Caedmon had his first ever Christmas program last Friday night. Before we left the house, we had a stern talk with the other two offspring: "Listen, your little brother has sat through your concerts and programs and junk for years, and it is finally his turn, so you are going to sit there and you are going to listen and you are going to LIKE IT."
Not that Atticus and Adelaide needed much prodding; it was obvious that Caedmon was attaching a large amount of importance to this little preschool program when he began rehearsing his line two weeks beforehand. "And myrrh," "AND myrrh," "And MYRRH." This from the boy who has entire monologues memorized from the audio versions of Hank the Cowdog and The Jesus Storybook Bible, both in the narrators' Texas and English accents, respectively. I don't think he was really worried about forgetting the words he was responsible for, exactly, he just wanted to nail them.
Ours is the wise man in the middle.
And my gosh, nail them he did. He projected "AND MYRRH!" clear to the back of that church, after helping the first two wise men remember their own lines, of course. Well, I don't think he was helping them remember, exactly, as much as making sure they delivered them in a fashion acceptable to our son's high performance standards. There was whispering and prodding and I've decided that if Caedmon were a dog he would be one of those breeds that herd and nudge other animals into place. Maybe a sheepdog.
He was this happy the entire time he was up there.
Although you can't see them, underneath the wise man getup are his fancy duds (oxford shirt + sweater vest bought at a garage sale last summer for this exact occasion, $1.50 for both thankyouverymuch), which he was so smugly pleased with he wore them to bed post-program. Then, after I woke him early the next morning because we had a bit of a drive to get to Crisler Christmas (which, yes, is a thing), he stumbled out of his room, all warm and rumpled and still in his Christmas program outfit, and asked if he could wear it to Crisler Christmas, all while rubbing his eyes sleepily. Because Derek and I both have a functioning hearts, we told him he could, but to brush his teeth and wash his hands, or something.
See? Cute as a dang button.
I did make him take them off that night, because I am a cruel mother with an unnatural penchant for washing dirty clothes, or so goes the tale of woe Caedmon is currently telling.