Mailman or gmail I'm still waiting!!!

Saying Good by at the MTC

Wednesday is here again!! I like Wednesdays.  Actually for the last 3 weeks, I love Wednesdays.  Wednesday is my missionary sons P-day or preparation day.  So that's the day he gets to write home.
 Every week I sit here waiting for the alarm on my phone and/or iPad to go off saying I have a new email.  I get so stinkin excited!! My heart jumps and I grab my phone in hopes it's the one I've been waiting for.  My hopes usually turn into frustration when it is yet again another junk mail from Travelocity or Desert Book.

Saying Hello after 2 long years

 It takes me back, 22, 20ish, okay a few years, when I was writing another missionary.  This time he was MY MISSIONARY!! The man I hoped to and did marry one day, the man I wanted to spend my forever with.   Every week I'd be so excited to check the mailbox, I'd run home from school just to check it.  When it wasn't there yet, I'd be so disappointed. I'd go in the house only to come out a few minutes later hoping it had come.  I'd walk up and down my driveway several times until it finally came.  It would make my week!! I wanted to hear how he was doing, to hear all the stories, to hear about his companion, to hear about the people he taught and baptized.  I had no idea that one of the girls he taught and baptised would later become one of my favorite and dearest friends.   The part at the end of the letter always made me the happiest and some weeks I'd start at the end. The last few lines that said how he still loved me and still missed me. Those are the lines I read over and over . . . . and over again.

 It only took a little while for my mailman to figure out what was going on.  Maybe it was the upside down stamp (that meant I love you), the 'i' in my name that was dotted with a heart, or the fact that if I saw him coming, I'd meet him at the mailbox.  I don't know, but he was smart and knew how important those letters were to me. So without talking about it beforehand, we had a secret code my mailman and I.  If I had a letter from my missionary, he'd close the mailbox.  If I didn't have one, he'd leave it open.  I started leaving it open to know when he'd come by with the mail :), but let's face it, I sat with a perfect view of my mailbox so I could sit and wait.  My mailman made me happy.
 

 Then my missionary became my hubby.  As I was standing in line at our reception, a cute man came up and said, "Do you recognize me?"
 

 I knew him, but couldn't place where.  So I said," I know you but . . ."
 

 Then he said, "Maybe this will help" and then he pulled up his pants to reveal his legs.
 

 That's when I yelled," YOU ARE MY MAILMAN!!!"
 

 It made so happy that my mailman came to my wedding reception.  The perfect way to celebrate our marriage was to have my mailman come to help us celebrate.
 

 So here I still sit with my computer open to my gmail account, my phone open and my iPad on my email-- waiting to hear from my missionary.  I want to hear all the stories.  I want to make sure he got my package of "healthy food" and by healthy I mean cookies made from apple juice, and I mean healthy including Dunford Bakery donuts.  I'm excited to hear if he beat the most letters written in one day by different people competition, I want to make sure he is still happy, learning Spanish, getting along with the other elders, and of course, I love reading the line that says, "I love you Mom!" That makes me happy.
 

 When I married MY missionary almost 20 years ago I had no idea that he wouldn't be my last missionary.