“Dad!” stammered Master9 as we went to hop out of the car. We were heading into a concert the music students were putting on – a soiree (my first). “Can you help me get my heels on?”
That was one of a string of odd questions Master9 presented to me last night, including does this shawl look alright?, as he and his sisters dressed up in preparedness to stand on stage with their clarinets and violins to make duck calls at the audience.
And I mean they really dressed up. The ball gowns were out and I was wondering about the incredibly high standard the teachers were insisting on.
They weren’t. Our kids apparently march to the beat of their own drum – missteps and all.
“They’re not going to fit you,” I told Master9 after I’d tried to squeeze his hooves into his sister’s shoes.
“Can you go home and get me another set of heels?” he begged.
“Just don’t wear shoes,” I told him.
He looked horrified.
“Won’t that ruin my look?”
I think it was mock horror, but I looked around for his music teacher anyway.
“What time does the concert start?” I asked her.
And before you get about thinking I’m a slack dad for not knowing, I’d asked a couple of other parents in the hall what the go was tonight and had heard everything from both it starts at 7.00 and 7.30, to it finishes at both 8.00 and after 9.00.
“Seven,” she said.
Which gave me six minutes to drive home and back.
It was at this point I asked a question which would never, ever come out of my wife’s mouth.
“Do you mind if he goes barefoot on stage?” I asked.
I got a look.
“He’s in a dress,” his teacher said dryly, her tone emphasizing the fact she was stating the obvious. “Nobody’s going to care about his feet.”
True. No one did.
Miss11 even got to perform her first solo, albeit because the other members of her group didn’t turn up (so that was an option?!). So very proud for her getting up there on stage and doing it without any ‘safety in numbers’ to give her courage.
Watching Miss7 on her violin, you’d have been forgiven for thinking she was confused about whether it was music or dance. She had her toe-tapping hip-moving groove on.
So my kids squeaked and squawked their way through some blissfully short set pieces and we were home just after 8pm.
They all had so much fun! And I loved it.
Finally the madness of the evening was over.
Nope. Just one more bit.
“Dad,” said Master9, “can you undo my zip and help me out of this dress?”
“I’ll do it,” said Miss7. “You looked really pretty in my dress by the way.”
I’m sure it’s just a phase to get a few laughs from his mates. But if it’s not, he’s going to be really happy he’s got so many sisters.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”
Note: Having never attended one before, I had to look up what a soiree was. But firstly I had to work out how it was spelt. This is what the internet told me –
Swaray: How stupid people spell soiree.
Then it used it in a sentence –
You are not invited to the soiree because you are a moron for spelling it swaray.
Thank you, Google.