Some folks make me feel like a walking cancer --like these super nice moms here waxing sentimental about watching their kids in the annual school Christmas pageant.
Ours is tonight and I confess each year I dread it. Not that the kids aren't adorable, but I fill up on cute pretty fast, even with my own kids, and it's usually an hour and a half of very cute agony. Every year the Band opens with the Carol of the Drums, followed by the Christmas Medley of the Drums, rising to the big finale: Extremely Loud Multiple Little Drummer Boys. And Girls.
Then the glee club & liturgy choir alternate a festive selection of Songs You Can't Understand The Lyrics To, punctuated by Teachers' Pets Sing Off-Key Solos (Girl Weed gets a whole verse to herself! I'm so proud!)
Alas, I will miss it, as I have to duck across the street to the rectory half an hour in to teach an RCIA class. (The Lord is kind and merciful!) If I pull it off right and the elect don't have too many questions, I can avoid --regretfully miss-- the musical numbers and be back in time to see 8-yr-old Weed as Dasher in the 1&2nd grade enactment of "The Night Before Christmas."
I know it should be about the kids' experience, and mine are all excited and happy, which is nice. But I can't shake the feeling that a performance should be, you know, good.
You can say it, I already know: I am a very bad mother.
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