Our living room floor in front of the fireplace is a stage. The electrical box in front of the house is a stage (everyone knows about our dance parties, right?). The actual stage in the parish hall at our church is a stage (that can be slightly embarrassing as she screams out, "Shout it out, just like a rock star!!" at the top of her lungs during coffee hour). The stool from the bathroom is her "stool stage."
And, apparently, wherever her drum set is currently located is a stage.
I know this because today she told us that we needed to sit down and watch her put on her show. And she told us to hurry up because the next song was starting and we needed to be ready. Mommy got a pass because I was busy writing out bills and stuff. But Daddy was told in no uncertain terms to, "Sit down right here and listen."
So he did.
No comments:
Post a Comment