A few weeks ago, I was experiencing the usual church meeting circus (forgive my bluntness) with my two youngest, SS (age 3) and CS (age 1). You know the drill, we've all been there. The one where you're sure everyone in the chapel is rolling their eyes and evaluating your parental fitness while you attempt to pick up ground in Cheerios, mix formula, smell for a poopie diaper, and keep your underthings from hanging out.Finally, when we were about ready to receive an eviction notice from the bishop, I scooped up one child in each arm and with them flopping against my side scurried for the door hoping my skirt wasn't riding high with static cling. Once outside, I sighed relief and looked up to see a sweet sister who had mercy on my soul and had followed me out the door to offer assistance. Understanding my plight (and probably secretly offering a prayer of thanksgiving that she was past this stage of worship method) she graciously offered to take one of the children off my hands. I offered up SS without a lot of thought because, well, he's a handful and she looked like she was up for the challenge. SS did not disappoint as he began to run laps around the Primary room. It wasn't long before his head was stuck in the hole on the back of a plastic chair and he was squawking while I tried to help her pry SS's wedged head free. It was at this point that I could see she was probably regretting that she possessed the spirit of service that day. After several of SS's antics, the sister looked at me and said these words, "You know, when my kids were little, I made them these books called 'Quiet Books' and they have activities to entertain kids."
She then went on to further describe their merits and I listened carefully and politely. Bless her heart, she has no idea. Maybe it's better that way.