Last month, Sassy came home with a flyer about a music program. The flyer turned out to be much less informative than it should have been.
“Miss Alcott and the fifth grade will host a music program on Thursday, March 13th at 6:30pm. All fifth grade parents are invited to attend.”
“We will go,” I told Sassy. Because she’s a child, she asked me repeatedly, many days in a row, if we were still going, and each time, I said, “Yes” and “Oh my God! Yes! Will you please stop asking me?”
On the day of the program, Sassy asked who all was going to the program. I rolled my eyes and said, “We are all going.”
“Really? Who’s keeping Moo?”
“We are taking Moo. We are all going!”
“Miss Alcott says we can’t bring anyone younger than us.”
“Well, Miss Alcott has failed to mention this, so unless she contacts me or provides a certified caretaker, Miss Alcott can suck it.”
“Okay. Well can’t Moo stay home with Bubba?”
“No. Bubba is going to a movie with Papaw.”
I really could not imagine why no younger children would be allowed, or why it wasn’t mentioned, and I strongly suspected Sassy did not want to share her parents with Moo, which prompted me to add one of Beauty Queen’s best quotes, “You’re not an only child and you never have been.”
I prepared myself for an evening of music appreciation. I put on a nice sweater, dressy jeans, suede wedges, jewelry, some eye make up. I took half of an Ativan too, because I knew it would be loud and crowded and I might be forced to speak to strangers in a social setting.
Off we went.
Hardly a car in the parking lot, barely a handful of people inside.
We met in the gym, where there were perhaps a dozen chairs on either side, facing center, while xylophones and drums stood on one side of the boundary lines and a music stand faced them from the other side. (The other side had a stage, so I was immediately thrown off by who the hell set this mess up, and had they ever actually been to a performance before?)
Miss Alcott appeared, and she did not chase off the smaller children that were present, nor did she chide any parents for bringing them, Hmph!
Miss Alcott began to explain that this performance was participatory.
I shot eye daggers at Sassy.
All I could think was oh fucking swell. here i am, sedated, wearing three-inch wedges, and now i’m going to participate in rhythm, music, and dancing? you really must work on being more informative, miss alcott.
First things first, rhythm. Okay, I can rhythm. Not that I understood the directions very well, but I made do, even with my sedated motor skills. *clap, slap, snap, slap, slap, clap*
Then music. Hahaha. I’m not saying I’m the world’s worst music student, but I have failed at everything since the beloved fourth-grade recorder — piano, flute and cello — badly, and pretty much stuck to singing. The Mister? Musical ability out the ying yang.
Me, on the xylophone “A….oh AA..B….AA..oh A…B..D..AAA…” like a toddler at play.
Ugh. I’m no good at xylophoning.
“Daddy will do the music, Sass. I will do the dancing bits.”
And Daddy did do the music, which did not at all sound like a toddler playing. He could play it without the notes, just by ear. Well done, Daddy. I was not surprised.
Me, on the xylophone:
The Mister, on the xylophone:
Alright, not completely true, but close.
On to the drums.
The Mister sat down and immediately beat out “Sympathy for the Devil,” and the fifth grader beside him began to play back and forth with him. I was stupefied.
When finally given instruction on what to play, The Mister did, in fact, play the desired beat. I was amazed again. I actually had no idea that my husband was so talented, and I have known him for twenty-seven years. We should probably get him some drums.
On to dancing! Yay, I can dance! It was a bit like the Virginia Reel, though I don’t remember now what they called it. Unfortunately, the movements did not match the count very well, but Sassy and I managed to dance in time, even if I was a bit teetery-tottery, due to my medication and the wedges.
Needless to say, I would have liked to have been warned about the participatory events of the evening, what with the xylophones and all.