Liar Liar - Pants on Fire (In Hell Probably)

I used to at least TRY to be a Domestic Goddess - bake up a storm, pickle stuff, re-arrange my living room decor every other day, color-co'ordinate my tea towels with my pot mitts... Until I started trying to write books to a deadline. Now, I'm not even worthy to wash Martha Stewart's dishes. I am officially taking myself OUT of the running for Domestic Goddess of the Universe. Instead, I'm aspiring to the: Faker-Pretender-Liar Throne.

Yesterday we had the missionaries over for dinner. There were three of them. They called the night before to remind us that we had signed up to feed them. They were arriving at 5pm.

In my family, hosting the missionaries is like having the Queen of England over for dinner. Or Mother Theresa. Or President Obama's wife. My mother would tell us about HER mother preparing for two days (at least) to serve the elders a meal. The very best dishes. The very finest ingredients. The very nicest linen. The very good'est manners. When we were growing up, us kids loved it when our mother fed the missionaries because it meant we got really nice food that we usually only got on annual holidays. But we also hated it because our mother would go psycho ( more than usual) and make us clean the entire house and help her in the kitchen. She would volunteer to feed the missionaries for all three meals in a day and then prep a four course meal for each one, even BREAKFAST. Serve it to them adorned with fresh flowers, artfully arranged sprinkles of garnish, in color-co'ordinated glory. And we kids got to have what was left and do the mountains of dishes.

I have continued this 'tradition'. We always sign up to host the missionaries and then go all-out to ensure them the very bestest. Not just because we are helping them with their very important work, but also because I'm always thinking of members of my family that have served as missionaries at some point in their lives - and many people were super nice to them and shared their food with them. People like my big brother who served in Samoa. My parents who were Senior missionaries in Siberia a few years ago. My nephew who just got back from his mission in Sydney. And every time I have missionaries over for dinner, I think of the hopeful future when Big Son might will serve a mission somewhere and I hope people will be nice to him.

So, I knew we had to do a good job prepping dinner for the Elders. But, I also have deadlines looming and other horrible stuff like that on my plate. The Hot Man is in Samoa, so he couldn't help. He did however, make a suggestion - "Just go to the store and buy ready made food for them. They won't care. Get takeaway." At first I was horrified by this idea. Get takeaway? Ready-prepped food bought from a store?! Take the LAZY way out?! What would my (long-deceased) grandmother think?! What would my (faraway mother in Samoa who isnt my quality control checker) think?! Shock, horror.

Writer working mother won out over Domestic Goddess Martha Stewart Acolyte. I was in my office until 3. Then I ran to get Little Daughter from school and walk her home. Appointed Big Daughter to supervise cleaning of house and Little Son to set table. Zipped to pick up Big Son from school. Dashed into grocery store. Purchased 4 roast chickens, 2 bags chopped coleslaw, 24 baps, drinks, 3 bags of grapes, 1 watermelon, 1 decadent red velvet cake and ice cream. Got home at 4.30. Everyone swung into action. We arranged everything in platters with artfully applied garnish, hid all shopping bag/wrapper evidence. Doorbell rang at exactly 5pm and VOILA - we had a fabulous feast ready for the missionaries.

But before I let them in, I did one more very important thing. "Listen here kids, nobody is allowed to mention that we didn't cook this food ourselves, do you hear me?"

Little Daughter was troubled, "You want us to tell lies?!"

I rushed to assuage her fears. "No, no of course not. Lying is bad. I dont want you to tell lies. If the missionaries say,'What a nice dinner!' - then we will smile and say, 'Thank you.' That's not telling lies. That's just keeping some information to ourselves." I smiled helpfully. "It's called omission."

Big Mouth Big Son interjected, "That's another fancy word for lying."

I snapped, "Shut up. It's not lying. If the missionaries ASK us if we cooked this food, then of course we will say, no we bought it. But we also don't need to go around screaming it at the top of our lungs when they walk in the door. Just keep that to ourselves, dammit." I turn back to the Little Trio. "Do you understand?"

Little Son asked, "So what if the missionaries tell us, We really like your cooking?"

I smile with steel at the teenagers as I answer, "We dont need to bother them with the details. We just smile and say thank you, I'm glad you like it. Everybody got it?"

By then, they knew better to argue. Everybody got it. (Or else they were being sent to bed without any red velvet cake bought from the shop by lazy liar Writer Working Mother.)

We opened the door and allowed our guests to enter. The evening was a resounding success. The food was sublime. The conversation was divine. (divine, get it? haha...) Big Son in particular was really enjoying the conversation with the Elders - (and a lightbulb went off in my head because Im trying to deviously nudge him to WANT to be a missionary and what better way then for him to hang out with lots of awesome missionaries and returned missionaries and hopefully absorb their enthusiasm, right!?) so I invited them all to come back for dinner again next week.

Everybody was happy with this invitation. We said goodbye and the elders pedaled away on their bikes. We came back inside on a righteous high when I had a nasty thought.  Oh no, what are we going to buy for their dinner next week that we can fake as homemade? 

I'm also wondering if omitting useless information  lying  - kind of cancels out the blessings that are supposed to come from doing a service and providing meals for the missionaries?