Running
in circles and hurling their halos, the preschoolers pressed on through their
presentation. This was their first time performing what we had rehearsed, on
the actual stage. A situation my inner voice of experience from so many years
of working with small children had warned me against…but I ignored. Because I
had planned. Because we had practiced. But mostly because before we even
began, I had known and accepted, it would be imperfect.
The
previous year, one bare bottom made its debut as a pair of tights suddenly
slipped down a backside after intense shaking led to their shucking. I could feel the crimson creep as I snuck up
to the stage and secured the spandex once more before they bashed
on. The
annual reddening of the face is a tradition for those of us who have spent extensive
time with your tots. I highly recommend it. And it can be counted
on to happen at least once during the holiday season. Why, you ask?
Because
children scratch themselves through Jingle
Bells.
Songs
are sung far softer or louder or more off key than they have ever been.
There
is a spontaneous solo about Batman’s odor and Robin’s miraculous ability to lay an egg.
A child loses her first tooth in the middle of a medley and starts screaming, “I’m bleeding!”
A child loses her first tooth in the middle of a medley and starts screaming, “I’m bleeding!”
All
but two of them hold the hand-painted signs for The Twelve Days of Christmas completely
upside down.
“Now
bring us some frigging pudding!” is shrieked as a demand. Not sung as a fruitful request.
The
Christmas tree falls over.
They
have to go to the bathroom right before their entrances while wearing the
world’s most complicated costumes, even though they just went. And once one has
to go…they all have to go.
Cameras
on tripods from times gone by get caught up in capes and come crashing down.
Angels
pick their noses and hurl their halos and bat their neighbors with wayward wings.
Shepherds
shove crooks down their costumes emerging with Captain Hook hands or completely
disrobe because “olden clothes are itchy.”
Sheep
get scared and run off and not a single shepherd goes after them.
We
are informed at full volume that “P!U! Frankincense stinks!!!”
One
king is feeling generous and passes out all of his gold before making it to the
manger.
And
when you try to correct this with costumes in the coming years, Myrrh decides
he has had enough and makes an exit.
Someone
refers to the donkey as an ass and all manner of giggling ensues.
Mary
and Joseph get into a marital spat and will have none of an angel’s immediate
attempts at mediation.
Everything
is an adventure and a distraction and demands to be enjoyed in that very moment.
And
Mommies and Daddies are helloed to, no matter how inconvenient or inappropriate
because the children spy or at least suspect that they are out there and call to
them seeking reassurance.
And
the children are loved in their imperfection.
Which
is exactly the point. Of it all. The very essence of Christmas itself.
And
with crimson faces we are reminded of this, by the children who in that moment
are teaching us, rather than the other way around.
Because the annual reddening of the face is a tradition for those of us who have spent
extensive time with your tots. One that I highly recommend.
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