For those of you who were wondering, I enjoyed Conference weekend. So did Madeline, although being with her uncle Bryce and a dog for 48 hours straight made her really unwilling to sleep, lest she miss anything. Because they were freaking hilarious. If the dog chased a ball, that was funny. If Bryce tossed a stuffed animal in the air, that was hilarious. If Bryce made a face, she was giggling insanely. Basically, I wish I was that funny. But she managed to survive her merriment, and eight hours of Conference, and the rest of us did too.
Well, almost. Turns out my husband was thinking (a recipe for disaster, here, folks) and realized that in the whole time we've been married, he's only said the prayer at my parent's house like twice, or some such ridiculously low number. This is highly unusual, because anyone who has visited my parents house around prayer time knows that my dad is always looking for fresh meat. It only takes one visit from a friend, neighbor, relative, or delivery guy to be initiated into the prayer club. (I might have exaggerated about the delivery guy. But only because one has never been at the house at prayer time.) How Jessie got away with two years is a mystery. Probably my parents didn't want to scare him away because they were just amazed I managed to get someone to propose to me. But since he said something, everyone made a big deal about how it was Jessie's turn to say the prayer. With high expectations and a lot of pressure, the poor man choked. Instead of praying, he busted up laughing for twenty minutes. And then of course no one else could keep from giggling, and there was high mirth at the Lundstrom household, culminating in an incident where my mother fell over laughing and nearly broke a glass cabinet. So you can guess if Jessie is ever going to get asked to say the prayer again.
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