Maranatha was chattering away about Daddy tonight. In particular she was remembering Daddy on his “motor bike”. That is a pretty elaborate term for the moped that he used to get back and forth to work when it was nice (30 mph tops going downhill with a tailwind). It used to be my Dad’s moped and we called it the “Bumblebee”. The kids loved it, though. Sometimes when we were all outside when he came home he would drive by the house, go to the top of the hill, turn around, ride past us again up the other side of the hill, and again, and again, smiling, waving, listening to the kids cheer him on. He liked playing with the little thing and loved the kids enthusiasm. Me, I’d just smile, roll my eyes and chase the kids inside for supper so Daddy would quit playing around and I could get my “I’m home” kiss.
Benjamin was missing Daddy too. He told me that one of the reasons that he wished Daddy was still here was so that he could throw snowballs at him. Josiah and Abigail just cry and whine when Benjamin throws snowballs at them so they are no fun. He remembers throwing them at Daddy when he came home from work. Then we got to remembering water balloons, too. Somewhere along the way Dan picked up a big pack of water balloons and they were just sitting in his office. Some of you might find that surprising considering his history . . . I found them and was using them to entertain the kids – fill up a bunch and let them throw them at each other on hot days. I don’t really remember who’s idea it was, although I’m sure I didn’t do a whole lot to discourage them, but one day they took two of my really big bowls from the kitchen, had me fill them up with water balloons, and then they went and hid. When Daddy came home they attacked him. He was a bit wet till he got inside to give me a kiss. I wisely stayed inside until the bowls were empty. He did find me in the bathroom filling up a couple more balloons and managed to get me wet anyway.
He loved to get me all wet. He used a hose when he visited me at my parent’s house, water guns on dating outings, water balloons at Bible club, buckets whenever he got the chance, snow when we were in MI, . . and then there were always the pregnancies. A pregnant horse is termed “all wet”- something he learned while working on the ranch. I often accused him of calling me a horse since he was always telling me I was all wet (since I was always or almost always pregnant). Silly boy.