Well, there’s been a lot going on around here. I’ll start with a Ruby story. My extended family had a graduation party for two of our family members, this past weekend. We make a big deal over the kids when they graduate from high school. It’s a big step toward independence- not to mention a promotion from the kiddie table- so we like to give them a time to be celebrated. We were going to have a big cookout and I was bringing the baked beans. Well, since it was such a big crowd, I decided to order them from a local bbq place. I picked them up and they had them ready for me in a large tub. I got home and stirred in about 3/4 of a large store-bought can of beans to stretch them a little more for our big crowd and I put the empty tub and partially empty jumbo can in the trash. Well, at the current time, our kitchen trash cans are displaced in the laundry room as our cabinet doors aren’t put back on yet, which would leave Ruby with unlimited access to the garbage and that would be less than ideal for a dog who eats all things. 

So, when it was time to go, we told Ruby goodbye and headed to the party with the hot beans. Five hours later, we returned and opened the door to find that she’d thrown a party of her own. I’m not sure if she had other dogs over or if it was just her, but there were cans, wrappers, old coffee grounds and dirty paper plates strewn around the place. Thankfully, we currently have no floor covering. She’d opened the laundry room door. Knocked over the trash can. Gotten the bean tub and the bean can out. Taken them into the family room to her bed and eaten them in front of the tv. Kind of a dog’s version of popcorn and a movie. All the beans I’d left in the bottom of the big can were gone and both vessels were licked clean. She saw me coming and stuck her whole head back in the can to ensure she’d gotten them all before I shut the party down completely. A last call of sorts. Later that night, she was lying in her bed with the blanket over her. I heard a horrible noise and saw the blanket balloon out. Party now. Pay for it later. 

And amidst all of our renovation chaos, we started having septic system issues. Around here, when you’re a city dweller, you’re on the city’s sewage system, but when you’re living outside the city limits, you’ve got this septic system thing. Every few years, we have to have ours cleaned out as tree roots grow down and stop things up. So, the septic guy comes in the big pump truck and takes care of our problem and closes the tank, but Davis tells him not to put the dirt back in the hole as he wants to pour some pool salt in it to kill the roots before he fills it in again. The septic guy rubs his chin and agrees that it’s a good idea. That was 36 hours ago. Eager as I am to get it all put back together out there, I’ve asked Davis, a couple of times, when he plans to do that. He assures me soon, but, meanwhile, I’m looking at this hole that’s about 6 feet long and 4 feet deep from my bedroom window. I’m starting to wonder if Davis has other plans for that hole. If he starts fashioning some sort of box out of the reno scrap pile, I’ll start to worry. 

As far as the renovations, well, we’re starting to finally see some of the actual finishes in a couple of places, but it’s been a long time coming. I just love all those home renovation shows like Flip or Flop, Hometown, and Fixer Upper, but they do give you unrealistic ideas about how these things work. You know the shows where they buy a hideous house that you can almost smell through the TV screen? They’ll fill a dumpster with rotten wood, stained mattresses, and filthy toilets and, only two weeks later, it’s a beautiful designer home. Or there are those shows like Love It or List It. They go in people’s homes and fix them up to meet their needs to convince them that their house can still work for them and not to sell. Most of those people don’t really need a new home- they just need a vacuum cleaner, some garbage bags, and a commitment to fold the laundry every once in a while.

Especially now, I can appreciate the fictitious nature of these shows, where the sub-contractors start pulling in the driveway on day one and they’re working inside and outside- so many of them that they’re bumping into each other. They show them arriving early in the morning and working into the night to get the job done. When one worker is finished, the next guy is right there ready to start his part. No waiting. No delays. Just 1, 2, 3, done. That’s how it works on TV. 

But, in real life renovations, the tile guy can’t come until the plumber comes. The plumber is working on another house, but might be able to squeeze you in before he starts another big job at the first of the month. If he can’t get to you before that job, it will be another 5 days or so after that before he can come. The plumber finally comes a week later than his original worst case scenario date. Tile guy started another job and has to finish before he can get to you. Electrician guy thinks he can come in 2 weeks. After 2 weeks, no electrician. Says it will be another week. Finally, tile guy comes and works a couple of afternoons. He doesn’t finish and says he will come back after counter top guy and sheetrock guy come. Counter top guy can’t come until the painter comes. Electrician comes but doesn’t get finished. Says he will be back after painter comes back for the final time. Painter comes and works until lunch. Will be back after sheetrock guy. Counter top guy can come at the end of the week. Sheetrock guy will be a couple of weeks. No, can’t come then. Not done with his other job. He’ll give you a call when he’s done. Finally, sheetrock guy comes, so painter is put on alert. Painter has no idea when he can come back because he’s gotten really busy. Floor guy can’t come until painter finishes and painter can’t come until sheetrock guy finishes. Electrician can’t come back until sheetrock and painter are finished. Sheetrock guy finally comes. Wait and wait for painter. Painter will be there in 2 weeks. No, make that 3 weeks. Not sure when the painter will be there. Finally, painter comes back. Floor guy is called. Electrician is called. Floor guy has started another job. May need to call another floor guy. Electrician will be there by the end of the week. No, the first of next week. No, it will be toward the middle of the week. Electrician will get there when he gets there. 

So, I kind of feel like we’re living in a really low budget southern movie over here. A hound dog eating beans in front of the TV set. Gurgling toilets when the washing machine drains. An open grave in the backyard. Septic pumper truck in the driveway. Old sinks, light fixtures and countertops tossed out the back door. We’re just one car on cinder blocks away from a Cousin Eddie situation over here. 

On a happy note, Carson graduates on May 12. Did you just hear angels singing or just me? I thought we might get to celebrate in a finished house, but that’s not going to happen unless we get selected for one of those shows or Chip and Joanna drive up unexpectedly. Either way, it will be a happy day. We’ll celebrate somewhere! 

It’s nice to catch up with y’all! Have a great week! 

JONI 

I’ve been suffering from fatigue. Fatigue, tiredness, exhaustion, lethargy- whatever word you choose to call it. Now, while my mother is frantically looking for her phone to call me, let me pause and clarify. I don’t really mean the physical kind that would warrant a doctor visit, although I have always had a natural affinity to daytime napping. No, there are a lot of different ways we can feel fatigued or tired. There’s that kind you have after a big meal- like on Thanksgiving day around 1:00 p.m. after you’ve had a plate full of starches and the dessert sampler. There’s the kind that you get when the preacher is making his 7th point and the sunlight is beaming through the stained glass window and warming your pew. There’s the tired you feel after a really hard day of work when you fall asleep so fast that you do that weird jerking awake thing. There’s the kind you have after a big event is over- a good one or a bad one- when the surge of adrenaline finally wears off and you just run out of steam. Then, there’s the kind of fatigue you feel after expending mental and emotional energy continually for an extended time and I think that’s where my tiredness is rooted. 

Let’s face it, y’all- we’ve all had a few rough years. I know we’ve talked about this before, but it bears repeating. We had an election year in 2019 and you know about the constant divisive noise that brought. Everyone was firmly planted on their sides and we were all completely spent by the year’s end. Just coming out of that, 2020 brought Covid and we fought over how that should be handled and divided ourselves into teams based on the health choices we made. For two years, we heard about very little that wasn’t related to the virus and what we should be doing about it. We found ourselves with little patience or empathy for those whose Covid fear level was different from our own. More fearful and they were overreacting, brainwashed sheep. Less fearful- they were ignorant with no care for their fellow man. And all along, through the election, Covid, and mounting social issues, new lines were being drawn around what we could say and what we couldn’t. Sometimes, undeniable truths were labeled as misinformation. There were new rules to follow if you wanted to enjoy the privileges of social media. Questioning or stating facts regarding some issues became grounds for being cancelled. Disagreeing somehow became equivalent to hating. Crime and violence skyrocketed and our moral fiber seemed to disintegrate. Now, the world has recently fallen further into chaos. And those are just a few of the excruciating mental exercises we endured together as a country. That doesn’t even include the personal experiences that we encountered in our individual lives during the same time all of that was happening. It seems like there’s been, at least, a decade’s worth of happenings in three years’ time. 

I’ve noticed a shift in us since the onset of all of that- especially in my age group and younger. I’ve noticed a shift in myself. I can’t quite define it, but I’ve seen changes and they weren’t all for the good. For the last little while, I’ve let myself slide in some ways. I won’t be specific, because I’m not sure I can really put my finger on it. I just know that there are little things that I once did that I’m not really doing right now. There are places in my life where I’ve allowed myself to take a break. There are things that I have reordered on my priority list and others that have kind of fallen off completely. There have been times I’ve been more content to observe than to be in the game. Some of the shifts may have been good, but some were not. I’ve just felt mentally numb from this seemingly infinite period of crises and debates and division and moral decline that we’ve all been witnessing for the last few years. Unless you were living in a cave, there was nowhere to go to escape it or tune it out and, eventually, those things catch up with us. 

Not only has there been the mental fatigue, but I think the pandemic gave us all a valid excuse to take it easy for a while. We were home more than usual with so many of our normal activities cancelled. In a way, I think the unusual time of rest was kind of a welcomed thing as we were in the midst of living faster and more frantically than any other generation before us when we were suddenly forced to slam on the brakes. Maybe we kind of liked the way that gentler pace felt. Covid became a legitimate reason to coast along and we had more time at our disposal to do with as we pleased. It was something we hadn’t had in a really long time. We had almost two years for new habits to form and for others to break and they did. Some were good. Some were not. 

It’s the Easter season now- the time we, Christians, celebrate the resurrection and new life. The spring weather is here in the South and nature is coming alive again. The brown, crunchy grass is green and growing again. The bare trees have new leaves budding on their branches. The azaleas are blooming in pink and white. The birds are singing in the day and the frogs in the night. Something about the awakening of new life in nature has inspired a sort of an awakening in me. I’d tried a reset at the turn of the new year, but it never really got off the ground. But, I’ve rested long enough and taken my leave in some places, but I’m not content to stay there. Jesus modeled physical and spiritual rest for us and, if He needed it, how much more do we? But, it’s a place for us to visit momentarily- not to reside in permanently. 

We’ve got to know when it’s time to get back out there. To throw off our complacency and come off the bench. Maybe it’s getting back to church in person. Back to the gym. Back to a ministry. Back to visiting. Back to a mission field. Back to a Bible study group. Back to friends. Back to a social life. Back to volunteering. Back to mentoring. Whatever it is for you. It’s time for my generation and younger to step up and do our part. It’s been a rough time for all of us, but we have work to do. If the world has ever needed Christians to get up and get busy, it’s now. And if Christians have ever needed the support of other Christians, it’s now. When we need it, we should rest, but not retire. I’m sure there’s something all of us could be doing that we’re not and if there’s somewhere we haven’t fully re-engaged, maybe it’s time. 

Have a happy day, friends! 

JONI 

Well, we’re home from our week away. We had wonderful food, wonderful weather, and a wonderful time. Here’s a brief pictorial summary. 

We enjoyed some beautiful days out in nature. We looked for trails that were on the shorter side as you know I’m the weak link on our family hiking excursions. Apparently, I inhaled too much of nature as I came home afflicted with allergy and sinus troubles- so, for the last couple of days of romantic getaway bliss, I smelled of honey lemon menthol and snorted a lot. 

I shared with our guide the memory of being called to the den whenever one of Billy Graham’s crusades was being televised. It didn’t matter what you were doing or how many tests you had the next day or who wanted you to come out and play, when Billy Graham came on, you were going to sit on the couch and listen to his sermon and nobody was getting up until they started singing “Just As I Am.” That was a wonderful time back when people would pack stadiums to hear about God and the major networks would televise it in prime time slots and families would sit down together and watch. Our country sure could use some of that about now. 

We stopped at the Downton Abbey exhibit on the way home and it was wonderful. So many costumes, props, and sets were there. It was nicely done and had drawn quite a crowd of fans on that day, which was the day before it was ending. 

Well, eight years ago, Motherhood and Muffin Tops was born and this is her 497th blog post. With a little better planning, the 500th post could have fallen on this special day and it would’ve gelled better with my almost obsessive partiality for round numbers, but I will try to look past the unevenness of it all and not allow it to ruin the day. 

We’ve talked about almost everything in the last eight years. The past. The future. Our worries and fears. Our joys and blessings. We’ve loved and nurtured. We’ve lost and mourned. We’ve held tight to some things and then had to let them go. We’ve felt the weight and the joy of our calling as women. We’ve laughed and cried and, sometimes, we didn’t know how to feel. We’ve aged and grown. We’ve giggled and digressed. There were serious topics and spiritual matters. There were silly topics and sentimental matters. We’ve done it all together and I’ve loved every minute. 

When I’ve been joyful, grateful, and optimistic, you’ve traveled to those places with me. And when I’ve felt down, discouraged, or cynical, well, I’m sorry if I took you along. A lot has happened in these eight years in my life and yours. I had a college freshman and a ninth grader when this started. I was 45 and slimmer and my neck skin was as taut as a trampoline. There was a bumper crop of estrogen in my storehouse. I had more eye brow and less goatee. My mind wasn’t this foggy and my thoughts were more focused. My memory was longer than the lifespan of a mayfly. I could come up with the word I was trying to use and remember what I was saying until I was done. Those were good times. 

I could be like Tom Brady and leave while I’m ahead, but what would be the fun in that? No, I want to drag this excursion out until you all start to wonder if I’m ok and begin asking each other who you should call. Yeah, we’ve beat some subjects to death. We’ve repeated and rehashed. We’ve had absences and dry spells and reruns and disjointed messes. But, every now and then, I have a lucid thought that flows to the keyboard so smoothly that I know there’s no way it’s my own. Those times keep me doing this. If only, every once in a while, I can relay a word that can be helpful, then I’m still in it. So, if you can muddle through with me amidst the fogginess of menopause and estrogen insufficiency, I think we’ll forge ahead. Together if you’ll come. 

I thought my day, yesterday, pretty much summed up the experience of womanhood in a nutshell. I had my yearly appointment with my OB/GYN. At my age, we’re down to just the GYN part only. Anyway, when you go to a doctor, who still delivers babies, you never really know what to expect as far as wait times go. So, I get there and check in and couldn’t help but notice the unusually large gathering of women in the waiting room. It looked like a Pampered Chef party or a WMU meeting. I took my seat and soon the nurse came out to tell us the doctor was still at the hospital, but he would be back soon and they’d get us seen as quickly as possible. Well, I saw that for what it was- nurse talk for “some of you will need your headlights to get back home from here.” It was then that I decided to count the women waiting and there were thirteen- not including me or the men, who were there supporting their plump-bellied wives. I was his 2:00 and, from the looks of things, these were all the women who had after-lunch appointments prior to mine. With some quick math in my head, I decided to reschedule- helping his appointment pileup dilemma, while kicking the can down the road another month for myself. Win, win.  

When I left, I went to run a few errands with my newfound time. Well, because I was going to the doctor, I’d selected one of the bras from my “going to the doctor” collection. You know the ones that are nicer, newer, and never as comfy. We all have them, so don’t pretend you don’t. The mamas of our day really emphasized the importance of reserving our best undergarments for medical situations. As much as we heard about it, we were brainwashed into believing that there was some heavy underwear scrutiny going on down at the hospitals and clinics. Anyway, I’d tightened the nice bra straps that morning, because they were a bit loose and nothing is worse than a falling strap or so I thought. But, when I was out and about, in and out of the car, reaching for things over my head- it didn’t take long for me to realize I’d been overzealous in my tightening and that “comfort band” kept riding up, up, up. I’d look from side to side to see if I had an audience and, when the coast was clear, I’d grab the band of that thing and yank it down. Repeating the process about a dozen times. Rides up. Check surroundings. Yank it down. 

Meanwhile, I’d also put on some pants right out of the dryer. Y’all know there’s a big difference in pants out of the dryer and the same pants after a day or two of wear. Well, those particular pants didn’t have a very high waist, which is very much a drawback when one gets to a particular age. Without the added coverage of the high waist, the pants have less ground to travel before they’re over the hump of the muffin top and, once they’ve cleared that, well, there’s nothing stopping them then. So, I’d get my bra pulled down and, after another glance around the aisle, I’d hike up my pants- as far above my muffin top as possible- buying me more time before having to do it all again. Pull down. Pull up. Pull down. Pull up. I was certain the people watching the security cameras in the back were enjoying this spectacle. Nothing will cut an afternoon of errands shorter than bad shoes or band and strap discomfort. 

It’s not always rainbows and butterflies being a woman, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Let’s travel this road together for a while longer. Journeys are always more enjoyable that way. 

Thank you for reading. You do my heart good. 

JONI 

The other day, I drove by the church that housed the Christian school that my brothers and I attended during our elementary years. I looked over at the far corner of the parking lot- the area that served as home plate for our kickball field. The large front lawn where we, girls, would sit in the grass and make wildflower chains during free time. The old playground area where we’d see how far we could jump out of the swings. There are a lot of memories in that church that was once my school. 

For some reason, I started thinking about the special jobs that would be given to us there. Being a small school, there was no cafeteria. Lunch was catered and delivered on individual plates wrapped in foil and we ate in our classroom at our desks. There was a large refrigerator in a common area that held little cartons of “white” and chocolate milk. So, every week, two people from each class were chosen to go get the milk and two to go and get the plates of food and bring them back to their class. The milk people would take the milk order down to the refrigerator and count out the right amount of chocolate and white milk cartons- counting and recounting for accuracy- and then bring them back to the class on a tray. There was one person on each end of the cumbersome tray so to not risk any lactose disaster. It was an important job to take that little sheet of paper with those vital numbers written by the teacher and to come back with the correct white/chocolate milk breakdown. I mean, if someone ordered chocolate milk to drink with their spaghetti, then they expected chocolate milk and if somebody ordered two cartons of white, then, by golly, they wanted to get their full .30 worth. The accuracy of the milk people was vital to class hydration and, really, the overall quality of their education. It was the same with the lunch order. The lunch kids were to go down with their tray and give the caterer the number of plates with which they were expected to return. Depending on what was being served that day, the numbers could be higher if it was something particularly good like hamburgers or lower if more kids opted to bring their Holly Hobbie and Evel Knievel lunchboxes to avoid the fish filet. I can’t put into words how excited I’d be when it was my week to have a job. It was a feeling of “If I don’t bring the children their food or drink, who will?” It was my mission. I’d been tapped for it and it was a good feeling. 

There were other jobs given in that little school building that gave us purpose. We all know the bittersweet responsibility of being selected class monitor when the teacher needed to leave the room. Basically, she was leaving class security in your hands until she returned. If mayhem and bedlam broke out, while she was gone, well, it happened on your watch. You’d rip out a piece of paper from your spiral notebook, have your pencil ready in the writing position, and keep your eyes and ears open for any funny business. Oh, the responsibility and the burden of that pencil. Wanting to do a good job securing the premises for the teacher, but the weight of causing someone to sit inside during recess was a load that cannot be overstated. Invariably, there would be some kid whose name, not only ended up on your paper, but also had a string of check marks beside it for additional offenses. There were some who could really rack up some checks by their name. As burdensome as the job could be, at times, there was a sense of fulfillment and purpose knowing that you’d been chosen for it and it was important. 

Besides milk duty, probably another favorite was being asked to deliver or pick up something from the office for the teacher. Of all the kids in the class, she’d decided you were the one and would send you on your way with an envelope to deliver or a stack of freshly mimeographed sheets to retrieve. When you held that envelope in your little hands, you imagined what kind of top secret, highly critical information it contained. Sometimes, it was to deliver the day’s lunch and milk money and it felt like your job was just slightly less essential than the man in the armored truck. You were tasked with getting whatever it was safely and securely to the highest school officials- of course, taking the slowest route to do so as the high pressure job did have its obvious perks. And if the job was to bring back the day’s mimeographed worksheets, well, you had all the pleasure of holding the warm papers in your hands and taking the first whiff of the damp blue ink. Nothing was better than being given a job that implied a level of trust and getting it done. 

Kids like to have jobs to do, but we all really thrive on having tasks and a purpose- especially those that we feel like God has given to us specifically. In my life, most of my callings or assignments from Him have been made obvious to me as they’ve appeared clear in their timing and my placement, or their alignment with my particular resources. Whether the assignment was a specific person or a need or a task, they always seemed to quietly draw me in as if to say, “hey, Joni, this is something YOU need to do.” Speaking to that little elementary girl’s heart that lives inside of my 53 year old body, it still gives me a sense of purpose and urgency to have a quiet charge with my name on it. 

As we get older, we start thinking more about making our days count. Maybe because we begin to realize that we don’t get as many as we once thought or that they really pass a lot more quickly than they once did. We have more of an urgency to fill our time with things that matter. With the kids grown and being retired from working, I find myself with more time on my hands. I’ve had some space open up in the last few months as tasks were completed or needs were met or circumstances changed and I’ve been praying, since then, not for time-fillers, but for some new meaningful assignments. I’ve kind of felt like I did back when the teacher was looking around the room, trying to decide who to pick to erase the board and I’d have my hand up and waving it. “Me, me. Let me.” I’m ready for new tasks to come up that bring my name to the mind of my Creator. He’s been slow in making those known to me, but I know they’ll become quietly apparent in His timing as they have in the past. Until I hear my name called, I’ll just keep doing what I know He wants from me in the waiting. 

“May the kindness of the Lord our God be upon us; And confirm for us the work of our hands; Yes, confirm the work of our hands. Psalm 90:17 ASB

JONI