Christmas Hangover
Last weekend was a Christmas-o-rama. All of our activities were Christmas related.
First on the agenda was the Christmas Parade. This is a very popular event. Streets are lined with locals, and there are floats to delight everyone. Sarah was only interested in two things, pretty girls on horses:
and Santa. She asked every minute of the parade when the fat guy was going to make an appearance. When he finally rolled by, that dude made her day by waving and smiling right at her. She saw Santa. The real Santa. You will not convince her otherwise. Oh, I love four-year-olds.
Next, we decorated our Christmas tree. Really, I should say that Sarah decorated the tree. She did all of the work. My job was to keep her from falling off of the ladder. Mike's job was to say, "It looks great!" every five minutes. Sarah's job was to decorate and ask, "How's it looking, dad?" every five minutes. And yes. 99% of the decorations were hung on those three branches.
Who cares? It was still reason to dance.
On Sunday. Oh, Sunday. Sunday was a big day. Everything Sarah loves came together. In one place! Pretty girls? Check. Twirling dresses? Check. Tiaras? Check. Dancing? Check. Makeup? Check. Sword fights? Check. Christmas? Check. That's right. I took her to see the The Nutcracker.
Funny. Mike was really, really busy that afternoon. Really busy. And didn't, couldn't, wouldn't come along. Shame. We had a fantastic time!
During the performance, Sarah analyzed everything. She didn't just sit back and enjoy the performance. No. She wanted to know how the dancers knew where to stand and where certain characters had gone after they exited the stage and how they kept from mixing up their wands after they set them on the floor and why certain dance moves were performed and... and... and... Oh, little girl, let it go. Relax.
After the performance, she grabbed my hand and took me onto the stage to meet the Snow Queen, the gorgeous, gorgeous Snow Queen with her blue dress, tiara and makeup. Sarah was speechless. Highlight of her little life. Wish I'd had my camera.
OK. I'm done. That's enough holiday cheer for me. What? It's not over. Bah! Humbug!
posted by J Fife @ 7:36 AM
3 comments
3 Comments:
Oh, the good stuff only gets better. I love 4 year old excitement about everything.
I'll have to take Alexis to the Nutcracker next year and watch her ooh and aah.
All of my ornaments are stuck on the top three feet of my tree. Any lower and they are mysteriously knocked down even though I have a gate around it.
You guys should come over this week for a mellow meal pre-Christmas guests. Pizza?
Hankies asked me a while ago if Santa was real, and I told him the truth. I asked him recently if he felt like he was missing out because I hadn't kept up the story. He said no, that the important thing was the presents.
I suggested that we either pretend Santa was real, or make up our own Christmas icon to believe in. Hank came up with the Santa Spider, who rides on a reindeer drawn tree. He has a sack of presents on the tree, but he puts them into a crate for transport down the chimney.
I've never seen the nutcracker and have felt guilty that I haven't taken Hank along. Am I ruining his life? I think he might enjoy dance, given how he likes to leap around like a little fairy with fat feet. But he doesn't want to take any more classes. If I took him to Nutcracker, would he realize that he loved dance, beg for classes, and realize his life's dreams?
By the way - in case you think I"m some Silicon Valley nutjob -he is currently taking only swimming.
Rachael
Deby - We'll be at the Nutcracker next year. Sarah has declared so. And yes! Let's do pizza.
Rach - YOU NEED A BLOG! I love Hank stories. I need more.
I have to tell you that even our small town production of the Nutcracker was fantastic. I think Hank (and you) would love it. It is magical. What a bonus if you ended up with the next Baryshnikov!
Only one class for Hank? Oh, no. You're ruining his future, wasting immense potential and letting him be a kid. Gasp! Bad Silicon Valley mama. Move out to the sticks with us.
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