One Day More

Here I am blogging for the second day of this whole NaBloPoMo thing, and I’m feeling pretty high and mighty.  We’ll see how I keep up with this daily quota once I’m back at work tomorrow.

Today was a good day for our family of four.  We woke up later than usual, but earlier than usual–thanks daylight savings!  We had a leisurely morning of waffles and CBS Sunday Morning before getting gussied up for our latest theater adventure.  Amidst the rain-that-would-soon-turn-to-the-first-snow-of-the-season, we set out for North Shore Music Theatre’s production of Les Miserables.

This was our daughter’s second time seeing the show, a fact she recalled for her brother no less than forty times today.  “This is my second time, but his first time!  Daddy and Poppy took me when you were too little to go,” she’s been saying for the past week with a wry grin on her face, hoping she might make him cry.  Then when we gave her the evil eye, she’d add, “I’m just so excited for him to see it.”

Yesterday, she shifted gears with her mind games: “I hope you aren’t too scared of all the guns.”  Over and over again, she feigned concern about her younger brother’s emotional well being until she finally achieved success.  As we walked into the theater early this afternoon, he was a mess.

“Poppy, I’m so scared!”  Excellent.  I have little patience for his absolutely age-appropriate fears, so my husband volunteered to sit next to him for the show.

And all was well.  Our son covered his ears for the loud bangs, and our daughter fidgeted a bit when there was one too many ballads for her liking, but otherwise they enjoyed the show.  We know it’s a successful theater outing when they beg to listen to the show as soon as we get back into the car, and today they begged.  And they sang along.

During dinner at a semi-nice restaurant, the daylight savings exhaustion was setting in, and as we finished our meal, we could tell they were hanging on by a thread.  I decided to capitalize on the theatrical day and maintain their focus with a family game.

“I’m thinking of a character from Les Miserables.  Who can guess the character?”

“Fantine!” our daughter shrieks.

“Yes!”  We high five.

“My turn!” our son yells.  “I’m thinking of a character from Chicago.”

“Billy Flynn,” my husband guesses.

“Good job Poppy!”

I try again: “I’m thinking of a character from Annie.”

Our daughter jumps the gun: “Mr. Starbucks!”

We all realize her error immediately, and we break into uncontrollable crying fits of laughter.  We’re laughing so hard, one of the wait staff comes over to see if we’re okay.  Our son tries to explain between bouts of hysteria: “Daddy was thinking of someone from Annie and she said Starbucks instead of Warbucks!”  The waitress just smiles and nods, backing slowly away, sated with the understanding that this is what happens when gay men raise kids.

It was a good day.

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