It Runneth Over

Yesterday was a fun day. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty had a nice birthday (more pictures and details later) and we were busy. Which is why I was home alone last night, resting, when the doorbell rang. The others had gone to church and a friend's house and I had just pulled my jeans off for a more comfortable nap.

I ignored the first bell, but on the second, decided to check and see who was there. It was the twins' Primary teacher. She was holding two tiny cakes. And two cards. The roads were yucky. It was freezing outside. She'd come all this way. So nice. My house was a disaster. But, I had to let her in. So, I quickly pulled the throw off the couch, wrapped it around my waist and yanked the door open.

"Hi!" I said, "Come on in. You are so sweet to stop by. The girls aren't here, they'll be sad they missed you. I'm sorry my house is such a mess...The girls were in a hurry...I, uh...I didn't have them pick up because they had to make it to New Beginnings...I stayed home because I knew I wouldn't make it...I,uh...I have these migraines...I'm trying this new medicine...Thanks for thinking of the girls...Their school stuff is still all over...I'm so sorry...We just had dinner and they ran..."

The phrase 'my mouth runneth over' comes to mind. Ugh. Just stop talking already.

She was very nice, though. She said something like, "You are talking like I don't have children and a house and a job. Don't worry," and something else like, "My brother and mom get migraines. They're terrible."

And I'm standing there looking at her with her two hands full and thinking, I can't take those two cakes from her because I have to hold up the blanket. I don't have on any pants. She's going to have to see my kitchen. Dishes not done for two days. Dinner still on the table. Floor not swept for who knows how long. Pile the size of Nebraska of mail on the counter. Two baskets of laundry in the corner. Okay, I won't go on, as to not embarrass myself further. But, it was BAD and I was panicking. What could I do? I couldn't very well let go of the blanket around my waist to take them from her, or say, "Ah, thanks, just throw them on the floor over here." I'd already spewed all kinds of babble, so I decided to humiliate myself further.

"Do you mind putting them on the kitchen table over here? Um, just kind of ignore the dinner mess," I mumbled, and turned to lead her into the wreckage.

I needn't have bothered letting her see my kitchen, though. As I made my move, the blanket slipped from around my waist and exposed my underwear-clad behind to her and anyone else who looked into my front window at the moment. Nice. Now she knows from up-close experience that my bottom runneth over also. Great. I just can't wait to see her at church on Sunday.