Orien Family News

As I was cleaning out yet another box of stuff today I came across this little experience I had written about some 25 years ago. As long as I am revealing all my deep dark secrets for all my close friends and family to read, I thought I may as well share this one too. In doing so I have figured out that I will do just about ANYTHING to avoid packing up this house and all its stuff. This is what I wrote:

The cat is out of the bag so I may as well confess it. I am not perfect. That statement normally would produce no more than a “ho hum yawn, so what else is new” response, but add to that “I’m the bishop’s wife” and the eyebrows raise and the tongues start clicking. Haven’t we all grown up with the sure knowledge that all bishop’s wives are perfect? Aren’t they pillars of strength, towers of endurance, skyscrapers of faith, and above all, aren’t they perfect examples of women who never raise their voices above soft and loving whispers, especially to their perfect children? I can’t speak about the perfection of other bishop’s wives but all those I have known did seem quite perfect, so I am the lone exception in the perfection department. I may as well admit it since I have been caught red handed, a couple of times now actually.

The first time was on a Sunday afternoon not long ago. I was in my room reading and having a few quiet moments away from my always exuberant children when I needed to call my husband, the bishop, who was at the bishop’s office. I picked up the telephone and dialed. Almost immediately I heard someone pick up the telephone.

Thinking it was one of my children in the other room doing their usual trick on the extension planning to listen in and jabber, I quickly yelled in my mean mommy voice, hoping to get them to hang up before someone answered at the church, “Hang up that telephone!” You can imagine my surprise and immediate humiliation when I heard the voice of the ward clerk who had apparently just picked up the telephone in the office to make a call. “I’m sorry Sister Orien,” he replied apologetically. He then obediently hung up the phone. Oh grrr.

Have you ever been so embarrassed you couldn’t do anything but laugh hysterically? That’s what I did. It was horrid. How could I ever face the ward clerk again? Oh Humiliation! I could see his accusing eyes silently saying, “You’re the bishop’s wife and you are not perfect.” So, he was the first to know, besides of course myself, my husband, my children, my parents, my siblings, my friends………

Not too many weeks passed when a few more people also knew. It started out innocently. The perfect bishop and his not-so-perfect wife were retiring for the evening. I had turned out the lights and crawled into bed next to my husband and was enjoying a quiet moment of conversation when I heard a noise outside. I said “shhh” and we listened for a moment until I was sure I heard it again. He didn’t. I insisted I heard something and made him get up and go check it out. He did so reluctantly. After walking through the house and turning on lights and peering out the windows and back door, he came back to bed and announced smugly that he was right…I was hearing things again and there was no one out there.

I was just drifting off to sleep when I was awakened by an unmistakable giggle right outside our bedroom window. With my heart pounding I opened the window and peered out into the Alaskan spring-time semi-darkness. There I could see half a dozen kids crouching beneath my window. Thinking they were some rowdy neighbor kids who had earlier been running up and down the street and were now prowling around our back yard, I yelled out in my mean lady voice, “What’s going on out there?” No reply. Again, in an even meaner woman voice, “What’s going on out there?” This time they all began to slowly move around the house and out the gate. Seeing they were about to escape with no explanation or apology for their sneaking around in my yard at night, I again yelled out, this time in my meanest witchy voice, “What’s going on out there? This time I was answered by a horrifyingly familiar and sweet voice, “We were just leaving you an Easter surprise.” And with that they fled the yard. I immediately knew who it was out there and it definitely wasn’t any rowdy neighbor kids.

I fell back onto the bed in horror at having yelled at them in all my mean voices escalating on up to my mean witchy voice. I had been caught again! My husband hadn’t said anything but finally asked, “Who was it?” “I am pretty sure it was the Mia Maids and their teacher,” was my reply. While I was groaning in embarrassment at having yelled at those sweet young girls from the ward, my husband began groaning and muttering to himself, “Oh no. Oh no!” for reasons I couldn’t imagine. He then told me of how he had walked (paraded) through the house flipping on lights, peering out windows with drapes open, peering out the door and walking outside and all this dressed in only his “undies”. He agonized over what they saw and he wondered how as their bishop he could stand before them with any dignity the next Sunday and try to ignore their twinkling eyes and grins as they envisioned him parading around in his undies on that revealing night.

As we both groaned and wished we could re-live the past 15 minutes there came a sudden knocking at our front door. Mind you it was late, past bedtime for innocent people. Who could be knocking/pounding on our door so loud and so late at night? My humiliated husband refused to go to the door and insisted I go. I groped around in the dark for my robe as I tried to hurry with my heart pounding in time with the pounding on the door.

I finally managed to get to the door, flung it open wide, and stood blinking at two stern-faced policemen. Their very noticeable car with its bright flashing lights stood outside for all the neighbors to see and wonder about if they happened to be up still, which I noticed they were.

The police demanded to know what was going on at our house that night. I protested my innocence and ignorance of anything having gone on…until they pointed out the very noticeable decorations in our front yard. We’d been T.P.’d. It was a sight to behold and a huge mess. Those Mia Maids had certainly not skimped on the T.P. What had we done to deserve this, I wondered? Had word gotten out about me and had someone decided to “Charmin” me to death? Those stinker Mia Maids! How did they know?

It took a few minutes to convince the police that it was just a friendly prank perpetrated by the Mia Maids and misinterpreted by the neighbors who had alerted them. They left scratching their heads about who and what were Mia Maids, and pointing out a lovel y Easter basket on the porch as they did so. Our embarrassment faded a little now with the thought of how close that Mia Maid class came to being hauled off to jail if the police had shown up just a few minutes earlier. Now that would have been funny…at least to the imperfect bishop’s wife!