ain't that cute
so, there we were, at the grotto, listening to the girl's choir in the accoustically perfect sanctuary they have for the purpose. it was a very near thing, getting there in time for the first choral performance of the night, so i warned them in the car that we'd have to hurry down the dark path with the interesting lights and baby jesus story to see the choir and come back to the baby jesus story later after the music.
the boys, ages three and five, remember - had been listening in rapt attention for most of the program, which was a very lovely thing. why would i ever want children of my own when i can borrow perfectly behaved ones from people who did nearly all the hard work for me? and who suffer most of their normal-boy craziness when they're at home, where apparently it doesn't ever occur to them to sit still without being sedated heavily or speak in a voice lower than your average "I STINK" garbage truck?
the girls' choir contained much older singers, so the three year old wasn't as entranced with them. he whispered loudly (during the applause between numbers) "when is this choir going to be over?" and when i said we could leave after the next song, it's only polite to leave between songs, he abandoned his whisper in the now-silent sanctuary and in a quiet, but clear and carrying voice said, "but i wanna go and see the *baby jesus* story!"
a woman in the next row up, holding a toddler in her own lap, turned around and beamed appreciatively at us.
is it just so cute, what they do sometimes? like take a moment in a quiet concert hall to make me appear to be Mother Superior, the one who reared beautifully behaved and pious children who BEG to hear the baby jesus story, when in fact i'm the pagan babysitter who lets them eat lollies and candy canes from the post office right before lunch and then lured them out to see the pretty lights so that i would not suffer Crazy Hour - the time between 4 and 6 p.m. when all little boys go beZONKers - without the assistance of heavy distraction, copious exercise, and the promise of warm cocoa? don't you just love it when they do stuff like that?
the boys, ages three and five, remember - had been listening in rapt attention for most of the program, which was a very lovely thing. why would i ever want children of my own when i can borrow perfectly behaved ones from people who did nearly all the hard work for me? and who suffer most of their normal-boy craziness when they're at home, where apparently it doesn't ever occur to them to sit still without being sedated heavily or speak in a voice lower than your average "I STINK" garbage truck?
the girls' choir contained much older singers, so the three year old wasn't as entranced with them. he whispered loudly (during the applause between numbers) "when is this choir going to be over?" and when i said we could leave after the next song, it's only polite to leave between songs, he abandoned his whisper in the now-silent sanctuary and in a quiet, but clear and carrying voice said, "but i wanna go and see the *baby jesus* story!"
a woman in the next row up, holding a toddler in her own lap, turned around and beamed appreciatively at us.
is it just so cute, what they do sometimes? like take a moment in a quiet concert hall to make me appear to be Mother Superior, the one who reared beautifully behaved and pious children who BEG to hear the baby jesus story, when in fact i'm the pagan babysitter who lets them eat lollies and candy canes from the post office right before lunch and then lured them out to see the pretty lights so that i would not suffer Crazy Hour - the time between 4 and 6 p.m. when all little boys go beZONKers - without the assistance of heavy distraction, copious exercise, and the promise of warm cocoa? don't you just love it when they do stuff like that?