While I was looking for pics for yesterday’s post, I came across some from October 15, another day the girls didn’t have school (Ohio-wide teacher something-or-other). Bethany and I met Mom at Grandma’s and then headed back to Mom and Dad’s for awhile.
When we were a few hundred feet from their driveway, we passed a couple of farmers combining the last row of corn in a neighboring field. When we realized who they were, we backed up and jumped out of the van to say hi.
That’s my uncle Tim (one of Dad’s five brothers) on the left and our long-time friend, Wes, on the right.
I talked them into getting their picture taken. I may or may not have implied that it would be the only one I’d make them pose for.
But the sky was so blue and the combine so yellow and the field so open and expansive, I couldn’t resist getting a closer look at it all. Stunning, huh?
This whole little unplanned and unexpected excursion filled me with warm, nostalgic fuzzies coupled with a nagging feeling that time is marching on and people are getting older (I’m 35. Wowza. And my parents turn 60 in a couple months.) and nothing will ever quite be the same again.
But I think as long as we live in the moment and make the most of every opportunity God gives us, we’re going to be a-okay.
I love this pic of Ava and Isabelle. Ava’s got some killer natural mothering instincts. Little ones love her.
She asked me the other day while we were driving if we could adopt a baby. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I’ll admit, I tried to sway her to my point of view–I’m so done with the baby thing, but an older child? That’s another story. God, you let us know.
Ava and Isabelle are six years apart, just like Bethany and me. It’s hard to imagine that someday they might be married and having babies at the same time.
This is my mom and dad’s house. Sigh. Something about this picture just makes me want to curl up on the porch swing with a bunch of pillows and books and a tall Tupperware cup of grape juice and be 14 again. I know one thing–I never appreciated that sky and those fields back in the day.
A lot has been written (and sung) about Going Home Again. And really, out of all the places from my past, there’s nowhere I care to go again (that I can think of off the top of my head) except for my mom and dad’s house. (Well, except Okinawa. And Cambodia, but that’s not really the “past”–just a few months ago.)
Mom and Dad’s (and Gabe’s mom and dad’s too) just feels homey. And comfortable. And safe. And smells really good. Except when you’re downwind from the neighbor’s pig farm.
Do you like Going Home? What’s your favorite part of it?