‘I woke up late for 11:00 a.m. church, hurried to get the kids ready, and we arrived twenty minutes late. My kids were piled on top of me and the tired, squished couch in the foyer. It actually looked like the couch had grown legs.
As the church service progressed, some young girls sang an angelic song, and then it hit me like a BOLT of lightning! It was THE YEARLY primary program, and this fact had obviously slipped through my slippery mother-mind.
There was NO WAY I was letting my kids march in a long line to the front of the chapel during the middle of the spiritual program! I panicked and fled! I jumped up, yanking the kids’ hands – dodging and ducking through the halls, into the quiet safety of my trusty Suburban.
I sat down on my sticky fingerprinted seats, feeling my flushed cheeks and my armpits sweating. I looked at Brighton and Whitney with horror, and they laid it on me. “Mom, do you remember last year when we missed church because you were in a bad mood and we took a drive up the canyon and ended up at Oktoberfest?”
“Yes…” I mumbled… “Let’s do THAT again!”
I bust out laughing, and the next thing I knew, we had henna drawn on various parts of our bodies, my kids’ faces were painted like their favorite animals, we were shoving German cake bratwurst and sauerkraut in our hungry mouths, and line dancing with ninety-year-old men, wearing lederhosen.’