KNOCK KNOCK -Anyone Home?

It is Sunday evening and I am eating, then stirring, then eating, chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream heaped together in a lumpy cake batter concoction. Don’t judge me; you don’t know what I have been through tonight. I am still kind of in shock and I hope to regain composure over feeding my habit. It has become apparently clear to me tonight that the only job I truly want in this life is going to take more practice/creativity/forgiveness/patience/resilience/sandwich making skills/listening/smelling weird things/sense of humor/LOVE and a million more job qualifiers than I may have thought. The night is now still and quiet with nothing to be heard but the creeping sounds of Australia’s insect kingdom coming out to play, ugh, I shudder.

I also know that this means one thing and one thing only. It means that my little cousins have now left the building.

If you think you will make a good parent in the future, how wonderful- that is a worthy goal to aspire to.  If you think you are a good parent already, congratulations- that is a worthy accomplishment.

 May I suggest that there is only one way to test those claims… I tested it tonight and I think I failed miserably.

 Meet them : Susanna, Shavonne, Jacob, Talia and Shane. They look harmless enough I know.

Nana and I were just relaxing when there was a loud knock knock at the door. “Who could that be? I wondered.” As I opened the door I was almost bowled down. Those lively cousins of mine had arrived in all their and glory! They quickly split up as they pushed past me at the door way, just like a football team, scattering, one person into each room, calling to each other as they went, moving full speed and hurricane like, filling the house with their presence.

I stood there watching in amazement and wondered which direction I should head in first?

I went into the kitchen to make sandwiches. Food I could do. Food is a language all Polynesians, young and old, speak. They flew in after me yelling out their orders “peanut butter, no, peanut butter and jam, JUST butter, apple juice, just one piece of bread, a whole sandwich, I want another lolly…” 

Umm should I get a pen and write this all down?

Susannna runs up to me with Jacob in tow. “Adrienne, Adriennne, smell Jacob’s cast we put perfume on it!” (hmm where did you get that perfume from I was thinking?) Jacob had broken his arm rolling down a hill. He now proudly presents for inspection by me: one solid cast, with one tiny hand poking out the end. I lean in to smell it (I know, I know that request alone should have made me suspicious!) They both erupt into heaving laughter. “Just kidding, isn’t it disgusting? It smells like toe jams!” I wrinkle my nose and then just laugh and laugh – what else could I do? It really smelt so vile.

I am trying to quickly do the dishes and talk to the children at the same time. (BIG NO NO) Haven’t you ever heard Elder Richard. G. Scott’s address when his wife says “Richard, go and play with the children” instead of fixing the washing machine for her! Sigh, I am already breaking cardinal rules and I don't even have my own children. Fail. I want those to be my priorities too. Actually, no, they will be my priorities too.  So I turn around to face these little delights as I ask them about what they learnt at Church today. I see them jumping up and down from one stool to the next at the breakfast bar and then diving straight onto the counter top – I have 3 large swimming fish children lying flat on their tummies, squirming all over the top of the bench.  Oh. Oh. Oh no.  I am secretly relieved my Nana cannot see what is happening from where she is sitting in the lounge. Nana calls out to me. I can tell she wants answers. I can tell she is not happy at the noise level or the burning buildings of destruction my lovely cousins are leaving in their wake.

They suddenly leave as quickly as they came. I am speechless. What just happened? 

I go into the lounge and look at Nana without saying anything. She is appalled. She loves them but she is old school Samoan and children are supposed to be "well behaved" in her opinion. 

“Eh, Outlaws!” she says to me shaking her head. I smile. I want to laugh. I hide it. I smile. I bite my bottom lip. The laugh is forcing it's way out. She doesn’t really mean that… I don’t think. 

If you tell the Lord you want to be a Mother, He sends you practice. Clearly by tonight's demonstration, I need a lot of it. I think I just failed my learner’s license. Please, can I have a second chance?