Well, last week, it occurred to me that I could plug all the info she had worked so hard to gather into Ancestry and see where it would take me. I mean, our gene pools are something we're all naturally curious about as we'd like to see what makes us who we are, where we came from, and, well, we'd also enjoy a heads up if there are things such are webbed toes or cone heads for which we need to be on the lookout.

Well, I put in her information and Ancestry lit up like a Christmas tree. There were leaves popping up everywhere on my family tree. I followed my mother's family back 24 generations to 1398. We already knew they were Scottish whose clan had apparently drawn the shortest straw for the ugliest plaid, but I found a long line of earls, countesses, lairds, barons, and lords of parliament, so I think Davis could stand to treat me with a bit more deference as I didn't find any of that in his lineup. And when I saw we had our very own "Lady Mary", I nearly jumped out of my seat. I've been sitting up straighter, using the term, manor, in the place of house, and quit using paper plates at lunch as I feel such casual living doesn't suit someone of my bloodline.

I've had a big week. A big, big week. Of course, that's using the Covid-19 standard of measurement, which is far different from a big week using the typical scale, but we're happy to get whatever we can get at this point.

I went out to dinner with friends. Yeah, you heard me. It was a late birthday celebration and we were all just so excited to be getting out of the house. Only one of us had enjoyed her turn at the salon. She'd gone that day and so the more ungroomed among us just sat and looked longingly at her hair with much fascination- wanting to smell the chemicals and run our fingers through it. We hung on every detail of her visit and admired her rich color and freshly cut layers.

The masked server came to get our drink order. We looked over the menu like we'd just been released from serving 20 years at Attica. We hoped we could remember how restaurant etiquette worked as our skills were quite rusty. We looked over all the food options and took time to appreciate that someone else would be preparing it and bringing it to us on dishes that someone else would be washing. After the quarantine saga of being held captive in our own kitchens, it was almost a tearful realization. They were actually going to bring us food. Whatever we wanted. And all we had to do was sit there. As emotional as the moment was, we were far too excited to cry. We were out of the house and enjoying a break from our longtime quarantine cellmates back home. We were wearing real clothes with full makeup and were overcome with excitement.

We looked around the locally owned restaurant and it was pretty bare. There were three other tables being used besides ours. The place emptied out as we lingered and talked. We were obviously the patrons who were the most ecstatic about being out on the town for the evening. Every now and then, we'd see a car or two pass by the big glass windows, but nothing like the usual activity you'd expect on a typical night. It was most delightful, but there was something sad about it, too. While we were so busy enjoying ourselves in this once normal, routine activity, there were signs all around reminding us that things still weren't normal or routine. We closed the place down and walked out to the desolate street to our cars with the staff locking the doors behind us. We'd enjoyed the company and the laughter and being served a delicious meal. We'd really just enjoyed the chance to do a simple, normal thing together again.

We keep a dry erase calendar on our refrigerator. I didn't even bother to fill in the dates for April- there were no events to remember and nothing, whatsoever, to attend. But, now, I actually have several days marked in the next couple of weeks. Every time we spot a hint of normalcy or step toward more activity, no matter how small, we can feel a warming ray of optimism. It's happening far too fast for some and dragging its feet for others. Everyone has an opinion and a level of engagement where they feel comfortable. Patience with each other will be needed in this. Recognizing we're all coming at this from different angles with our own personalities, experiences, and medical charts, surely, we can reach way down in ourselves to meet each person with grace and respect until we're all standing side by side again. Side by side with no tape or cones or clear plastic barriers between us.

What a happy day that will be.

Until then, let's be kind.


Joni

So, here we are- Mother's Day week 2020. It will be one to remember for sure. When we're old and gray, we'll look back on this year's Mother's Day when none of us had enjoyed a haircut or color since Valentine's Day and, when our big day finally rolled around, well, we were all sporting a real earthy, worn look-perhaps not unlike the early settlers when they stepped off the boat at Plymouth. This will long be remembered as the year of the haggard, homely mother with her gray roots which measured upwards of 4 inches. That May when we didn't know what to possibly expect next as we sat around in masks, clutching our toilet paper, and watching for the murder hornets in the sky. That warm and fuzzy Mother's Day when someone would only touch us with a ten foot pole and when shopping restrictions made prospects of gift selection by our menfolk even more dim than they usually were. That time when restaurants operating at 50% capacity meant we cooked our own celebratory meal or sat on a bench clenching a silent buzzer until sometime the following Tuesday. We'll always remember this Mother's Day even though we forbade photo documentation of any kind. The year we gauged our age and frailty by how flipped out our children got when we told them we wanted to go out. That glorious May when our manicures looked like the work of a school child and our eyebrows like they belonged on the cast of Duck Dynasty.

On the more serious side, it'll be remembered as the Mother's Day some of us were kept from seeing our own moms except through the window of a retirement home or on a phone screen. The year disappointment overwhelmed many of us with our graduates missing so much of their special milestone. The kindergarten play that never happened. The last ballgames that were never played. No chance to say goodbye to a special teacher. The once in a lifetime events that could never be recaptured. It might be known as the Mother's Day when all we really wanted was to hold a new grandbaby or be with someone in the hospital. Maybe we'll remember worrying about a wedding date and wishing we'd known the right thing to do. We might have memories of money being tight or anxiety about the future occupying our minds. Some will look back and still recall the worry of bringing germs home from their essential jobs. Maybe this Mother's Day will be remembered for being extra lonesome in a house that was too quiet and empty. Or we'll reflect on how we felt so alone in our grief after burying someone we loved in the middle of it all. We'll all remember wishing for hugs and the frustration of wanting things to just be right again.

But, in time, it'll be the Mother's Day we'll remember feeling refreshed and less rushed. When our planners were empty and our days were full of possibilities. A moment when we'd marinated in quality time with our people and had soaked in all the goodness. For the first time in a while, we took time to play games, watch home movies, and rock on the porch and watch the rain. It was the year we ate more at the kitchen table than in the car. We read more books. Finished more projects. Prayed more fervently. We took notice of the songs that the birds sang. Lingered outside to watch the sunsets. Sat around crackling fires. Called our mamas more. It will be thought of as the moment we did what we could to help. Brushed off some rusty skills and dabbled with new ones. It will be that time we changed roles with our parents to work as their shield from the world. We'll be thankful for that time we had with our children who'll have flown from the nest by then. We'll remember the long drives, long talks, and long naps. We'll think about the blessing of getting the rest our minds and bodies needed so badly. We'll think about all the time we spent in the kitchen and wish for those days when more legs were under our table. When we look back, we'll recall sitting in the sun, making s'mores, and calling friends on the phone. We'll long for that time when we could hear God's voice speaking to us in the quiet. We'll remember the peace He gave us in the chaos.

I'll turn 52 on Mother's Day. Over dinner, I told Davis and Carson that they'd had all this uninterrupted time to plan the upcoming day to be full of little touches to commemorate my two special days of the year all rolled up into one. With my tongue far, far in my cheek, I went on to say how excited I was that, in just a few short days, I'd finally get to see what they'd undoubtedly been planning for me so diligently and fervently for all these weeks. I'm pretty sure tea squirted out of Davis' nose and Carson turned to his dad and told him they needed to talk. But, Blair and John Samuel are coming, this weekend, so hope springs eternal. Just to be on the safe side, we're going to wait a couple of weeks on our extended family celebration for my mother, but I'll be so happy to have my little group of people together for a bit. It's the very best gift a mama could get.


Hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day.