Anticipation is always far worse than the actual event. I have been DREADING that primary program for no good reason... I know that no one cares, but I just really, really didn't want to mess up and I was so worried it was going to happen. Shall I paint the picture for you a la Dr. Botox's cocktail party?
"Hurry, Rylee, hurry!" I called as I strapped Avery into her carseat. This was one Sunday I couldn't afford to be late. "Try to buckle yourself into your seat." (I think from now on I'm going to start all my stories in my minivan)
"I can't, Mommy, I'm flying my kite," Rylee said. I didn't have to look up to know what she was doing. Months ago the seatbelt hanging from the ceiling of the minivan had been designated her "kite" as she would hang from it and swing into her carseat. I knew it was going to break one of these times.
Exasperated, I walked around the minivan to her door and unclenched her fingers from around the seatbelt. "Rylee, I really need you to learn how to buckle yourself into your carseat. When the new baby comes your seat will be in the back and mommy can't reach you back there."
"I love the new baby, Mommy," she said, wrapping her tiny arms around my swollen uterus (too graphic?). "Can I pull the baby out?"
"No, Rylee."
We made great time getting to church and were able to slip into our pew with a few minutes to spare. Great, now I have time to make sure everything is in order for the Mother's Day program. I scanned the audience and found the long, dark hair of Kimberly Plumb.
"Kimberly," I said breathlessly as I swooped into her row. We had grown up in the same home ward, although she was a few years older than me. I had always known her as Kim, but everyone in our ward seemed to call her Kimberly, so I was struggling to follow suit. It didn't come naturally. I always felt as though the name Kimberly was too formal. "Are you still on to help lead the boys for "Love Is Spoken Here?""
"Of course," she said. She was in the Primary Presidency and knew a lot more about this Mother's Day Program business than I did. I'd been the "Assistant Primary Chorister" for two weeks now. I wasn't looking forward to my debut as sole chorister while the "real" chorister was out having her baby. "Just tell me where you want me."
"We need to have the boys on one side and the girls on the other. How do you think we should do that?" I knew I sounded panicky, but I didn't care. Maybe she'd feel sorry for me and take over.
"I'll go and tell the bishopric; they can make an announcement when they call the kids up." It was working.
"We're going to do "When We're Helping We're Happy" first, and then "Love is Spoken Here". I can't remember the name of the pianist...." I trailed off hoping she'd take the hint.
"Her name's Kelly," Kimberly informed me. "I'll look around for her."
"Thank you so much!" I went back to my pew and watched Kimberly approach the bishopric at the stand. Taking out my Primary Songbook, I marked the second song with my mom's Mother's Day card, and left the book open to the first song. There wasn't much else I could do to prepare.
"Kelly's not here yet," Kimberly's voice came up from behind me. "But I'm sure she knows."
"Thanks." The prelude music had ended and Brother Combe was welcoming the congregation from the pulpit. I opened my program and saw that the information about the program was correctly noted. I breathed a sigh of relief and told myself to stop worrying--this was not a big deal. I knew the kids would do fine. What I was worried about was starting them at the wrong time during the intro, or messing up the parts in "Love is Spoken Here." I resolved to study what I believed to be the intros during the sacrament.
The program was slated to begin after four youth speakers. They were all male, so I knew the wait wouldn't be long. What I hadn't counted on was the confirmation of an entire family that the missionaries had baptized the day before. As the blessings dragged on, my blood pressure rose. Finally the meeting began to clip along. Chad was doing a great job keeping the girls entertained with stickers.
One by one the youth speakers declared their love for their mothers and credited them with superhuman feats. My thoughts went back to a talk I'd given on Mother's Day when I was fourteen. The way Brother Kirkman had worded his request for me to speak led me to believe I was speaking in Young Women's about my mom--not sacrament meeting. As a result, I'd prepared a fairly short talk heavy on jokes and light on spirituality. It wasn't until my family arrived late at church and my mom opened the program and exclaimed, "Katie! Did you know you were speaking in sacrament meeting?" that I realized where I was supposed to give my talk. I walked up and sat with the speakers during the opening song, and surprisingly my talk was a huge hit.
"I hope I'll have done something wonderful by the time Rylee is in Young Women's so she'll have something nice to say about me if she ever gets called to speak on Mother's Day," I whispered to Chad. He smiled and patted my leg. The youth speakers had all been short and sweet, as predicted. This final one was older and more articulate. He had already spoken for at least five minutes. I turned to Rylee.
"Okay, Ry, in a minute we're going to go up to the front and you're going to stand with your primary class and sing the songs we practiced."
"Okay, " she said, standing up.
"Not quite yet," I said, pulling her back down. The youth speaker finished his tribute and Brother Combe went up to the podium and announced the "special treat" of having the primary children come up to sing. Kimberly must have been very specific about what she wanted him to say because he clearly indicated which side of the podium the girls should go to and which side was reserved for the boys.
I watched as eager primary children started to make their way up before he was even done with his announcement. I took Rylee's hand and we started up the aisle. When we got to the stairs at the front of the chapel I whispered:
"Look, Rylee, there's Sarah from your class. Go stand by her." Rylee froze, suddenly realizing that I was not going up on the stand with her. Without warning she grabbed at my leg, wrapping her body tightly around it moaning, "no, no, no, no."
As I tried to pry her loose I could feel her pushing my polka-dotted (you know the one...) maternity dress up to my thighs. Sure that the entire congregation had now seen my garments, I hissed: "Fine, you don't have to go up there, come sit with me over here."
We moved to the front pew and I plopped her down. I wasn't sure what the exact protocol was, but I felt like I should have some contact with the children before we began the singing. As they filed into place I walked up to the front and whispered some intructions.
"Okay guys, remember, "When We're Helping" first, then "Love is Spoken Here." Girls, then guys, then together." They nodded and looked at me like I was an idiot. They did this every year. I was the only novice around. I turned and sat down on the pew next to Rylee. There was no way I was going to lead standing up. I'd already given the congregation enough of a show.
The children stood ready. Now what. Was I supposed to notify the pianist that I was ready?There were so many primary children crammed on stage that I couldn't see the piano. I turned to Kimberly, who was ready to lead in the pew to the left of mine. She smiled. Why didn't the pianist start playing? My body began to tense and then a few seconds later I relaxed as I heard the piano music start. I looked down at my songbook to follow the intro. A few notes later I knew something was wrong.
This was the song I knew how the intro went. What I was hearing didn't sound anything like what I remembered the intro should sound like. My heart stopped. When was I supposed to start the kids singing? Just then it hit me, this was the wrong song. A look of horror crossed my face as I turned to Kimberly and mouthed, "Wrong song! Wrong song!" and made "cut" gestures with my hands. She stood and tried to get the pianist's attention to stop but the primary children made an inpenetrable wall.
I was at a loss as to what to do. The pianist was not stopping and it was obviously past whatever intro this song might have.
"...I love daddy, yessirree. He loves us and so you see, we are a happy family." Some of the girls recognized the song and unsure of what was going on, began to sing. With that cue, the other kids chimed in as well, and I pretended to lead, stumbling over the less familiar parts of the song and grateful that the children seemed to know most of it.
As abruptly as it started, the song ended. What now? Will she play the right song? Or just go to "Love is Spoken Here"? More silence, then the sweet notes of the latter song echoed throughout the chapel. I was so grateful to recognize the song being played that my fear about knowing when to start the children vanished. The children's voices rang loud and clear. I even relaxed enough to smile to myself during the boys' part--they always tried to make their pre-pubescent voices sound deeper.
Before I knew it, the song was over and the panic returned. Should we sing "When We're Helping" now, or are we done? Silence, silence, silence. Okay. I realized there would be no more music coming from the piano. The children stood stock-still, awaiting some kind of instruction.
"Good job!" I mouthed. They didn't take the hint. They just stared straight ahead. "Okay, you can get down now!" I motioned toward the congregation. Still nothing. Finally I stood up and went to the end of the row and began helping children off the stand. That did it, and finally we had the mass exit I'd been looking forward to for two weeks now.
Rylee and I sat back down in our pew. Chad gave me a questioning look. "She played the wrong song!" I breathed. "Could you tell anything was wrong?" I knew the answer, but hoped against hope I was wrong.
"Oh, you could tell," Chad said.
"Was it bad?" I pressed.
"Really bad." Chad was never one to sugarcoat things.
Well, that ended up long and boring :). This is why I've given up trying to write a novel. I can't do it concisely and I usually tire of the material before too long. That, and lack of creative subject-matter. Anyway, my point was, that I was so worried that something was going to go horribly wrong with the program and I got myself all worked up about it beforehand. Something did go wrong, pretty much the worst thing that could have gone wrong, but in reality, it wasn't as big of a deal as it had been in my mind. It's all over now, and that's all that really matters.... That and the pianist apologized profusely for playing the wrong song.
