You Don't Know What You Missed.

DramaQueen’s spring recital is finally over, and I am so damned happy about it. It was the longest recital in world history, and possibly the history of the galaxy.

The school put a lot of effort into the program, and they have the best of intentions and I’m sure their choices are heartfelt. But. There’s always a “but” for me, born of my natural cynicism and aversion to most contemporary expressions of Christian culture. I have this snotty opinion that however fair the intention, bad art is just bad, and we aren’t doing Christianity any favors by training children to deliver pabulum to the masses.

First, the story was as pious and moralistic as something from an old McGuffey Reader: Girl wants doll in the woodcarver’s shop. Girl’s mother lets her earn the money through extra chores. Girl is very diligent, not neglecting her work for pay. Girl saves money and buys doll. But, lo, she spies a poor beggar woman, and returns the doll so that she can give the money to the beggar. Meanwhile, the one griping, mean-spirited person in the story learns an Important Lesson and vows to change her ways. A group of angels watch and rejoice. Meanwhile the beggar uses the money to score some heroin and shoots up. Well, no, but that probably would have improved the story.

Now, imagine that dragged out over three hours, with dance numbers folded into every possible plot crevice.

Keep in mind that this story was set in a sort of fairy-tale ye olde Alpine village. Now, imagine them folding in a hip-hop number as well as jazz.

And then imagine them all done to contemporary Christian music.

Afterwards, Dear Husband said that we are not sending her to another faith-based arts school - something I never expected to hear from him. He does surprise me sometimes. Recently when we were pondering him homeschooling DramaQueen, he said that he refused to use a religious curriculum. That’s the sort of pronouncement I would happily make, but I’m half heretic and he’s straight-line orthodox. Well, close, anyway. At least compared to me.

DramaQueen will be pleased. She told me that she was very tired of doing plays about God. Bless her.

We All Lived

Children did actually show up at Firecracker's birthday party. One didn't bring a gift and one brought his older brother, but who am I to complain? The room was full and my child was happy, and, best of all, two very competent women ran the whole thing. They played games and marched them outside and did more games and made periscopes and took photos and read them a story, and yet when it was all over they still looked tidy and in control, much to my amazement. I was exhausted and I didn't do anything more than cut the cake, pass out the snacks and hand over the presents. One little boy threw up. It's not really a party until one child throws up. That's how you know the party's winding down. And Firecracker did not receive any girlie presents, no Barbies that have to be passed along to DramaQueen. Her fave was a NASCAR race car that vrooms away when you press a button. Good stuff. Not that she's completely opposed to gentler activities. She used a gift card to buy a doll carrier to hold her little pink puppy, the one with sunglasses and a heart pillow that says Hot Stuff. I've had to buckle it into the car seat each morning on the way to the daycare and promise that I will take it into work. Shhh. Of course I take it into work.

I can breathe again. For a while.