We don’t get out much.  Caring for my ailing father is a 24/7 job, although since he’s become bedridden and there’s no danger of a fall, I can leave him alone for hours without him even noticing that I’m gone.  I set him up with one of his Louis L’Amour stories (Thank you, Audible) and he generally sleeps through 75% of it.

Anyway, several months ago, when it hit me that I’d probably be here for another Christmas (would have lost a bet on that one), I checked to see if/when the Nutcracker would be playing in Cape.  December 8th.  It sure seemed far away at the time and as we all know, anything could have happened.  So I waited until a week before the show to purchase the tickets.  I got Iris pumped up by listening to the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies while spinning around the living room on my tippy toes with her.  We are going to have so much fun, I told her.  You will love it.

The thing that worried me slightly was the show time.  7:30 -9:30.  Bedtime.  Who schedules these events?  Perhaps someone who is trying to keep toddlers out of the show and into their beds?  Well, it didn’t work.  We left plenty early, with the idea that we might go to a department store first to get her a nice winter coat.  Or that she might fall asleep on the way down there.  It was the latter.  She conked out, but not before telling me that she wanted some food.  Fries, she said. With chicken?  No, just fries.  So with the toddler snoring in the backseat, I hit the Culver’s drive-thru for chicken (for me) and fries (for her) and headed toward the venue.  We parked an hour before showtime and while I noshed on chicken, she continued sleeping for a few more minutes before being woken by the stillness.  Had I forgotten to take her potty before leaving?  Oh god, I think I did.  Good thing the girl can go anywhere, because right there in the mostly empty parking lot, I covered for her while she let loose.  Whew, okay, dry pants, hallelujah.  Back in the car to eat some fries.  I’m happily dunking the last piece of chicken in my honey mustard sauce, when her almost frantic voice asks, But mommy, where’s the chicken?  Gah! Are you kidding me, you little shithead?  Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart, I thought you didn’t want them.  I tell you what, if you’re still hungry after you’ve finished your fries, we’ll go get you some chicken.  Whew, another crisis averted.   

At this point we are still a good 45 minutes until showtime and a handful of people are gathering in the atrium of the building, waiting for the ushers to open the gates.   I was surprised and relieved to see many other families with children Iris’s age and some mother/adult daughter duos.  I’d like to think that will be Iris and I in the years to come.  After getting some water, going potty again, this time on the toilet, and entertaining the other attendees by doing some dancing of her own, we are finally allowed to enter the theatre.  Our seats are two in from the aisle, so after waiting some more, lots of moving out of the way for other people and already being told to sit still, the show finally began.  She sat on my lap for a few minutes, then noticed the girl next to us had crawled off her mother’s lap and was on the floor.  Oh shit, here we go.  Mommy I wanna get down too.  Is there really any stopping it at this point?  Not without a scene.  And all this time she is making noises – talking jibberish, making raspberries – and no amount of threats I can deliver are making her stop.  Then she decides she wants to stand up, which puts her well into the personal space of the well-dressed woman in front of us, the woman who has with her a pristine adult daughter and the daughter’s immaculate boyfriend.  That was the first time the woman turned around.  I didn’t hear exactly what she said to Iris but I got the gist, which was, Sit down and shut up, you little imp.  I sat Iris firmly in her seat and pointed out the mouse king and the soldiers battling on the stage and she was interested for bit, but then the noises start again and her restless little legs had to stand up.  That was the second time the lady turned around and this time the she shushed Iris, which prompted Iris to make the “ssshhh” sound ten times louder.  Whose child is this?!  At that moment I decided for certain that we would be leaving at intermission and luckily for me and the lady in front of us, that was only a few minutes away.  She was not at all sad to leave the theater and when I asked her if she liked it, her response was a definitive, No.  Why not?, I asked.   It’s not what I thought it was going to be.  And it took too long.

There you go.  A toddler’s review of the Nutcracker.  I hope I haven’t ruined it for her.  Alas, the night was not over.  I still needed to get her a winter coat and Kohl’s had some amazing deals so I told Iris that we would be going to one or maybe two stores before going home.  Then she brought up the damn chicken again.  With the mostly uneventful but productive trip to Kohl’s done, she informs me that we are actually going to three places.  Before going to the other store, she wants some chicken.  Popeye’s was close so as we are in the drive-thru I try to convince her that we don’t really need to go to the other store tonight.  She insists that we do and informs me that she wants to stay in the city forever.  Her actual words.  Again, whose child is this?  I stopped the car in the parking lot to get the food sorted out and when she opened her box of chicken and fries she says, Mom, I didn’t hear you order a biscuit.  This girl…