I don't get so nervous when the front doorbell rings because most of the time it is a package delivery, sometimes a magazine salesman, and once-in-a-while the obligatory Jehovah's Witness. But when the side doorbell rings it sends shivers down my spine. A visitor stepping through that door walks right into the very heart of our house and directly into whatever mess is currently happening.
Of course, raising kids is a messy proposition any way you look at it. Everyone has heard the little rhyme "Cleaning the house while kids are growing is like shoveling the walk while it's still snowing." If we are comparing a messy house with a snow storm we might as well say that in the Olsen house we were usually under blizzard conditions. Whenever there was a 'doorbell threat' this mama would start yelling "Quick clean!" at the top her lungs.
Our children have grown up, left home, and now have their own storm systems raging around them in their own homes. (I won't comment on the poetic justice of life but just know that I have a little smile on my face as I write this.)
So now, here David and I are, just the two of us, with nary an excuse for messes of any kind. At least that's the way it should be. But . . . things are always drifting out of control.
David and I just returned from Hawaii which means piles of laundry, piles of mail. We were greeted by Julia and Steve's family who had arrived from Boise for a short visit. We were so happy to see them as Max says "in real life not just icat." After they left there were remnants of the Smith flurries. . . legos here, dress-ups there, bits of Play Doh and sticky waffles on the kitchen counter. The stuff of happy Grandmama's life but more mess to clean up, none the less.
Yesterday I left the house at 9:50 and returned at 4:40. I walked in, took one look at the whole mess and promptly turned on the TV. "I'm too tired" I thought but instead of settling in to the program I drifted around picking up this and that. I got out a frozen Marie Callenders lasagna, the culinary effort of the day and stuck it in the oven. I swept and wiped and went back to the TV.
Sometime later the doorbell rang!
That old surge of adrenaline rushed over me. There was a tall man in a white shirt standing at the back door. Apparently, David had made arrangements for a bishop to meet him at our house. (Why didn't I know this and where was David?) I was so startled that as I let him in, I heard the words "Have you had anything to eat?" pop out of my mouth. (If there is a technical name for this type of self-destructive behavior I need to know it. Anyone?)
He followed me in to the kitchen and sat down on the chair that, just minutes before, had been spread with waffles and syrup. He leaned on the counter in the very spot where dribbles of spaghetti sauce had just been wiped away.
We could smell the baking lasagna, I mean really smell the lasagna because I had forgotten about it. I opened the oven and saw that the lasagna dish had melted out of shape. (You may think that I am exaggerating but I am not.) With one fluid motion, I slipped the lasagna out of the oven and out of sight. I peeled back the blackened cellophane covering, cut a piece right out of the middle, turned around, and served it with a smile. He ate it like a man even though it was a little crusty. By now, of course, David had run in, grabbed his suit coat and they both hurriedly departed for their appointment.
I was left standing there, shellshocked. What would have happened if I had settled into that cushy chair and just watched the TV program? It could have been my worst doorbell nightmare come true. But, happily, I was delivered from the catastrophe. (Believe me I said a really sincere thanking prayer.)
And to put the frosting on the cake I finally have something to write a blog about!
Mom, I laughed the whole time. Ah, that is such a familiar feeling. However, I think mine is social anxiety when I hear the doorbell ring. But I get the panic all the same. More often than not, I turn off the TV and run to hide. Of course, if Jane is awake the whole operation is shot. And, yes, I suppose it is poetic justice that I have my own snowstorm now. The SHOES!
ReplyDeleteGail: this is hilarious, although I am finding most who ring the doorbell I probably don't know. . .more just walk in (friends of the kids, family, etc) so whatever is, definitely is what they find. . .mostly I am just happy people are walking in. This is such a quiet, sometimes lonely stage right now. You are such a descriptive writer, the images just pop into view and in such vibrant colors. . .no wonder you are so dearly loved.
ReplyDeleteI feel you, girl.
ReplyDelete