The Other Mother would never post this photo of her weed infested flower beds earlier this spring.

When my oldest received her first talk assignment as a Sunbeam in Primary I took the note home and dutifully read the month’s theme. Sunday evening I pondered what talk she might like to give and by Monday night I had it all prepared complete with pictures for her to color. On Tuesday I read the talk to her a couple of times and she colored the pictures. Wednesday morning I again read the talk to her and then asked her what she could remember. She worked on the pictures some more. On Thursday she practiced the talk and holding up her pictures. On Friday she did the same as well as a few times on Saturday.

When it was her turn to give the talk in Sharing Time on Sunday, I brought the pictures up to the pulpit. My husband sat at the back of the room holding the baby. I began whispering the talk into my daughter’s ear. After the second sentence she turned to me and said, “Don’t help me Mom.” So I sat down and listened to her deliver a perfectly prepared talk.

Contrast that with this past Sunday. Sacrament meeting ended and I deposited a screaming two year-old in the nursery. “I’m subbing Primary upstairs if he doesn’t settle down,” I told the nursery leader and escaped out the door. My husband stood just outside his office as I passed. Seizing the opportunity I pulled three pictures in plastic protectors out of my church bag. “Our five year-old has a talk today. I’m teaching Relief Society during that time so can you help him?”

“What time?”

“Three forty-five and you have to be on time. Talks are first.”

“Sure.”

“Here are the pictures. I’ve taped his talk to the back of each one. I read it to him twice during Sacrament Meeting, but he hasn’t actually practiced saying it so he’ll need a lot of help.” I held the pictures out to him. “Do you want to take the talk…or should I leave it with the Primary Presidency and tell them to come and get you if you’re not there?”

“Better do that.”

I not sure what happened to that first mother but she’s long gone. Sometimes I miss her. But then days like this past Sunday happen and I realize she never would have been able to roll with the constantly changing events of the day. That first Mom would have been in the restroom during Sacrament Meeting practicing a talk with her five year-old if she’d remembered he had a talk an hour before church started. She wouldn’t have been able to leave a screaming baby and know he would likely be playing happily two minutes later. And how could she have trusted someone else to find her husband to help her five year-old give a talk? This second mother might not be as polished as the first, but she’s way more relaxed. And everything still gets done. One way or another.

See? Even the flower beds eventually get weeded.