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My parents came to dinner last night. This is major because we don't live in the same town or the same state. We see each other about every six months, and it's usually a whole-family gathering doing family stuff. Here, it was adults with adults, something my parents haven't ever done with me.
I spent the majority of the day finishing up some last-minute additions to the look of our apartment so it would be perfect when they got there. That turned out to be three and a half hours in one store, framing and matting the last peices of art I bought for myself for my birthday. I then picked up a dowel at another store to hang the last tapestry on my walls.
I got home just as the weather was getting bitterly cold. I plopped my purchases on the bed and told myself I would hang things as dinner was cooking. Mom called me and told me she was stuck in traffic; I told her not to worry as I had just gotten home and was starting on dinner. She ought to enjoy the quality time she gets with her husband. She ought to take her time. I finished the main dish and just as I was going to hang things on the walls, Just'In reminded me about the rolls. I asked him to put them in the oven with the lasagna while I rushed into the bedroom.
I automatically did what I always do to a clean room when guests are about to come: I cleaned up the clutter. I put away my coat, gloves and hat and the paper bags that the pictures were packaged in. Then I realized that if I don't put my wallet and keys in their usual place, I'll forget where they are the next morning, so I did that. It was very "If You Give A Moose A Muffin": one thing reminded me of another.
Until the doorbell rang. Dinner was lovely, the conversation afterwards was interesting, and the interaction afterwards was interesting as well. I considered asking Dad to hammer a metal hangy-thingy onto the back of a picture frame, but he was so involved in a conversation with Justin that I let it go. My mother did my dishes for me as I handled a few phone calls from a confused yet very task-oriented girl from church. We introduced them to Pandora Radio; the tapestry got the rod run through, but it was thrown into a corner as Mom asked for a copy of a poem of mine that was laying out and for a copy of the memoir peice I'm working on now. They gave me my little brother's brand-new missionary address, which was their original purpose.
And then suddenly they were out the door. They told me the food was delicious for the third time. Their faces told me they didn't want to leave. I take that as a definite sign of success.
I spent the majority of the day finishing up some last-minute additions to the look of our apartment so it would be perfect when they got there. That turned out to be three and a half hours in one store, framing and matting the last peices of art I bought for myself for my birthday. I then picked up a dowel at another store to hang the last tapestry on my walls.
I got home just as the weather was getting bitterly cold. I plopped my purchases on the bed and told myself I would hang things as dinner was cooking. Mom called me and told me she was stuck in traffic; I told her not to worry as I had just gotten home and was starting on dinner. She ought to enjoy the quality time she gets with her husband. She ought to take her time. I finished the main dish and just as I was going to hang things on the walls, Just'In reminded me about the rolls. I asked him to put them in the oven with the lasagna while I rushed into the bedroom.
I automatically did what I always do to a clean room when guests are about to come: I cleaned up the clutter. I put away my coat, gloves and hat and the paper bags that the pictures were packaged in. Then I realized that if I don't put my wallet and keys in their usual place, I'll forget where they are the next morning, so I did that. It was very "If You Give A Moose A Muffin": one thing reminded me of another.
Until the doorbell rang. Dinner was lovely, the conversation afterwards was interesting, and the interaction afterwards was interesting as well. I considered asking Dad to hammer a metal hangy-thingy onto the back of a picture frame, but he was so involved in a conversation with Justin that I let it go. My mother did my dishes for me as I handled a few phone calls from a confused yet very task-oriented girl from church. We introduced them to Pandora Radio; the tapestry got the rod run through, but it was thrown into a corner as Mom asked for a copy of a poem of mine that was laying out and for a copy of the memoir peice I'm working on now. They gave me my little brother's brand-new missionary address, which was their original purpose.
And then suddenly they were out the door. They told me the food was delicious for the third time. Their faces told me they didn't want to leave. I take that as a definite sign of success.
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From:
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If you give a moose a muffin what?
He has a complete breakfast?
He'll give you a ride?
His antlers fall off?
He'll grant you three magic wishes?
He goes back in time, burns down his own forest, and causes a temporal paradox resulting in a rift in the space-time continuum that destroys the entire universe?
What?
From:
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