The monkey made me do it

Can't stop the memories

I have to say first off that my nieces are superbly talented and I love them very much and in my auntie eyes they can do no wrong (except when the youngest thinks that chasing Rooster with my parent's big blue aerobics ball is funny because he almost wets himself with fear) (actually that IS kind of funny). They also very recently had roles in their church's Christmas production - the younger was a narrator, the older did a ribbon dance - and I had the rare privilege of watching their dress rehearsal before I had to leave for home (mostly because I was laughing too loud).

When my siblings and I were smaller, we were thoroughly abused in the area of religious-based musical theater. One of my first clear memories is singing an Amy Grant song in front of our church with my sister when I was around 5 and she was around 7. A year never passed without at least one "major" production, usually featuring one of us in a leading role or soloing while the rest of our little friends shuffled between the intermittent arm-jabs and swaying that passes for small-town choreography (jazz hands!). I think I've already written about my father taking part in many of these as well, constantly dressed as an oversized blue singing hymnal book with a face. Any time you have questions about my sanity and upbringing, look back at that sentence a few times and it should all be a little clearer.

The dress rehearsal I watched last weekend was a total flashback, with children either running amok or napping while the leaders frantically tried to keep their attention and remind Brad that he should be on THAT side of the stage and who stole the sheep we need the sheep! I need to remind you here that my nieces are angels. They narrated adorably and were the absolute best ribbon-wavers in the entire frickin' world. The rest of the kids though... There was one boy in the front row who looked about 4 feet tall and exactly 4 feet wide. His arms dangled so close to the top of his moon boots that I had to ask my sister (who was hiding back in the sound booth with me) if he was a dwarf. She laughed and told me his family name, which explained a lot, and said that he was just really, really fat. He couldn't even hardly clap. I felt a little bad for laughing, but then I saw his sister (similarly round, wearing purple, clapping over her head).

But hands down the worst, most bizarre, most "buh-whaaaa?" moment came later in the play when four little girls came on to the side stage (the same one used earlier for the ribbon dance, in which my niece excelled) dragging one 1" diameter wood dowel in each hand. They had terribly serious expressions on their tiny pale faces as they turned towards the audience and one made an X while the girl behind her made a +. Suddenly I realized what might be happening, and increduously asked my sister if they'd forgotten their streamers or if these were practice props. She said no. "So you mean, they're doing a STICK DANCE?!?" She said yes. I asked her if maybe later they could set the sticks on fire. She said no, but they did have some glitter on them if you looked closely enough. I said they weren't trying hard enough if there wasn't fire.

The best part of the stick dance came when they all stopped their serious-faced circling and formed a tableau. The original two made their "star" again, and #3 bundled her sticks together and rocked them gently in her arms (as gently as a 10-year-old CAN rock two glitter-encrusted pieces of wood). #4 was the conundrum. She took her sticks and put them end-to-end, and from what I could tell was pretending to churn butter with her doubled up mega stick. Then my eyes teared up from all the suppressed giggles and I missed part of it, but lucky for me they did their tableau AGAIN with #3 and #4 switching sides so I could get an even better view of stick Baby Jesus and the Holy Butter Churn.

Oh my.

posted by LadyJay @ 3:40 PM