Lovely Monday on a Tuesday: Mom and Dad

Until the Olsen wedding next month, I'm clean out of kissing pictures to showcase. Well, clean out after this next one of Wade and Marilyn, Idaho natives and former dwellers of Apache Avenue. Also known as the big people who taught me how to ride a bike, how to laugh, and how to set the table. Check out how cute they are:



Here they are just appeasing my requests for a kissing picture. My dad, lover of Louis L'Amour novels who thinks shovels and hard work speak louder than words, has never been one for much public displays of affection. He also will perform a disappearing act anytime somebody starts talking about bras, maxi pads, or pregnancies.

I don't think that picture is making it onto my kissing wall. I have a better one in mind.


That's more like it, don't you think? I edited the picture to have full glow, because they are taking a bath in love and light. That kiss looks more real, and my mom is smiling in her eyes.

So what makes their love unique? Um, where do I start? They married while in college, my dad was a wiry b-ball player and my mom was a pageant queen with a 25-inch waist. Their first date was at the A&W, and my dad ordered french fries. My mom ordered a salad. She ate half his fries (or so he said) and we all heard about it every time we ate a Happy Meal. She would giggle and remind us that she didn't kiss him until the 13th date (or so she said) while he smirked. It took the family approximately 40 years to get the story straight, and I still don't remember the true story because I've heard the legends for so long.

Amazingly, they have been married 47 years this summer. That is really weird for me. And in that 47 years they left the farm, started a new life as teachers, wanted kids but couldn't have any...and then starting in 1969 {an anxious seven years after their marital vows} their prayers were answered and they had my brother Derek. Over the next eight years they cranked out 4 more kids and bought a spud farm on the side. And when I was two, they lost their shirts, pants, and underwear on that spud farm, which produced a lifetime crop of cautious, conservative, hard-working teachers instead of farmers.

She never pumps her own gas, and he lives off Cheetos and fruit spritzers if she's ever out of town. He was an athlete who grew up in the era when only flambuoyant men worked in Department stores, and yet he happily (and privately) delved into the (effeminate?) role of doting, singing, lullabying, floor wrestling, and making-up-songs Dad and Grandpa. She adored that about him, and provided 5 kids to practice on. Oh and he also chucked shoes at us if we got out of bed (there's that athlete part coming through). As long as his shoe hit the wall instead of our head (which it always did for some reason) she swooned at his superior athletic skills.

Mom and Dad...I love you!