There is little that can compare with the excruciating torture that is attending a civilized function with a bored five year old. Having bamboo shoots run under one’s fingernails is about as close as I could imagine.
Last night sister S sang in her high school choir’s Christmas program, along with I believe seven hundred twelve other choral groups, each of whom sang eight or nine songs that rivaled “Innagoddadavida” in length.
Now, I will say that these choirs are excellent: their efforts and those of their directors and accompanists shines through in their presentation. Obviously they’ve spent many hours rehearsing, and they love what they do. It would have been a true pleasure to sit and listen in peace, had that been an option.
But when you have to drag along a very busy little boy whose attention span is measured in nanoseconds, whose body is very probably composed of springs and explosives and who has not yet grasped the concept of “indoor voice,” focusing on any sort of staged production is pretty much impossible.
And of course, the auditorium was packed to the balconies. And naturally, the only open seats were in the third row, in the very center of the theater. And to top it off, they were recording the show. I estimate the microphones were no farther than eight feet from Michael’s unstoppable mouth.
He had his own seat, which meant he could stand, sit, or kneel on the cushion if he liked. Or move through all three positions and variations thereof as often and as rapidly as possible. Making sure to let the folding seat spring closed noisily with each change: RRRRRR flup.. flup.. flup flup flupflupflupflupppppp.
There was nothing I could do. By my 32,768th emphatic “SHHHHH!”, he was ignoring me altogether. He was sitting on the other side of his mom, which meant I could not hold him still physically. And even if I had, there’s no way I would have been able to politely or legally keep him from vocalizing his displeasure, which he would have done.
He did enjoy one group’s rendition of “Carol of the Bells.” This is his favorite Christmas song at the moment. He can actually play a part of it on our piano at home, which makes me proud. But during last night’s show he insisted upon singing along. I’m sure that will enhance their recording, giving it an added dimension it would not have otherwise had.
And there were a few other songs that he did enjoy; the lively, happy Christmas carols he knows and sings at home. But unfortunately most of the pieces were rather somber and sepulchral, sporting names such as “Lullay thou little child” and “Gaudeamus Hodie.” During a relatively quiet part of the performance, he turned around and asked his mother loudly:
“Is it never going to be done?”
And at the end of the next song, I removed him from the theater.
He spent the rest of the recital running up and down the wheelchair ramp just outside the auditorium, humming “Carol of the Bells” and being a busy little boy. A happy, busy little boy.
And yes, sister S did very well.
Well, that’s better than taking me to a Christmas concert, just ask Mr. W. Maybe next year Michael and I should hang out at home while the rest of you go to the concerts.
(MD) Yeah, I gathered that. I get plenty from Michael’s Mommy in that department. As for next year, I’ll be shipping Michael to you FedEx.
Ha! It’s amazing they don’t have more appreciation for the finer things at that age. We are going to the kids symphony on Saturday morning. It was a bit of an ‘interesting’ experience last time we attempted it.
(MD) He doesn’t have much of an appreciation for anything that isn’t related to SpongeBob or chocolate. Good luck with that symphony.
Congratulations to sister S. A really big high school, no doubt, has a really big Christmas program. Maybe a suggestion to the administration to open up the gym and have the football team provide activities for young, busy roughnecks like Michael would be welcome.
(MD) That’s a great idea! I’ll bring that suggestion up.
Poor DAd, what is to become of the little rascal? Reminds me of the functions I attended at Charles Peck school and when a certain small boy turned all the knobs off the ovens when they had been set to preheat for the next day. OOOPS!
Such curious, busy little bees those boys are. Then there were the trips to the yardage stores but my mind can only handle a few of those items.
Sorry, you are being paid back so vigorously, my dear son!!
Love, Grandma B
(MD) I know, I know… and it’s not over. I have a melted rug and holes in the walls to look forward to.
I am reading a lot about the trouble at these Christmas performances. I am not looking forward to those experiences. Unless Braden completely changes personality he will never be able to sit still.
(MD) It’s okay, it’s part of life. Fortunately he’s the oldest, so if you’re at the performance, it won’t be him causing trouble. Watch out for younger sisters and brothers.
I feel your pain. Now at least I can give Boy his DS (on silent of course) and enjoy the show! See, happier days are ahead! (maybe a leap-whatever handheld game for Christmas)
(MD) We tried that at the last concert, but he dropped it and it slid down the floor under our feet for three rows before someone stopped it.
HA! I’ve had a few ramp running sessions in my time. Then… more often than not.. my lil’ bugger was out for the count as soon as he was strapped into the car. ):^/
(MD) That’s always a classic. Actually, I think he might have fallen asleep for a minute on the drive home; forgot about that.
I read your posts and realize with much glee, I don’t have this problem anymore. Congrats on finding a solution…
(MD) A bit premature; the only solution I have thus far is to ride out the storm for the next eight years or so.