Dying laughing

I shouldn't have laughed. But I did. And I'm sure old ladies in the chapel were judging me. And I'm sure a smaller handful of old ladies was trying not to laugh, too.


But you guys . . . it was funny, even if Kenny couldn't fall asleep that night out of embarrassment because the scene kept playing behind his eyelids.


The choir performed on Sunday and Kenny's lovely tenor voice is much needed. Baby Eden decided she had to nurse at the tail end of the passing of the sacrament, so I hightailed it to the mother's lounge to oblige. The plan was to feed her enough so that she would be satisfied when I hustled back to the chapel to sit with the boys while Kenny went up during the choir number. See? I had it all planned nice and tidy.


Cue the second youth speaker who was both underprepared and highly nervous. He finished a few minutes faster than I expected (it's the first Sunday I've been in this ward where we had time left at the end of the program) and suddenly I'm popping a surprised baby off of my boob and jetting for the chapel, my shirt not even buttoned (I had a tank underneath: no one's eyeballes were seared in the making of this tragicomic moment). I made it through the doors in time for the choir to sing the first note and looked to the back pew, sure that James was sitting with Grant. But...


The pew was empty. I stood in the doorway looking panicked until a friend on the far side of the chapel waved at me and then pointed up at the stand. I looked, and then looked a little harder, and there was Grant, gleefully winding himself around Kenny's legs, darting in and out and all around him. Kenny, I could tell, was distressed. Grant was in heaven. James was missing and I didn't have the first clue where he was.


I hesitated, unsure what to do. I could hand the baby off to someone and grab Grant, but that would make a huge scene. Maybe he would be fine . . .


Oh, nope.


Grant is becoming more and more distracting, cackling with mischievous glee and Kenny's about to lose it. He's reaching down and grabbing Grant, who yanks his arm away and dances out of reach. Kenny finally steps out of the choir long enough to seat Grant in an empty chair and then returns to sing. At this point, I catch Grant's eye and crook my finger. COME HERE.


Grant slides out of his chair and makes his way down a riser or two. Whew. We're going to be okay . . .


But that's when he makes a break for it and veers to the left, and then I see it: his ultimate destination, his own Holy Grail.


He's heading for the microphone.


It all happened so fast. I shove my baby at the lady sitting nearest where I'm standing although I have no idea who she is. I start for the podium where Grant is proceeding to drag the step over so he'll be tall enough to yell into it. The bishopric is staring on, befuddled. Grant does it! He's got the step pulled up and climbed on top! He's got the microphone pulled down! Kenny has just figured out where he went and there's no way either of us is making it in time! 


I am laughing so hard I'm crying and I can't stop, which is not helping Grant to take me seriously.


Luckily, one of the counselors, who is new to the bishopric but very seasoned as a father after four young boys, cuts the mike off before Grant's happy holler can carry past the first three rows.


At this point, Kenny reaches him, and I retreat to take the baby back from a really bewildered lady whose hair is now wrapped in a tiny but freakishly strong fist. Kenny, trying to minimize any further distractions, has made it off the stand and to the front pew and is sitting with Grant. Except Grant yells, "I GO SING WITH DADDY!"


The congregation's heads are swiveling from me at the back of the door to Kenny at the front. We're both on the verge of tears. Me, from more laughter, him . . . not so much. Kenny hops up with Grant and flees through the side exit. I slip out and race to the other side of the building to find and comfort my husband, but I'm pretty useless due to the laughter and all.


So that was Sunday. I blame James. If he wouldn't have had a stomachache, we would totally have made it through the thirty-second lapse in parental coverage unscathed...


James, of course, accepts no blame. He's only mad he missed the show.