Yesterday the phone rang at 12:37. It was Vicki, calling from school to inform me that all the 2nd and 3rd grade classes were putting on the plays they've been working on. At 12:40. And could I please, please, pleeeeeeeeease come down to the school and watch? What? I had two sleeping kids at home, only one that actually belonged to me, and three minutes to get there?
It was one of those moments that you almost wait for once you start down the road of motherhood. You know, the "I told my teacher three months ago that you'd make all the authentic Indian costumes for our Thanksgiving feast that's happening tomorrow" kind of moment. Vicki's exact words (as well as I can remember them) were, "Um, Mommy? You know the play we've been working on when we do drama? The one I was telling you about a while ago? Well, um, we're doing it at 12:40 and I really want you to be there."
How on earth do you say no to that? By repeatedly sending her back to her teacher for more information I figured out that the plays were starting at 12:40, but that each one was about 15 minutes, and her class's was last. So I promised to get there when I could, woke the sleeping kiddos, fed Violet lunch, grabbed a pack of fruit snacks for Ellie, and hurried to the school. I even made it in time to see the class before hers.
The play was great. Not because they were artistically spectacular, or because the kids knew all (or any) of their lines, or because the costumes or props were particularly well-designed. It was great because the kids were having a fabulous time being a part of something that they had been working on for weeks, and because they designed their own costumes and chose their own parts. Vicki was a robot. There were robots, pirates, aliens, and killer bunnies. It made no sense whatsoever, but those kids had a blast and felt really good about themselves.
I'm glad she called me.