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My Own Sitcom




I watched the antics of my children as the missionaries tried to give us a message for family home evening. I considered that if our lives were on film, it would be quite comical, horrific even. (Is it wrong that seems a better category for our family?)

Let me set the scene for you: A loving family is just finishing up their take out pizza, on a table a bit to small for their numbers. With elbows knocking, the conversation is light.

The door bell rings.

4 or 5 children run screaming at the top of their lungs to see who has dared venture onto our doorstep. (Apparently we don't get many visitors. Intimidation might be the factor.)

The door is swung open with great force and two young men in suits stand wide eyed as they take in the reception they have just received.

The missionaries are looking for a couple that has not been attending church recently. (Insert giggle as we realize they are looking for Mom and Dad who are serving as missionaries themselves.)

Though we weren't the intended recipients of their visit, we invite them in anyway. Much to my horror, I'm still in my grungy cut off sweat shorts and a t-shirt that has spit up on both shoulders. I grab the baby and find a seat in a dark corner, hoping they won't notice.

Within the 45 minutes the missionaries spent in our home, (yes, a few of us watched the clock with horror as each minute passed) the following things occurred:

*3 fist fights ensued. We're talking hitting each other so hard that another child was left crying on the floor. (It was primarily children 4, 5, and 6, but 7 and 8 helped out as well.)

*A horrifying display of WWF wrestling was performed in addition to the fist fights (4 and 5).

*Personal space was not respected and the missionaries became a jungle gym.

*No one listened as I calmly asked what seemed like a thousand times for everyone to please sit down and listen. Of course, what I really wanted to do was haul each and everyone of them into the other room and knock some sense into their young minds.

*I began to wonder if anything I have ever taught about manners was actually heard.

*Little man "J", who has the most sensitive gag reflexes ever, started to demonstrate his disgusting ability. Thankfully it's only sounds and not his pizza dinner.

After the 45 minutes had ended and the missionaries were finally driving away, I wondered if a sitcom was actually the best place for us. We would probably be rated P-13 for violence and mayhem.

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guest post by Allison Kimball

 
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