Family visitors

My sister and her family are staying with us for a while. Don't know what it is, but lately I've been wanting to spend more time with her than with you, blog. Sorry about that. I'll try to check in every now and then.

Since my sister Deborah and her family have arrived, I have not had to make dinner. Not yet. And she has two cute kids (a baby and a toddler) that are just sweet as buttons to play with, but I can ignore when they cry all night long. Totally the right way to have kids around.

And the conversation in the evenings is good.

We talk about women's issues. Like how sometimes relief society is boring. (I.e. in theory it can be boring other places, but if you teach relief society in my ward, then I am not talking about your lessons. Because honestly I haven't been in months. Primary calling.)

We compared horror stories of evil males. Here's one Deborah shared, restated in my wording:

Deborah had a friend with five children, whose parents were visiting. The friend was struggling to feed the kids, clean the house, and put them all to bed when her husband arrived home late from work. She told the husband that his dinner was warm in the oven, and he could help himself. At which point, friend's father blew up at his daughter, and said that good wives don't make their husbands get their own dinners. They go fetch the dinner for him after a long hard day of work.

My comments on this story: (1) If that had been my father, he would have been thrown out of the house on the spot. He would not be welcome back for several years, and then not without serious groveling. (2) I work full time, and my job is nowhere near as difficult as the job of the woman who tends five kids and a household and her lame father twenty-four seven. A father with a grown daughter who doesn't understand that is a pretty poor representative of fatherhood.

Um. You see? She tells better stories than you do, blog. But she won't stay forever.