This past weekend, our son Allen and his girlfriend Abbey (far right) moved into their own apartments. The event was a quite the logistical coup, with Allen coming from the Twin Cities to our house Friday to load furniture and housewares we’ve been storing since Mom sold her house. Anne’s boyfriend Kailen (far left) drove from Orange City the same evening to help out.
Saturday morning, we drove to Abbey’s apartment and dropped off the furniture Allen couldn’t squeeze into his small digs. After lunch half the crew drove to Abbey’s former home for more of her belongings, while the other half went to Allen’s new place to unload his stuff. Then we drove to my sister and her husband’s house, where Allen had been living, to collect the rest of his things. Are you confused yet?
Suffice it to say that by suppertime, the work was done and eleven of us (including the four in the picture, Abbey’s mom, Hiram, me, my sister, her husband and her son) met at a restaurant for supper where Allen and Abbey thanked us profusely for our help.
After church the next morning, Hiram and I took the kids to a pancake house for dinner While we waited for a table, Abbey and I insisted on taking pictures. In the process, Allen’s propensity to mug for the camera asserted itself, along with his passion for tormenting his sister, which it turns out he inherited from his father, who did his share of tormenting, too.
After the meal, we said our good-byes and headed for home. A few miles out of the cities, Hiram said, “This was the best weekend ever,” a sentiment I seconded. Being part of our young adult children’s lives is the greatest joy I have ever known and one I will never take for granted after six long years away from our son.
And welcoming into our lives the special people who enrich theirs is a privilege we savor. So here’s to the best weekend ever, to Allen, to Abbey, to Anne and to Kailen and to the bright hope of many more best weekends with them in the picture.
