The double bonus.

Dear friends,

Remember that lovely surprise I told you about yesterday? I can’t wait to show it to you!

After spending my entire Friday wandering hither and yon and returning late in the evening, I found this waiting for me in the kitchen:

There’s almost nothing that makes my heart go pitter-patter like tableware, especially that of the Jadite variety.

I opened the card to find a note from Kate saying that she and Parker and Mr. Mom stumbled across this bowl and thought I’d like it. “Just trying to repay you,” Kate wrote, “for all the nice surprises you randomly bring home for us.”

Mothers do nice things for their children because it’s in their DNA. To delight my family delights me, so it’s a win-win. That they are thoughtful enough to want to return the favor is a double bonus that makes me melt.

And isn’t my new bowl a perfect place to gather my stitched pears?

Between the thrill of a new sewing machine and a thoughtful affirmation that my three favorite people adore me, I’m wallowing in bliss this weekend. And if I have to wallow, I can’t think of a better place.

With gratitude {for my three sweethearts, emphasis on the sweet},

Joan, who’d love to hear about a random act of kindness that made you swoon

In the nest.

Dear friends,

Kate came home last night. When she and Mr. Mom drove up just as the sun was going down, my shoulders relaxed a little and I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. I gave them both big hugs in the driveway and thought about how lucky any mother is to experience a homecoming of loved ones.

We spent the evening hauling boxes, unpacking, and listening to her funny college stories — all four of us plus her boyfriend, Jake, and her dog, SweetPea, piled on her her bed as if it were a life boat and we might drown if we left her side.

I couldn’t be more content to have her back in my nest for the summer. I hope we’ll make time for all kinds of fun, like watching old episodes of West Wing, going on float trips, participating in our annual girls weekend, making shopping trips to St. Louis, and engaging in any other activity that sparks our mutual interest during the glorious 90 days of summer she’ll spend in Missouri.

Kate’s looking for a seasonal job and enrolling in two summer classes, so her schedule will no doubt be tight. Still, just the opportunity to cook a few of my special “Sunday Suppers” while she’s home will satisfy this hen’s need to fuss over her chicks. Oh, and I hope to finish her quilt so she can go back to school knowing there’s nothing better than a mother’s love in which to wrap oneself tightly.

By the way, we had a fabulous time in Phoenix. Kate’s team lost in the “Round of 16″ but they gave the #3 team in the nation a run for their money in a very competitive match. Given the ordeal our girls have been through, I’d say just qualifying for the National Championship was a victory. They only lost one player to graduation, so they’re a young team with a highly promising future.

As you might imagine, I took a ton of photos during our four-day trip.  I won’t bore you with a travelogue, but I will share with you this favorite from the tournament awards banquet:

With gratitude {for my favorite girls, tennis, travel, vacation time with family, and all things summer},

Joan, who would love to hear what you’ve got planned for your summer

The blue.

Dear friends,

I’m flying into the wild blue yonder today. I’m practically giddy with excitement. I have my camera, sunglasses, a visor, industrial-strength sunscreen, cute summer outfits, and an assortment of sandles. What more could a tennis-spectating mother need for a trip to Phoenix?

Kate sent me a text message as she boarded her flight yesterday: I’m about to get on the plane. Love you.

Like her mother, flying makes Kate nervous. I tend to send messages and make phone calls to loved ones right before and after flights, too. I can’t wait to join her under the big blue Phoenix sky this evening, where we’ll both be happy to stand on terra firma.

Speaking of the blue, I received a hand-written note yesterday from a friend. It was completely unexpected and thanked me for my “advice, counsel, humor, mentorship and friendship for the past seven years.” It mentioned a mutually challenging experience and closed with “When the turkeys get you down — just wanted you to know — someone is in your corner.”

Any day is a good day to receive such a kind affirmation, but I can’t think of a better time than when I’m flying out for an adventure and some much-needed R&R. I don’t anticipate any difficulties but, hey, you never know. I might need bail money.

With gratitude {for May junkets and unexpected greetings from the thoughtful souls who enrich my life},

Joan, who’s lucky indeed to have so many dear friends on speed dial

A Saturday meditation.

Dear friends,

I’ll be doing my job today. And maybe some quilting. And reading. And dreaming. Topped off with a dinner out with Mr. Mom.

What more does one need on a rainy spring Saturday?

Exactly.

With gratitude {for weekend meditations},

Joan, who as the former Mayberry Magpie is still stuck on bird motifs, so she added one here and plans to make a paper flock very soon for flight to friends everywhere

PS: PicMonkey is my new favorite photo editing software. If you’re no pro with Photoshop and are looking for something easy to use, give it a try here.

Tough love.

Dear friends,

I’ve got tennis fever. It’s that time of year so I can’t do anything but spread my disease to you. Forgive me, won’t you?

Here’s the first cool thing I want to share:

My girls won their match 5-0 last weekend and now they’re headed to the Sweet Sixteen in Phoenix.

So am I, by the way. My plane ticket is purchased, my rental car is reserved and my hotel room is booked. I’ve done everything but pack my bags, which will happen on Sunday. I leave on Tuesday, and the girls start play on Wednesday. They will play every day until they lose.  I will scream loudly every day until they lose, or until I fry in the Phoenix sun, which with recent highs of 100+ might come sooner than one thinks. Either way, I’ll be in heaven even if the temps feel like hell.

Did I mention MY GIRLS ARE GOING TO THE SWEET SIXTEEN?!!!!

Oh, sorry. I’m suffering from a kind of Tennis Tourette’s and I can’t stop blurting it out.

Here’s another cool thing: My boy’s doing pretty good too.

We’ve lost track, but he’s won something like 12 straight matches. Recently, he served 11 aces in a single match. At 6’7″ tall, his serve is formidable. His doubles partner is about the same height, but weighs a good 30 pounds more than Parker. To say they are an intimidating duo at the net is an understatement.  I’ve heard tell some of their opponents are skeered. Don’t blame ‘em a bit.

The other day, one of his less experienced teammates was so awed by Parker’s serving display he later asked “Has anyone ever returned one of your aces?” I don’t mean to poke fun, but we sure got a belly laugh out of that one. You see, by definition, an ace is an UNRETURNED serve.  (So the answer is no.) You gotta love the kiddos that are working hard to learn the game.

While I’m in Phoenix following Kate’s team in the National Championship, Mr. Mom will be home following Parker’s team in District and Regional competition. Both are rough assignments, but we’re the kind of parents that don’t shy away from the hard jobs.

I know they’ll thank us some day for our tough love.

With gratitude {for two kids who make me proud every day to be their mother, not because they happen to be terrific tennis players, but because they happen to be terrific souls who also play my favorite sport},

Joan, who resisted the headline “by the time I get to Phoenix” because quoting Glen Campbell ages her more than she cares to admit

Oh. Hey. Hi.

Dear friends,

This lovely 2013 day planner is available here.

I haven’t intentionally been ignoring you.

I have been unusually content in some ways, and contentment for me often leads to quiet reflection.

Life has been both perfect and hard, and I’ve been living it instead of writing about it. But I’ve missed you and I thought I ought to pop in and say so.

Our holidays were everything I needed. Kate was home from college for three weeks and I luxuriated in her company. Christmas break was low-key. On Christmas Day, we had a Barbecue feast that was super-simple to prepare and left me plenty of time to laze around with the kids. We dragged an air mattress into the den and piled on blankets and pillows for a marathon movie session. We tackled a zigsaw puzzle. (Who knew CupKate was a puzzle whiz?) We invited friends over and played board games. We had a bonfire. And then we spent New Year’s Eve in Memphis watching my alma mater (The University of Tulsa) kick butt in the Liberty Bowl and enjoying the flavor of Beale Street blues and seafood. The last two weeks of 2012 were so perfect I was lulled into a dreamy stupor, making Jan. 2 a particularly sharp jolt back to reality.

So the hard parts? Well, there’s been more developments on the mountain. Nothing I’m ready to write about. In fact, like most of the saga, Mr. Mom has been handling it alone in quiet frustration because I’ve blocked it out, so I really don’t understand the details of the latest developments yet; mostly I just tried to distract myself while I watched him spend hours on the phone with attorneys and surveyors and adjacent landowners and the dozens of characters that populate this unfathomable story. My most fervent wish is that this chapter of our lives will end in 2013.

Also — I’ve been running, chasing the thousand miles I said I wanted to conquer in my 51st year.  Lawzy, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.  It’s been a mental and physical challenge that I wholly underestimated. The first three weeks almost reduced me to tears several times and very nearly convinced me I could never do this. I have ached. I have been so tired I lost all concentration at work, and I have gone to bed at 7:00 pm more than once. I have mentally shouted at the gods and cursed them for my lack of strength and  stamina. I have found myself hating Missouri and blaming its godforsaken hills for my misery. I’ve sunk to the lowest possible emotional depths a runner can reach without quitting.

I have a glimmer of hope, however, that I’m turning a corner. In fact, I need to wrap up this post so I can head out for a run. I must log a minimum of 10 miles this weekend and I’ve got a hot date with Mr. Mom later this afternoon so I need to get after it.

But, hey, you know what? My waist is making a slow reappearance in my life. It used to be a beautiful thing and it just might be again, who knows? And the other evening my left leg was aching so badly I asked Mr. Mom to massage it. He did two better: He massaged it, he told me how toned my legs were becoming, and he brought me a heating pad. A good man is such a glorious thing and I never fail to count my blessings when I notice them.  Which is one more reason I need to make an appearance here and remind you to do the same. It’s a great way to ease into 2013, friends.

With gratitude {for a sparkly, blessed, challenging, infuriating, totally-normal new year},

Joan, who invites you to tell her how you’re easing into 2013 and what you hope the year holds for you

Beyond the adjectives.

Dear friends,

It is the evening of Thanksgiving as I write this. I’m sitting in a comfortable chair by the window, which is slightly cracked so I can hear the rain. Kate is asleep, gripped by a long nap that won’t seem to release her. Her roommate, Houda, is sitting beside her in bed, glued to her laptop where she’s spent most of the afternoon typing furiously. Parker is stretched over the loveseat in the kitchen, eating cheese and crackers. Two of our visitors, Lusy and Barb, are at the kitchen island drinking hot tea and eating creme brulee. Doug and another visitor, Kristina, are in the den, talking tennis.

Life is perfect.

A year ago as I fretted over my oldest child leaving for college, I never could have dreamed our Thanksgiving holiday would bring us a houseful of international guests and so much joy in seeing my sweet CupKate cross our threshold again. I didn’t know then that different, as in my life is going to be so different when Kate leaves, often means lovely if you can scrounge up just an ounce of patience.

I kept my camera close by most of the day to catch the memories. I snapped this shot of Kate’s roommate:

And this shot of everyone filling their plates:

And this shot of us gathered around the table:

And this shot of a new dessert recipe I tried:

And this shot of my dinner plate because oh lordy:

After our meal we all crowded into the den, where the Tryptophan worked its magic and I fell asleep on the floor and missed half the video the girls had chosen.

Later, Mr. Mom and I rallied just long enough to do the dishes before collapsing in the den again for more television, more food, more laughter, more everything wonderful.

Speaking of wonderful, that’s the word the girls keep using to describe my cooking. The turkey, the leek bread pudding, the ginger cake with cinnamon whip, the creme brulee, the spiced cranberries, the brown sugar and ginger mini cheesecakes — it was all wonderful today. I joked I would have to teach them more English adjectives and they joked I would have to teach them to cook.

Perhaps, but tomorrow I’m teaching them the art and science of Black Friday shopping. We’re headed to St. Louis for treasures unknown.

Those of the known variety, however, are right here with me during this precious moment in time.

With gratitude {for a life marked by more adjectives than wonderful can begin to describe},

Joan, who will be wearing her sweat pants and athletic shoes during Black Friday shopping because you never know when you might need to break into a full-out sprint

Abundant blessings.

Dear friends,

Not what we say about our blessings but how we use them is the true measure of our thanksgiving.

– W.T. Purksier

My heart is full this Thanksgiving, brimming with gratitude for our abundant blessings.  Our table is full and our bounty is evident.  A house full of guests, love for each other, good health, a delicious meal shared in safety and comfort . . . peace . . . these are the jewels of this day I dare not take for granted. May we use these blessings, in measures large and small, that reflect a glad and generous heart.

And I wish you, dear friends, abundant blessings.  Drop in sometime this holiday weekend, won’t you, and leave me a comment letting me know how you’re spending your Thanksgiving?  Power eating . . . football cheering . . . napping . . . traveling over hill and dale to see loved ones . . . whatever your activity, I wish you good cheer and godspeed.

I’ll be here on our beautiful Missouri acreage, happily humming ‘round the kitchen, delivering stealth hugs and kisses to any child within arm’s reach, and steeping in the life God has granted me.

With gratitude {for abundant blessings},

Joan, who’s got 13 tasks on her Thanksgiving to-do list today and has already completed three of them while the six other souls in her home sleep soundly

Blessedly boring.

Dear friends,

I’ve been away for a while, transfixed by a life that is blessedly boring.

Last night I sat in my easy chair watching the storm coverage on cable. I had a computer on my lap and a dog wedged in beside me, as well as a blanket and a beverage and all the comforts of a working power grid and an intact roof.

Our cold and overcast Midwest weather seems like a gift by comparison.

I ran yesterday morning in humid, 29-degree weather and I won’t offer a single word of lament. Yes, it’s unseasonably chilly and yes, I’d prefer a little sunshine — but so what? I have a blanket and a dog and a computer on my lap. No one can complain about those conditions!

You know what I’ve been doing since we last chatted?

Nothing.

Really, nothing. I’ve napped — in between long, winter’s snoozes. I’ve read. I’ve cooked and eaten plenty. (Pioneer Woman’s salisbury steak is great, by the way.) I’m watching television and running and chatting with friends.

In other words, life is sedate. Easy. Relaxed.

Maybe that’s what autumn is meant to be?

I don’t know, but I know I’ll take it any day.

With gratitude {for my currently boring life},

Joan, who was about 30 before she learned the definition of a bore is not a boring person

The activity formerly known as awful.

Dear friends,

After a couple of months of flat-out laziness, I vowed two weeks ago to get back in the running groove. I bought some news shoes hoping they’d put a literal spring in my step and I hit the road.

And lord was it awful.

During the first run, it was so awful I thought I would vomit. And I wanted to cry. Vomit and tears, the awful combo.

During the next run, I thought it was so awful I wanted to collapse at minute 3, and again at minute 11, and again at minute 24 and again at 29:30 when I finally gave up and walked the last 4/10ths of a mile home.

During a couple more runs, I thought it was so awful I seriously questioned why I was doing it and why I shouldn’t just throw in the towel. Lazy is as lazy does, I thought.

During another run, I thought it was so awful I might never again enjoy this thing I started doing in 1985 and have done regularly since then (where regularly equals taking a few lazy breaks and having a few lazy pity-parties now and again).

During the next run, I thought it was merely awful. (No elaboration needed.)

And after yesterday’s run, I thought to myself: Well, that was not awful.  Not good. But not awful.

By the way, awful has nothing to do with my performance in terms of time or distance. It has to do with how I feel. Awful — all 70 or so degrees of it — refers to how bad my legs hurt, how weak I feel, how taxing the hills are and how much they make me want to scream at the heavens, how bad my lungs burn, how loud I wheeze, how embarrassingly red and blotchy my face gets . . . you know — awful.

Anyway, as soon as I mentally declared yesterday’s run as not awful, I wondered what it would have been like to spend the last two weeks describing degrees of good.

As in “That run was one-part-per-million good.”

Or “That run felt really good for both of my hands.”

Or “That run felt good for exactly three minutes” or “good for nearly four blocks” or “good for the first 100 strides.”

I like to think I’m not usually a glass-is-half-empty kind of gal, but holy cow, what does it mean when I describe a part of my life in degrees of awful?

Yes, it means I’m out-of-shape. Yes, it means I’m feeling sorry for myself. Yes, it means I’ve got a long ways to go to feel comfortable and strong in my stride again. But it also means I’ve got a lesson or two to learn about finding the right attitude to conquer this thing called life.

So I snapped myself out of it and vowed to extend a little gratitude to the activity formerly known as awful.

And then I remembered that just a couple of weeks ago during a dinner party, I chided a guest for describing her running as jogging. “I’m slow,” she said. “I don’t really run. I jog.”

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped back.  “Anytime you are not walking, you are running! Give yourself credit. You could choose to walk, but you don’t. And if you’re not walking, you are running, sister!”

I’m running, baby. And it may only be 189-parts-per-million good right now, but that’s better than any part awful.

With gratitude {for any part of good I can get},

Joan, who thinks her friend Nancy is right when she said “Turquoise shoes always make you run faster”