I am deeply mildly ashamed...

It is with deep shame that I admit that I actually had to invite the census guy in this evening to answer his 5 minutes worth of questions. Our census form had been filled out and ready to mail within 24 hours of its receipt, I believe, but for the lack of a stamp it went unmailed, and eventually disappeared from out of sight and mind, never to resurface again from the abyss of forgotten forms, receipts, sunday school papers, and pictures of rainbows. We were unaware that we'd even missed the deadline until we came home one night a few weeks ago to find a friendly reminder on our doorstep.

I am not one to be uncooperative, but when I was awakened from my nap by a ring at the doorbell a couple days ago, I decided that whoever was there was unlikely to have anything on their agenda that was important enough to interrupt my nap for. Another ring and Ingrid woke up from her nap. Grrrrr. I was awake enough by then to realize that it was probably a census person again, and I'd best get it over with. Then I was rudely jolted out of my grogginess by very aggressive and prolonged knocking. My goodwill toward census employees was quickly erased. I was certainly NOT going to answer the door now. After several more increasingly violent spells of knocking, (I think they heard Ingrid, so they knew someone was home and were just taking out their annoyance at not being answered) the person gave up and went back to their car. I was incensed. I wonder what that person would have said if I had actually opened the door in the middle of one of their violent attacks on it.

Anyhow, when the doorbell rang this evening, the girls were all awake and went bounding joyously to the door, en masse, so I had no choice but to answer it. The elderly gentleman on the doorstep seemed very pleasant, so I invited him in, after asking if he'd been here already this week. I told him about the last person pounding on my door, and he assured me it wasn't him. The girls were in a great state of excitement the whole time he was there, as they always are when any friend, repairman, package delivery person, etc. enters the house for any reason. I meekly answered all his questions, assuring him that I am, in fact, a woman, and am, in fact, white, and that my husband actually is, a man, and then sent him on his merry way, with Eliza cheerfully declaring that she'd "See you on Sunday!", and Theia unceremoniously slamming the door behind him (she's a little overzealous when it come to doors).

So, it was a pain-free experience, and I realized after he left that I wasn't even asked to provide our SS#'s this way. Maybe procrastination is the best policy after all.