(Don't ask me what's up with the 'yo'; I couldn't tell you. But it's impossible to quit it so don't ask me to.)
I love my truck. She kicks ass. Sure, she eats a lot of gas and yes, she isn't the most ecologically-minded gal out there... but she's what I've got and have to keep her for quite some time. So I love her.
One night several weeks ago, back when B was still Tomato Soup on the ole' blog, we were texting. We were both talking about how one day we blinked, and we were us. Both of us a package deal - me with my 3, and him with his 1. That made 6.
Then came the cutest text from him: "We might have to get a Suburban at this rate. We are 6 peeps! That rules!"
And my return text: "Babe, I've got it covered. My truck seats 8." Who knew that this entire time, perhaps WE are the reason I needed that big ass truck in the first place? Just here, in South Dakota and all...
Needless to say, he hadn't realized. He was excited and lamented on for several more texts about how that was yet another reason to love me. Or something. (Bucket queue right there.) Sorry. Guess you had to be there.
This past weekend, we 6 went to the circus in my truck. We all fit quite nicely. We all fit quite nicely. (Mmm...Love that.) The entire time we drove back and forth to the circus, then to the grocery store, I kept thinking of that night we texted. I thought about how full my heart and our lives are now: of this man I love, of all four of the amazing children in my truck, and I gave thanks to God.
We are so blessed.
I love my truck. She fits 6 peeps, yo.