that’s full of a lot of excitement and probably a lot of new worries he never knew existed, too. And, of course, we celebrated Davis. Our patriarch who’s raised his family and is starting to slow down from years of working so hard to provide for them. He’s moved into a “help and advise only when asked” role with his children and is looking forward to his first grandchild. 

The beach is a place of many sweet memories. All the way from the carefree teenage bikini years when my stomach was so flat you could roll out a pie crust on it…to blowing up swim rings and trying to open Go-Gurt with greasy sunscreen hands…to sitting there between my grown children with my arms folded comfortably across my muffin top and feeling grateful that those little kids turned out to be really good people. Wondering how I got from there to here so fast, but thankful that Davis and I are enjoying this new phase of life together. Whatever season you’re in, it won’t last long. Don’t wish it away. 

Y’all have a wonderful week! 

JONI 

P.S.

I got this new game called Ransom Notes for my birthday that I was dying to play because it looked like it would be hysterical. The box said 3-6 players and I had just the friend group in mind who’d be sure to make it a hoot. I sent out a text, a couple of weeks ago, and gave a few dates for them to check and see if they were available. A minimum of two weeks is about how far ahead you have to start to find a night everyone is going to be free. We’re all so ridiculously busy that it’s a monumental task to assemble a group of more than two without a lot of back and forth on dates. We all agreed on a day and I asked everyone to put dinner and a game at my house on their calendars.

I’d told them ahead of time that this would be a comfortable and casual affair- as in leggings, shorts, t-shirts. Nobody wants to sit around on a Friday night in clothes that don’t give to the pressures induced by a large meal. The night came and they all started arriving. I greeted them at the door in my spandex and comfy shoes. I’d also prepared them that we’d be eating on disposable plates and having food that required minimal work- a baked potato bar and an ice cream bar for dessert. I literally got two gallons of Blue Bell out of the freezer and had some toppings for it. I even served the caramel and chocolate sauces right out of the jars in which Hershey’s and Smucker’s had packaged them. Some of that might not sound like a big deal to you, but it was a struggle for me not to get out the plates, glasses, and put the sauces in pretty glass bowls. It went against the southern hostess in me, but I fought the urge for the greater cause. 

I’d told my friends I was going to set the bar low from the start, so we’d be more apt to do it again. If we thought we had to make an elaborate meal or have a pretty centerpiece or set a beautiful table or wash dishes all night afterwards, we’d be less likely to do it very often. I confess I did buy a cheap bouquet of cut flowers at the grocery store and had three little bud vases on the table. I mean- I am a retired floral designer and a bare table was just a step too far for me in this quest for simple entertaining. 

We had our loaded baked potatoes on our disposable plates and our Diet Coke and sweet tea in our plastic cups and our ice cream in paper bowls with plastic spoons. When we finished, we smooshed it all down in the trash can and got out the game- which did not fail to meet the lofty expectations I had for it. We laughed and laughed and laughed to the point we were scared to move or get up from the table for fear we’d have an accident- and no one had brought an extra pair of leggings. This group of friends goes back a long way- most of them since childhood- and there was more belly laughing than I’d done in a while. That is, until someone looked down at their watch and announced it was almost 10:00. Nobody could believe how late it was and they started gathering their things like it was a fire drill. I thought, oh, we are getting old. I guess 10 is the new midnight when you’re of a certain age. 

We used to do this kind of thing all the time. Somewhere along the way, we got busy with our kids and their schedules and our jobs and just life in general and we let entertaining at home fall by the wayside. Over time, we let social media convince us that get-togethers at our houses had to be fancy, grand, and picture-worthy to be worthwhile. At some point, we decided meeting at restaurants was an equal substitute to inviting our friends into our homes. Well, it’s not, at least, not all the time and I’m so guilty of that. It’s much easier to meet up somewhere than to try to clean and plan everything down to a tee. I guess this post has no real point except to remind you as I recently reminded myself- fun doesn’t have to be fancy. Maybe we can have even more fun with paper plates, t-shirts, and a new game than we ever could with fine china, cascading centerpieces, and tight waistbands. It’s all about who’s at your table- not what’s on it. It’ll be harder for some than it will be for others, but let’s try to welcome back the lower bar and call some friends to come over and eat on paper plates. I think I’ll find a game that needs even more players for next time. 

I hope y’all have a great weekend celebrating the fathers in your life! We’ll talk soon! 

JONI 

First, I can’t tell you how much we appreciate all of your messages, prayers, and well-wishes for Blair and John Samuel and their sweet baby. I hope you’ve all gotten the word by now that I can’t respond to comments left on the blog for some reason. Not sure what the issue is or who to contact about it, but I read every word and LOVE hearing from you! Thank you for praying for them. We give all the praise to the Author of Life who heard our prayers and yours and gave our family this beautiful gift in such a miraculous way. He’s continued to keep His hand of protection on this baby and Blair is just a few days shy of her second trimester! Thank you for your gift of intercession in this! You’ll never know what it’s meant to all of us. 

It’s been a busy few weeks. Even when you’re past having school age kids, May is still just a crazy month. Everything happens in May. I haven’t had time to sit and write, so I thought I’d just string together some random thoughts and occurrences that have no real merit and very little, if any, entertainment value. 

You know because I am who I am, we have to talk about the warm weather and its accompanying woes. I’m not sure how it is where you live but the heat in Mississippi is already ridiculous. It was in the 90’s way back when there was still a lot of May left to go. At this rate, we’ll all be incinerated by the 4th of July. We’ll be like giant sparklers walking around. My blooming plants already look stressed and are starting to get their affairs in order. Their declining health is about a month ahead of the usual course of things. And there has been a fly in my house since Mother’s Day. I don’t mean the same fly. I just mean that when one fly is exterminated, their headquarters sends a replacement fly over immediately so that our home is never without the presence of a fly. It’s really starting to get to me. 

I’ve been hearing all the predictions that the heat will be awful this summer. The worst in a long time. There’s a perfect storm brewing, I tell you. Pair the historical heat wave with me being at the pinnacle of my menopausal experience and I may not make it to autumn. I’ve been having those hot flashes that start at the back of the neck and work their way around to the chest and then up to the face. Night and day, I’m a constant sweaty, sticky mess. If I combust before fall, just know I loved you all and, if you need me before then, I’ll be indoors somewhere until further notice. 

Ok, so I won’t dwell on the premature acceleration of the heat, because I know some of you are into this kind of weather and I won’t rain on your parade. Let’s pretend it isn’t that bad and just talk about all the snakes that have slithered out from their winter hiding. In the South, you can tell summer is coming when we start posting pictures on social media of the snakes we encounter. Granted, most of them are post-mortem photos, but some are allowed to live long enough for their captors to ask the Facebook world the question- what kind of snake is this? A public debate then ensues as to what kind it is and if it should live or die. The men generally want to free the snakes and the women consistently demand death across the board- likely because of that enmity thing spoken about in Genesis. This year, I’ve already seen more snakes pictured in planters, patio furniture, crawling up brick walls, and clinging to front doors than I care to count. On our walks, I’ve almost stepped on two already, myself. I keep telling y’all the heat brings all of the evil out from its hiding. 

We’re a couple of weeks from our garden harvest. Davis planted an extra large garden and we’ve found ourselves planning our trips and activities around vegetables. Squash, okra, crowder peas, cream peas, green beans, corn, watermelons, blueberries. It’s got me feeling all pioneer-ish. Here is actual footage of me asking Davis when he thinks the crops might come in and if the the corn is tasseling yet. This weekend, I’ve got to defrost the big freezer to get ready for all of this. I guess that’s one problem Carolyn Ingalls didn’t have. I’d love to learn to can but something about the possibility of wiping out the entire family line with botulism dissuades me. 

Carson and Anna Kathryn came for the weekend for a big family gathering on Sunday. I’m hearing a lot of empty nesters my age talking about downsizing and I’m so curious about that. What are y’all even talking about? When children leave home, they usually return and bring more people back with them. Spouses, significant others, pets, children. I’ve found that we’re needing more room not less. When they’re all here, it’s every man for himself on their side of the house. Davis and I are in negotiation talks about adding a bonus room in the attic with the baby on the way. 

For the last month, I’ve been trying this new neck tightening cream. I have an issue with my neck sagging. You know we’re our own worst critics, but I’m convinced I look like a linebacker when I look down. If our cameras in selfie mode have taught us anything, it’s how we look from below and, believe me, it’s not good. So, I try to always keep my head held high- figuratively and literally. I’ve called a couple of clinics to see if there’s any non-invasive fix for this age-related issue and, so far, no one has a non-surgical alternative to offer. I did see this Bare Minerals neck cream and decided it couldn’t hurt to try it. It may be making a tiny difference but I need to see some big, drastic changes. Let me know what you’ve found that falls between surgery and tilting my head back all day. 

I’m enjoying my teacher friends being out of school. I even have one who retired at the end of this school year so that gives me another potential partner in crime during the day. Those school teacher friends are a strong and courageous bunch. I’d be terrified if they locked me in a room with 28 six year olds all day. They’re awfully crafty, too. I’ve already had an art project day with one of my kindergarten teacher buddies and we made mosaic portraits of our dogs out of old magazines. I hung mine in my laundry room where no one will ever see them, but I think they’ll be pretty cute to look at when I’m pre-treating spots and emptying the lint trap. 

We’re planning a beach trip for the end of the month to celebrate Father’s Day and Carson’s birthday. Since both of our children live near the coast, we haven’t actually stayed on the beach in years. We usually just go for the day when we’re down there visiting them. The beach was once my favorite place on the planet and all of our vacations centered around a beach somewhere. Now it’s only my favorite when the sun starts going down. The 50-something me looks out from the balcony at high noon and just sees the makings of heat exhaustion, skin cancer, brown spots, and an even saggier neck. I owe my skin a heartfelt apology for the hours and hours I laid out on the beach- in the middle of the day- unprotected- frying my epidermis all the way down to the hypodermis because, after days of fever, chills, blistering, and peeling, it would turn brown and I’d look, oh, so good. Now I’m a platinum member patient at the dermatology clinic. 

I have to share a sort of funny story to close. Everyone was here for Mother’s Day. Because it’s utter (but fun) chaos when everyone is here at once, we got to church right as it was starting. The choir had already filed in and the first hymn was about to be sung. Not wanting to cause a scene, we all slipped in on the next to the last pew in the back. We sat down and noticed how unusually creaky it sounded but didn’t think much of it. That is- until we heard a loud pop and the whole pew shook like something had given way. I thought- well, I’ve always wondered how it would all end, but I would’ve never guessed this. The people sitting behind us could see the legs of the pew and advised us to move as they saw a big split in the wood and were afraid it was going to collapse. So, after being so careful not to make a grand entrance, we stood up and barreled down the aisle as discreetly as a train derailment to find another spot large enough to accommodate us. We all sat down ever so gingerly in our new seats. I mean- it’s one thing to break one pew, but break two and people start to judge. The threat of the pew falling and sending my legs up in the air in the church house was far too reminiscent of that Easter Sunday when I fell out in the choir loft to the organ’s rendition of “Up From the Grave He Arose.” A girl can suffer from PTS for years after stuff like that, you know. 

Well, like our friends once wrote in our yearbooks, I hope you stay cool - unless you enjoy the summer and feeling as if you’re on fire. If so, you do you. Y’all have a great weekend and hope to talk to you next week! 

JONI