Primary Program Sunday

Each year, usually in October, each of our church’s congregations have a special Sunday where the little children present a program. They sing songs and talk about Jesus for an entire hour and it’s my favorite thing ever.

The day this year was October 27th, 2019. It has taken me three days to even be able to face this memory without quaking wildly.

My oldest three daughters have always sung with vigor and emotion, presented their memorized speaking parts with clarity and confidence. I’ve always had cause to sit and rest easy, enjoying the heathens of others making the day hilarious and entertaining while my angel children made me proud. Obviously, this was before my three youngest Spawns of the Dark One were gifted to me.

Sunday morning:

“Oh, yay. Today is the Primary Program. My favorite Sunday of the year. It’s adorable and entertaining. Kids breathe heavily into the microphone, yell-sing off-key, obsessively wave at their parents, pick their noses and fall off the stage.”

Ten seconds later:

“Oh, crap. Today is the Primary Program. The twins are in Primary now. CRAP. I’d better go iron their shirts and talk to them again about sitting quietly and not breathing heavily into the microphone or doing a Kamikaze off the stage.”

*Reminds them 25,000 times not to scream a-hole or pick their noses or fart during the Program. Explains why they can’t take their cow toy on stage.*

Sunday afternoon:

“Look how cute they are sitting up there with their little white shirts and ties. I love them so much I could spontaneously combust. Oh no. Hayden’s picking his nose. They’re not singing. They’re waving. And swaying. It’s like they’re generating electricity to begin their diabolical deeds. I can tell. They’re prepping for mayhem. They’re getting restless and rubbing their faces. Hayden is doing that thing where he puts his fingers under his eyes and pulls down so all the inner red parts of the tissue of his eyes shows and he looks like a spooked horse. He’s about to turn into Cornholio.”

*Mom giggles nervously, gnashes teeth and starts to breathe heavily. Husband visibly tenses and begins to inhale and exhale slowly and loudly through his nostrils.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“Oh hail naw. Hayden has produced a contraband cow toy like a well-earned trophy. He’s holding it up and presenting it to the audience. Hudson’s demeanor immediately straightens as his little brain snaps into action. They both smile wickedly like dirty kittens as Hayden makes the illegal cow gallop across the balcony banister where they’re standing. It reverberates throughout the chapel via the sound system because they’re standing about 3 feet from the podium. They’re waving again and calling “Mommy!”. That’s cute, right?”

*Wild snickering from congregation. Laughing and pointing. Husband tells wife to settle down and not smile at them because it eggs them on. Wife tells him to laugh so she doesn’t cry. 16 and 15 year old daughters exhaustively narrate the show in hushed tones with glee in their eyes.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“Look at them. They’re swaying to the sweet little Jesus songs. That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Aww. They’re waving at me and mouthing “Hi, Mommy!” over and over and over. Oh, dang it. Hayden just tossed the cow over the balcony and they’re both slamming into the banister to watch it fall. They’re grinning in existential delight, dimples flaring and eyes shining.”

*There’s unabashed giggling from the audience now. Husband squeezes wife’s hand very hard. Wife starts to sweat and feels the blood creeping up her neck and toward her ears. Hudson begins to lovingly caress the teacher’s very long earrings.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“He’s going to rip her earring out and she’s going to bleed to death right here on Primary Program Sunday. Don’t! Stop! Don’t let him touch your earring, lady. He will tear that right out your ear and not even feel one bit sorry. Oh my gosh. It’s their turn to speak. They are the cutest things I have ever seen. I’m so glad they’re mine. Look at those little baby dimples. I might die of adorableness today.”

*Heavy breathing into microphone. Unintelligible mumbling into microphone. Big smiles. Dimples for days. Murmurs of laughter from the pews.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“Guess we’ll practice more next year. Or be sick the day of the program. They’re still cute though. OMGeeeee. They’re leaving the stage for the cow.”

*Hudson makes a quick swipe for the teacher’s glasses as he breezes by. They are those magnetic kind that snap on the front. Glasses sling shot around her neck and fall into her lap as she fumbles. Heavy footfalls down the stairs and then back up as they collect their contraband.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“Crap. Crap. CRAP. They’re doing the cow galloping thing again. That kid in the back looks like he’s in pain. He’s making a face like the one Jim Carey made in Ace Ventura when he was birthing himself from the Rhino. Is he okay? He’s kind of taking the focus off the twins galloping the cow back and forth on the banister. Shiiiiii…..there goes the cow over the edge again. I could die. I could seriously die right now.”

*Heavy footfalls down the stairs. Hayden grabs cow and runs back to the stairs. Twins scuffle on the landing. There’s a face-punch and momentary ripping and jerking of the cow. Hudson gives up and stops to examine the organ. Mom throws up in mouth just a little bit. Low blast of the organ fills the thick, hot atmosphere as Hudson crawls back under the organ and pushes the pedals with his hands and knees. Loud laughter from congregation.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“This is like one of those movies where there’s a montage of clowns and circus music and barfing and dizziness. The people and the pews and the children’s faces all distort into colorful goo. I might fart or throw up now. Well. At least that other little Sunbeam is thrashing on the teacher’s lap and trying to rip off her glasses now. Everyone is rustling and smiling and giggling at my demise. I can feel it. They’re loving this. It’s their favorite program EVER. My children are single handedly destroying the presentation. Someone is seriously off-key up there. Harleigh (7 year old) looks like she has narcolepsy or is hammered. She’s swaying and her eyes are nearly closed. I think she might keel over.”

*Husband jumps to his feet and marches to the front and grabs one twin from the organ and the other from the landing. They look terrified as he leads them to their certain death in the foyer.*

Mom’s inner dialogue:

“I’m just going to sit here and sweat like a hog at Christmas and smile. Gawsh, I hope they don’t wave at anyone as they prance to the electric chair. This is the last song. Hopefully there’s no wailing and begging for mercy from the hallway. Primary Program Sunday is no longer my favorite Sunday. Can I just get into the church bag amongst the quiet books and Boogie Boards and DIE?”

After the meeting, I am accosted with joy and rejoicing from fellow church members:

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Your boys are hilarious!”

“My favorite part was the galloping cow. We could hear it through the microphone all the way in the back!”

“When your boys started punching each other, I just gave in and laughed out loud!”

“When that one started playing the organ, our whole family lost it!”

“I love Primary Program Sunday!”

“Man, I love your twins!”

My response:

“I guess I’m just glad no one fell off the stage?”