Well, I just wrote a post-length comment on yesterday’s post, so I probably don’t have much more to say tonight. (Of course, having said that, I’ll write a novel.)
Today was a good day. One of the things I got to do was direct a couple of very short skits based on Aesop’s fables, to be performed by a small group of six-to-nine-year-old girls after their older siblings’ Shakespeare scenes next weekend. None of the younger-sib boys wanted in. Hee. I had the BEST time working with these girls, none of whom happen to be mine. They dove into the scenes with such zest and commitment. I am absolutely beside myself with eagerness to watch them perform for their parents next weekend.
And I’m so proud of my Shakespeare gang. They have worked really hard, and they are going to rock.
Over Memorial Day weekend, my own family started a group reading of The Tempest. Scott is Prospero; Beanie is Miranda. Jane was extremely sporting about that; she took Ferdinand and I’m the uncle. Rose is reading Ariel. The challenge will be finding time to keep going—we sort of need the younger set to be sleeping, or deeply absorbed in something else, so as to avoid interruptions every thirty seconds. But when Huck naps on weekends, I write. Scott holds that time sacred. And at night, we have this whole other rhythm going. So I don’t know when we’ll get to Act 2. But Act 1 was awesome.
Huck is lying here beside me, asleep, and I’m looking at him and realizing he takes up fully half the width of this king-sized bed. Someone called him “a year and a half” yesterday and I was like: SHUT UP! He’s a BABY! But he’s totally this little man trucking around the house, these days. Throwing all manner of valuables in the trash can. Unspooling the toilet paper. Carrying my Tupperware into the back yard and stepping on it, or sitting in it, or throwing it over the fence.
In other news? I miss LOST.
(But did you hear about this? It’s exactly what I was hoping they would do. Jane and anyone else who isn’t caught up to the series finale, DO NOT CLICK this link.)
In Rolls April
The More Things Change
Preparedness for Six-Year-Olds
Good Call, Santa