Dear Son, I’ll Share The Coffee, But The Peanut Butter’s Out
It’s hard to believe that it’s February already. By now, you’re solidly into the second semester of your grand Bethel adventure. Wasn’t it just the other day that we hugged your neck by the reflection pond, cried a little, and drove away? It sure feels like it.
Those first weeks were tough. Oh, gracious. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was on your dad. Locking that back door as he made his nightly rounds, knowing there’d be no black Honda parked under the basketball hoop, nearly killed him.
You’d be proud of us, though, if you knew how much we held back. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to fill your inbox with messages and to call you way too often. After all, when you went off to become a first-time dorm resident, you left behind two first-time “our birdie has flown away” parents. So we’re bumbling our way through, making all those first-time mistakes. But we’re trying.
It gives us such joy, knowing where you are. After attending orientation, seeing the campus, meeting your RA, and hearing from faculty, we feel such peace and know beyond all doubt that God has led you there.
Oh – when I heard that Dr. Bob was one of your profs, I did an exuberant maternal fist pump and said, “Ka-ching!” Yes, I did. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t do it where anyone could see me, so your reputation is still intact. I know better.
Dad and I have heard him speak, see, and it just made me that happy, knowing you’d be sitting under the influence of all that passion and love for Christ.
It helps, too, hearing how happy you are and how much fun you’re having. In fact, when I found a video of your transfer block’s Mary Poppins skit on Facebook, I howled. Then I shared it on my wall, and the grandparents howled. Later that night while we were lying in bed, we watched it on Dad’s smart phone, and he howled, too. Well, as much as Dad ever howls, but you know what I mean.
Anyway, we’re doing better over here, taking comfort in the small things. You know, like the fact that the peanut butter supply has stabilized, what with the Pillager-in-Chief having moved away and all.
The laundry pile in the back room has shrunk from Mt. Everest to a couple of Appalachian foothills, and my good coffee actually has a shelf life now. Plus, there’s no one slinking up those creaky wooden steps that run up three feet from my pillow or flushing the toilet right over my head. There’s that.
Feel free to pop in, though. I made those oatmeal carmalitas you guys love for Dad’s birthday. I’m sure he’d share a couple with you. And yes, you can have some of my gourmet coffee, but don’t even think you’re going to start in on the peanut butter. I’m done paying for Roto-Rooter treatments.
See you this weekend! Call me, text me – something.
Love you like crazy,
Rhonda Schrock is a working-from-home mother who, with her husband, is raising 4 sons (ages 21, 17, 12, and 4). A medical transcriptionist by day, she also writes a weekly column for The Goshen News in the early-morning hours, delighting readers with her humor and insights in a style that many have compared to the late Erma Bombeck. In addition, she is a prolific blogger, maintaining her personal blog, The Natives are Getting Restless, while contributing to several others. An admitted coffee snob, she devours books and loves to run. When her tribe gets too restless, she points the BMV (Blue Mommy Van) toward her favorite coffee shop where she can be found, self-medicating with her beloved mochas.