There have been some nights when I absolutely could not sleep and I could actually hear the clock in our bedroom ticking out the seconds. THAT is annoying.
Thankfully, that was not the case this last week, nor do I expect it to be the case anytime during the next six weeks (unless I forget and drink caffeine after 4pm again).
Yesterday during the kids choir practice time, a child raised her hand and wanted to know why anyone would want to be a star. (The play is about a boy who wants to be a star in a play, and he ends up getting a role as understudy and at the last minute is in the play and actually points the way to the Star of Bethlehem). She only knew the term as in "twinkle, twinkle, little star". I'm not sure I adequately explained it to her. Yes, I am certainly used to working with older kids.
I feel unorganized this year. We chose this play because it could easily incroporate all age groups under 6th grade, should hopefully take less practice time, and yet I continue to feel uneasy. I think it's because there's just so much going on in our life right now, and knowing that I'm going to be gone the week prior to our last rehearsal only adds to that stress a little. But, like every year, it will happen. The younger kids will either gladly perform or hide; the older kids want to withdraw into themselves and are super worried about whether or not they'll look stupid. I can count on that. ;)
And in the midst of this craziness, I'm brought back to earth about what is really important.
Last Thursday Bobby's best friend (suppose I should say his best male friend) went in for a biopsy and tumor removal. They opened him up and closed him up. The surgeon doesn't recommend any treatment, but he'll still meet with an oncologist this week. Evidently they sometimes do some treatments to lesson the pain.
I know that none of us know when our last moments on earth will be. I can head to the kitchen now and drop dead of a heart attack, or head to the gym and die in a car crash. I could face an irate voter these next two weeks at work and get shot or stabbed. We never know. But there's something sinister about having the end of our your life mapped out, at being told a maximum amount of time that's left. It gives a new meaning to "the valley of the shadows".
And speaking of shadows, I need to get back to mapping out the stage for a quickly approaching play.
Thankfully, that was not the case this last week, nor do I expect it to be the case anytime during the next six weeks (unless I forget and drink caffeine after 4pm again).
Yesterday during the kids choir practice time, a child raised her hand and wanted to know why anyone would want to be a star. (The play is about a boy who wants to be a star in a play, and he ends up getting a role as understudy and at the last minute is in the play and actually points the way to the Star of Bethlehem). She only knew the term as in "twinkle, twinkle, little star". I'm not sure I adequately explained it to her. Yes, I am certainly used to working with older kids.
I feel unorganized this year. We chose this play because it could easily incroporate all age groups under 6th grade, should hopefully take less practice time, and yet I continue to feel uneasy. I think it's because there's just so much going on in our life right now, and knowing that I'm going to be gone the week prior to our last rehearsal only adds to that stress a little. But, like every year, it will happen. The younger kids will either gladly perform or hide; the older kids want to withdraw into themselves and are super worried about whether or not they'll look stupid. I can count on that. ;)
And in the midst of this craziness, I'm brought back to earth about what is really important.
Last Thursday Bobby's best friend (suppose I should say his best male friend) went in for a biopsy and tumor removal. They opened him up and closed him up. The surgeon doesn't recommend any treatment, but he'll still meet with an oncologist this week. Evidently they sometimes do some treatments to lesson the pain.
I know that none of us know when our last moments on earth will be. I can head to the kitchen now and drop dead of a heart attack, or head to the gym and die in a car crash. I could face an irate voter these next two weeks at work and get shot or stabbed. We never know. But there's something sinister about having the end of our your life mapped out, at being told a maximum amount of time that's left. It gives a new meaning to "the valley of the shadows".
And speaking of shadows, I need to get back to mapping out the stage for a quickly approaching play.
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