Day 3: The Folks

My first date.

I have had the most horrible case of writer’s block, ever. It’s not for lack of anything to say, rather, it’s that there is too much to say on today’s topic: My Parents.

Where do I start for this post? My friend, Evie suggested that I say, “My parents raised me and I turned out totally awesome. That is all.” I kind of agree, but that’s beside the point. πŸ™‚

Sara suggested I tell the story of how my parents met, but all I know about that is that it was at church, and my mom thought my dad had a nice butt. Where do I go with that one?

I think I’m just going to have to suck it up and wing it – in order to stick to the 30-day challenge thing. I already cheated by posting Dain’s birthday, after all.

My parents will have been married for thirty years this coming November. This coming November, my parents will have survived one year with cancer.

Visiting Western in Kirkland.

My dad told me once that he and mom had one goal in raising us girls – that we would always know that we were loved. No matter what we did, where we were, or who we were with; we would know that at home, love waited for us. They succeeded in that.

I get my looks from my mom. I look in the mirror every morning and say, “Hello, Mother!” And that is not a bad thing.

My parents are silly, silly people. There’s a saying in our house: “If Mom & Dad aren’t laughing at you at some point, they probably don’t like you.” Laughter is the highest compliment they can pay – and they are never cruel.

Atop Thielsen

My mother is stronger than she thinks she is. Of course, she doesn’t think so, and this is one instance in which she is actually wrong. Her strength comes from the Lord, and therefore, cannot be exaggerated.

My first date was my dad, who took the time to show me how a young man should be expected to treat me – with respect, honor, and kindness.

When I had my first cycle, it was my mom who took me out for a girl’s night on the town, and made it so special. What I remember most is how grown-up and womanly I felt that night. She took all the fear and nervousness about it completely away, and made it seem so normal. (Which, of course, it is.) I actually look forward to the day I get to do the same for my own daughters.

Class of 99.

Memory after memory after memory was created by my parents. Little snapshots flash in my mind as I’m writing. Dad teaching me to balance a checkbook. Mom teaching me to cook by telling me to put a roast in the oven – and that’s it.

Watching the Andy Griffith Show. Dad taking an hour to pick a movie at the rental store. Seeing “Independence Day” with Mom. Mom knowing things about me before I knew them. Dad taking me to see Larry Norman in Salem. Mom visiting colleges with me. Hiking Thielsen with Dad.

Mom being at every single one of my births. Mom always being the “road mom” on field trips. Dad helping me with Algebra. Mom and Dad always in the audience when I was dancing, acting, singing, or all three.

I need to stop. I’m going to end up crying.

Mom and Dad – if you’re reading this – I love you so much. I would say that there are no words, but apparently, there are plenty. πŸ™‚

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