Sunday School and Pantomime
Murmurings escaped the children's bedrooms a little after eight this morning. While gazing at the repetitive strobing of the alarm clock second marker, an unseen hand slowly increased the volume. Whispers became talking, then shouting, then laughter, accusations, threats, tempter, the crashing of toys, complaints, recriminations, and finally the stomping of feet.
“MuuuuUUUuummm”
“She's asleep. What do you want?”
“Na...”
“You're telling tales”
“Fine.”
She stomped back to her bedroom, slammed the door, and made another muffled accusation.
I woke again at 9, alone in the bed, with the immediate thought “oh great – now I arrive downstairs, and face the music of not having done everything for everybody else already”... only that didn't happen. Pulling clothes on while descending the stairs, and ruffling the tree my hair had become, I passed the living room door where four ladies of various ages sat in pyjamas and robes either watching the morning cartoon shows, or engrossed in iPads, or Macbooks.
Minutes later I was on my bike, turning the pedals towards the rugby ground – delivering the “Player of the Day” trophy back from whence it came. No rugby for us this morning; Miss Eight had a mission at Sunday School with her Mum and sisters. It feels odd – the children slowly becoming involved in Sunday school at the church in town. I don't believe in any of it, but recognise I'm in the minority, so keep my mouth shut while they all go. They appear to have fun, and the children are young enough that they believe most things grown-ups tell them (which is part of the problem, but like I said... I keep my mouth shut).
The afternoon and evening were a marked departure from the morning – we accompanied the local Brownies (W is “Brown Owl”) to see “Snow White” at the local theatre. I'm not sure if Pantomime exists elsewhere in the world, but it's a national institution in the UK. We booed the evil Queen (Craig Revel Horwood), laughed at her maid (Ann Widdicombe), and groaned at the various antics of the jester. The only real shame was the overt corporate sponsorship throughout the production. It was backed by Microsoft, in the form of “Skype”, which resulted in Prince Charming calling his father (Christopher Biggins) on his smart phone... I sat there shaking my head.
The girls cheered, booed, heckled, jeered, and clapped until their hands hurt. At the end of the evening we wandered out into the cold night air with smiles, stories, and many memories that will last.