Bear is now the ward mission leader at church. Which means that he’s in charge of the guys on the bicycles. They’re very nice boys (most of the time) and if you say no thank you they’ll leave you alone (unless they’re aggressive dillweeds), just to clear up any hate out there.
So today they’re coming over for dinner. The missionaries basically go out into the world with only rudimentary means of support, so it’s up to the members of the church to feed them as much as possible. I’ve avoided doing this for the past few years because, 1) We’ve barely been feeding ourselves, 2) We’ve moved so many freaking times we’ve barely felt like we’ve been involved in our wards, and 3) it’s a little hard to play hostess when my uterus is attacking me from the inside out.
Last night I was up until 4 am playing those stupid griddlers, because I had taken an excessively long nap and because I’m a chronic insomniac and usually up at that hour anyway. Come 11 am the phone starts ringing off the hook. It’s Bear calling from work to wake me up and make sure I take lots of pain pills so I don’t scare the poor boys with my grunting and moaning, and by the way, could I take the chicken out of the freezer?
So I’ve been crawling around the house all day, straightening up my clutter in the dining room, and then laying down. Vacuuming the rug, and then laying down. Sweeping the floor, and then laying down. Folding the laundry…etc.
It’s 2:30 and I’m exhausted. And the house is still messy. I haven’t even started the bathrooms yet. But they’re two single 19 year old boys…you think they’d notice?