"Craw" is our son . . . sort of. Several years back, before we moved to the neighborhood we're in now, Rob and I were asked to be chaperones for a special church youth conference: a pioneer trek. We were "Ma and Pa" to an assortment of teenagers who were basically strangers to one another, and we travelled together for three days a la handcart through a Utah desert. We were one "family" of several, so we had other travelling companions. It was a difficult, amazing trip. Craw (his idea of a rough-and-ready trek name) was the true kid brother of the bunch, a red-haired, bespectacled ADHD pioneer whose recently injured leg oddly gave him incapicating problems when it was his turn to pull the handcart or join the group for square dancing, but miraculously gave him no pain whatsoever when he felt like running away from the group and blazing up a hillside. "Hey, Ma! Hey, Pa!" he cried all through the day. He brought me bugs, drove me crazy, drove Rob crazy, drove the others crazy, and still managed to win our affection . . . for the most part. After the trek, he was the one of our young friends who never stopped needing us. We're okay with that and it has been a perpetual source of wonderment, watching him grow into awkward manhood.
Now he's' got 'im a girl. A Mrs. Craw. I'm not sure she'll sure she'll ever share his enthusiasm for his ol' Ma and Pa, but that's okay. They seem well-suited to one another. And I'll leave it at that. I wish them all the joy in the big, buggy, beautiful, irritating world, and beyond.
Happy wedding day, sweet Craw!