Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Adam, Bethany, Nathan, Jared, Natalie, Miranda, Brandon, Chandler and Grendal
I’ll be following our children’s antics and I hope that occasionally they’ll contribute (if only to contradict.)
Adam is in law school. Currently, he’s in St. George clerking for a judge and living with his grandparents. Personally, I can’t think of a worse place to spend a summer, but fortunately, the courthouse is air-conditioned.
Bethany lives in Portland with her husband, Brandon, and adorable toddler, Chandler. Brandon attends chiropractic school and Bethany practices what she learned in elementary education on Chandler. Chandler does not read, nor does he do math, although he can hold up two fingers when he’s asked his age.
Nathan is a missionary in Argentina. Last week he wrote and said his companion had the swine flu. He spent the week tending his companion, going to the hospital and making videos with his phone. He didn’t write this week and I imagine him sweating, gasping for breath and crying out for his mom.
Jared is a senior at Tesoro High School. He gets letters every day from a host of schools begging him to forget about his family, ditch his girlfriend and join them. We miss him and he hasn’t even left, yet.
Natalie and Miranda will be freshmen at Tesoro. At Las Flores Middle School they sang in the choir. Currently, they’re taking a track sports camp. Everyday I pick them up and they’re sweaty, smelly and red. Singing didn’t prep them for hoofing around a track.
Grendal, our Schnauzer, loves to hoof tracks. She’s the most accommodating running partner I’ve ever had. She doesn’t complain when I run, or when I walk, she never tires. She just keeps going and going.
Kind of like us. Twenty-seven years and counting.
Adam is in law school. Currently, he’s in St. George clerking for a judge and living with his grandparents. Personally, I can’t think of a worse place to spend a summer, but fortunately, the courthouse is air-conditioned.
Bethany lives in Portland with her husband, Brandon, and adorable toddler, Chandler. Brandon attends chiropractic school and Bethany practices what she learned in elementary education on Chandler. Chandler does not read, nor does he do math, although he can hold up two fingers when he’s asked his age.
Nathan is a missionary in Argentina. Last week he wrote and said his companion had the swine flu. He spent the week tending his companion, going to the hospital and making videos with his phone. He didn’t write this week and I imagine him sweating, gasping for breath and crying out for his mom.
Jared is a senior at Tesoro High School. He gets letters every day from a host of schools begging him to forget about his family, ditch his girlfriend and join them. We miss him and he hasn’t even left, yet.
Natalie and Miranda will be freshmen at Tesoro. At Las Flores Middle School they sang in the choir. Currently, they’re taking a track sports camp. Everyday I pick them up and they’re sweaty, smelly and red. Singing didn’t prep them for hoofing around a track.
Grendal, our Schnauzer, loves to hoof tracks. She’s the most accommodating running partner I’ve ever had. She doesn’t complain when I run, or when I walk, she never tires. She just keeps going and going.
Kind of like us. Twenty-seven years and counting.
Van, RIP
We recently experienced a death in our family. Our ten year old, fifteen passenger Ford van died. Lately, nearly everyone I meet has asked of its health, so I thought it worth mentioning. It enjoyed a long, joyful life of service, but it huffed its last puff of smoke in Vegas. (What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.) It died carrying a troop of 16 and 17 year old boys and their gear on their way to hike the Narrows in Zion’s National Park. I can’t think of a more appropriate end.
The night we bought the van Bethany, who now has a husband, baby and college degree, Nathan, currently serving a mission in Argentina, and Jared, 17 years old and taller than his dad, enjoyed a rousing game of hide and go seek inside the van. Very few vehicles could offer has many hiding spots. The van served in many other important capacities. It carried girls in formals and boys in tuxes to many proms. It drove numerous carpools. It hosted sleep overs, pulled boats and trailers. Filled to the rafters, it made trips to the dump. It even served as a ladder to (and from) my son’s bedroom window. (And you thought we didn’t know.) It was always easy to spot in a crowded parking lot and it had an enormous horn. Other cars always gave us a wide berth.
Some of my favorite van stories include the day I was at lunch with a group of friends and I got a call from Nathan claiming that the van was missing. A friend, over hearing my conversation, exclaimed, “No one would steal it!” Even though it was legally parked it had been towed because “the neighbors claimed it blocked their vision.” Another time when we were idling at the curb and had just picked up my daughter’s new boyfriend, and future husband, from the airport a strange man with a suitcase climbed in, sat down and gave us all a funny look when we burst out laughing. Once when we were caravanning to a mountain cabin, friends who were supposed to be following us, trailed after the wrong van. After much honking and light flashing, they pulled along beside a van they thought to be ours and found KinderCare written in large block letters on the side.
The van’s passing marks, for us, an end of an era. With three of our children grown, another with college applications in his hand and one foot out the door, and two teenage girls who will soon find other rides with drivers more hip than their parents, Larry and I rattle like to forgotten peas in a giant tin can.
We’re going to buy a convertible. (Or, if work doesn’t pick up, a basket for my bike.)
The night we bought the van Bethany, who now has a husband, baby and college degree, Nathan, currently serving a mission in Argentina, and Jared, 17 years old and taller than his dad, enjoyed a rousing game of hide and go seek inside the van. Very few vehicles could offer has many hiding spots. The van served in many other important capacities. It carried girls in formals and boys in tuxes to many proms. It drove numerous carpools. It hosted sleep overs, pulled boats and trailers. Filled to the rafters, it made trips to the dump. It even served as a ladder to (and from) my son’s bedroom window. (And you thought we didn’t know.) It was always easy to spot in a crowded parking lot and it had an enormous horn. Other cars always gave us a wide berth.
Some of my favorite van stories include the day I was at lunch with a group of friends and I got a call from Nathan claiming that the van was missing. A friend, over hearing my conversation, exclaimed, “No one would steal it!” Even though it was legally parked it had been towed because “the neighbors claimed it blocked their vision.” Another time when we were idling at the curb and had just picked up my daughter’s new boyfriend, and future husband, from the airport a strange man with a suitcase climbed in, sat down and gave us all a funny look when we burst out laughing. Once when we were caravanning to a mountain cabin, friends who were supposed to be following us, trailed after the wrong van. After much honking and light flashing, they pulled along beside a van they thought to be ours and found KinderCare written in large block letters on the side.
The van’s passing marks, for us, an end of an era. With three of our children grown, another with college applications in his hand and one foot out the door, and two teenage girls who will soon find other rides with drivers more hip than their parents, Larry and I rattle like to forgotten peas in a giant tin can.
We’re going to buy a convertible. (Or, if work doesn’t pick up, a basket for my bike.)
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