While Miriam napped, I finished making/baking the rolls, cut up lettuce for a salad and set eight places at the table. (In case you're counting, that makes five of us and three missionaries.) When I head Miri squawking in her crib, I got her and went back to work. I should have realized that my carefully set table was about to be ambushed by a 19-month-old.
I swear, juice is to Miri as blood is to a shark; she can smell it a mile away. Twenty bucks says I can't find that cup when it's time to sit down and eat with the sisters.