Man. My new ward is going to hate me. Tonight, while cooking dinner, kissing an owie, refereeing a quibble and washing the chicken off my hands, the phone rings. It’s about 5:20- the Deadly Hour. I wipe my hands, pull Abby off the counter perch where her boo-boo was waiting to be kissed, and picked up the phone, which was hiding under a pile of play-doh tools on the table. Caller-ID is not a number or name I know- and when I answer, there is only static and dead air. Hello? HELLO? Hang up.
Set Abby down, stir the rice-a-roni, pull Bean off the desk, and nip at Jeffrey to finish up his homework. Again. The phone rings again. Same caller ID, same number- HELLO?
“Mrs. M-blah blah?” Damn telemarketer, I think- they always pronounce my name wrong- it’s English, but spelled with double consonants, like the French. I can always tell if someone doesn’t know us. “No thanks!” I snap… “And it’s M-blah blaH.”
“Oh. Dear. I’m so sorry. This is Sister so and so from the new ward, and I was hoping to talk to Mrs. M.” *sigh* AWWWcrap. Fantastic. It’s the chorister from the new primary, and she wants to know if we’ll be at church Sunday, since Jeffrey is the person of interest, and there is no presidency yet, and she’s trying to run things….
Profuse apologies, grabbing a pen and paper, I jot down the five questions for Jeffrey, apologise again, make nicey-nice small talk, peel Abby off my leg, and hang up. Just in time to notice billows of smoke from the kitchen…!
Running for the stove, my rice-a-roni is charcoal. I throw the sizzling, blackened pot in the sink and steam hisses and spits all over me as the metal hits the water.
David hears all the commotion and comes to peel a few children away, while I put out the fire. He’s sitting on the couch with Beanie now, and Abby is playing quietly with Jeff. The fire is out, dinner made but cooling, and I’m calming down. Slooooowly.
Now I have to ask- WHO CALLS during the Deadly Hour?? From Primary? Who calls from CHURCH and asks for MRS Anyone?? WHO CALLS BACK AFTER THEY”VE BEEN HUNG UP ON???
I will always think of my burnt rice-a roni when I look at this woman. I hope I like her. I really, really do- but we got off on the wroooooooong foot. Me and Sister Rice-a-Roni.