Reminders that the tough job of mothering is worthwhile

I tuck precious memorabilia into a pretty box on my living room coffee table. Cheery notes that carried me through tough times or commemorated milestone moments nest in this hideaway. My treasures also include several anniversary cards from my husband, Rich, and years’ worth of Mother’s Day and birthday cards signed with my girls’ childish scrawl.

Added to this stash are recent cards from my now-adult daughters. I’ve saved these cards in particular for their inside handwritten notes: You're the greatest mom ever. You've always been there for me. I love you soooo much. And, I'm so glad you're my mom.

Making the most of multitasking

I'm afraid some of my neighbors know me as “That Crazy Walking and Talking Woman.” You see, whenever I walk in the evening, I process my day’s events. I think and talk to myself—sometimes audibly. I don’t mean to talk aloud; I just get really wrapped up in my thoughts—and, thankfully, distracted from my uncomfortable sweating.

I especially love walking with another person, so there’s someone who’ll talk back. On an afternoon stroll with my friend Stephanie not long ago, we were so busy catching up on her family and my recent breakup that we sailed through our 20-minute workout.

Receiving grace for my lapses in contact

I opened a book of poetry last evening, and a note fluttered out from the pages.

Eagerly, I unfolded it. For I knew behind the card’s cover of Pablo Picasso’s Old Guitarist were words of love and encouragement from the book’s giver, my friend Emily. But, in the years since receiving her gift, I’d forgotten the note’s simple closing.

“We will always be friends."

Christlikeness in the face of betrayal

Just before Easter, Democratic political pundit and Clinton activist James Carville called New Mexico governor Bill Richardson a “Judas” for unexpectedly endorsing Barack Obama instead of long-time political ally Hillary Clinton. Capitalizing on this infamous name during Passion Week, “Ragin’ Cajun” Carville colorfully implied Richardson's political realignment was a breach of trust tantamount to the disciple’s betrayal of selling out Jesus for 30 silver coins.

After hearing Carville’s comment, I pondered Judas’s shameful act, still the ultimate in treachery 2,000 years later. Scripture doesn’t reveal much about Judas, son of Simon Iscariot. Judas was the treasurer for Jesus’ ragtag band of followers, traveling and ministering with him, walking along the dusty roads that connected seaside to village, marketplace to mountaintop, desert to olive grove, local synagogue to impressive temple. As 1 of the appointed 12, Judas saw Jesus teach with authority, heal the diseased, exorcise demons, raise the dead, forgive the adulterous, celebrate with sinners, walk on water, calm a terrifying storm, even feed a starving multitude.

Tales of a recovering pessimist

I'm not exactly sure when I realized I'd become a pessimist.

Maybe the thought occurred to me when I caught myself saying "Of course" after any unfortunate event—a paper cut, a parking ticket, a pen stain on my freshly dry-cleaned pants.

Or when a guy who showed romantic interest in me turned out to be married, and I told a friend, "It figures. I knew something had to be wrong."

I don't know which of these—or several other—comments tipped me off about my Eeyore tendencies. But I knew the pessimism had to stop.

My challenging first days of the TCW Walking Challenge

After reading posts from all you who’ve joined me on this journey, I’m encouraged and empowered to know you, too, are huffing and puffing in your living room or neighborhood. To encourage you in turn, here’s a peek at my first week:

Sunday: I have a disagreement with my boyfriend, so I walk to work off frustration. Not the prettiest reason to work out, but I'm thankful for any motivation! After a long winter, I revel in the fresh air—even though I’m bundled up for the still-frigid Chicago temperatures. I walk to a nearby lake, affectionately dubbed “My Happy Place,” where I sit on a park bench and call a friend on my cell phone. I know sitting and chatting aren’t exactly aerobic activities, but I rationalize that I'm pacing myself. Thanks to my friend’s encouraging words, the peaceful scenery, and my exercise-induced endorphins, I return home calmer and happier.

I wanted to take vengeance into my own hands.

I pounded viciously on my dining room window. “I’ll get you back!” I promised the squirrel perched atop my backyard fence post.

No doubt he’d struck the same impertinent pose atop my living room couch the previous morning, after strewing the remnants of his garbage-bag feast all over the pillows.

The scent of discarded leftovers must have beckoned him from the chilly outdoors and impelled him through a crevice between my open dining room window and its closed inner storm pane. For immediately after I’d left for work, he’d apparently squeezed through the hole, vaulted onto the floor, and dug gleefully into the kitchen trash waiting to be taken out.