The Missionary Position

My mom stays home with my kids during the day while I'm at work. Yes, I'm very lucky that way. While this is good, the lot of them will, on occasion, suffer from varying amounts of boredom. As result of this, mom and the kids have to take their thrills where they can get 'em, I guess.

Yesterday afternoon, some Mormons came to the door, doing missionary-ing or whatever.

So anyways, it was lunchtime and the Mormons were at the door and I was busy with my lunch beer and playing with the baby, and so I asked my mom to please politely tell them that we weren't interested, thankyouverymuch. In our old neighborhood, Mormons came by all the time and I can shoo them away speedy-quick yet still very nicely, as I understand they mean well and I'd imagine that it's not exactly pleasant, soliciting door to door like that and all. I'm just completely uninterested and as such, am not the best use of their time.

Therefore, I was rather surprised to walk through our front hall and see my mom still talking to the Mormon boys. Or I guess, to be more correct, N was talking to the Mormon boys. This did make me a tad bit concerned. I consider putting down my lunch beer and intervening, but instead I decide to observe this exchange. You see, gentle reader, N used to go to a preschool that was affiliated with a rather strict church. We didn't belong to that particular church but really it was a very good preschool. So from his very own life experiences, this kid knows all about Jesus and such and can stump-preach with the best of them when he feels like. Not that I encourage that sort of thing, mind you, but I don't like to stifle his creativity when it's not resulting in hurt feelings or bodily harm. Anyway, quotes that I have personally heard from this boy's mouth include: "Jesus, he's on my team." and "Jesus, he's my kind of guy." and "Jesus died on the cross. ON THE CROSS!" (he can summon up quite a fervor for a 4 year old, no kidding). So, if N is in the right mood, these boys could very well leave our house as Southern Baptists, is my thinking.

But alas, the results weren't as bad as they could've been, if you ask me. So much for my lunchtime entertainment.

N: "What're you boys here for? I got trains upstairs! Wanna play with trains? Do you like trains?"

Mormons (very kindly): "No, we're here to talk to you about Jesus. Do you know Jesus? Let's talk about Jesus."

N (very disappointed sounding, imagine big heaving sigh): "Oh, just him again. Yeah, whatever, I know all about that guy. Hey! Let me talk to you about Moses instead." (N has an easy-reader story book about Moses that my MIL gave him for Easter last year and lately he's very proud that he can read it all by himself.)

These boys now have excited look, as they realize they've unwittingly stumbled upon a household of heathens! WooHoo! Heathens with a Casual Relationship with Jesus Christ! We're a rare breed, usually found only in captivity! They probably learned all about us at some point in their missionary training. I can tell they're looking forward to saving our sorry asses, I mean, souls.

I'm sure I disappointed them by gently yet firmly sending them away at this point. Sorry guys. There's no sense wasting your time. Later, my own mother further traumatizes me by mentioning that the Mormons have made her realize that it wouldn't hurt for me to keep more young, nice-looking men around the house.

Somedays, coming home for lunch is more trouble than it's worth.