Evangelizing

We were not having a great morning.

Ruth woke up at 6am and then refused to take a nap, despite her weary red eyes and body-racking yawns.  The older girls had been told to straighten up the top floor, but the situation up there quickly devolved into an unacceptable atmosphere.  Things were confiscated, tears were shed, wails were wailed.

Add to this attractive scenario a front yard that is also devolving, due to the weeds which clearly have a personal vendetta against us and an overflowing recycling bin.  It's been....I can't even remember, weeks?  since we remembered to set the stupid bin out, so it is now more a mountain of trash than an identifiable bin.  I have multiple secondary boxes that I keep in the kitchen, but I tend to keep the milk jugs (which are sealable) and other contained, non-sticky stuff in those while the beer bottles still get tossed outside in the overflowing bin.  In other words, if you looked at our recycling bin right now (which isn't even an official recycling bin, it's just a blue plastic container with a big X duct-taped on the side) we totally look like alcoholics. 

So, to recap:  cranky, exhausted-eyed baby, wailing and crying from upstairs, and a mountain of beer bottles by the front door.  This is the morning the Mormons decide to drop in.

I, being upstairs amidst the crying and wailing, actually missed it.  Chris answered the door, trashy baby in hand, and politely (over the sounds of torture from directly overhead) let the women know that we are already a praying sort of family and that now (you know, with all the screaming) was not really a good time to discuss things further.

The women left without exactly making it clear whether they will be returning or not, but when Chris told me all this I had to wonder:  did they guess we are Catholic?

I kind of hope not.