So my kid got selected to be Joseph in a play. The Joseph.
“This will end badly,” I told the Wife.
“Why do you say that? I think he’ll do fine.”
“Trust me,” I said. “This kid is my clone.”
“How can they screw up? They have no lines, and they just have to go through the actions the older kids narrate.”
I reminded her his teachers already had to tell him to not hang the Baby Jesus (a doll) upside-down by one leg as he passes Him over to Mary. She felt that meant they solved the problem.
Sure enough, he missed his cue because he was too busy trying to get my attention. Then he passed the Baby Jesus over in a rush. At least he didn’t hold the Son of God upside down again, because if he did, I’d have been laughing too hard for anyone to continue.
Then, through the rest of the play, he sat front and center and looked like this:
Yep. Like father, like son.
To top it off, Little Bird nearly knocked over the giant cardboard box that served as the Inn. She couldn’t see what was happening from inside and kept trying to lean out the window for a better look, and her friend followed. The Inn leaned, wobbled, came apart on one side, then fell back straight when the girls backed off. If it had gone down, it would have taken the Advent wreath with it. Her teacher about had a stroke, and I had to struggle not to laugh.
Leave it to the Oliveri kids to be the troublemakers. If my eldest, one of the Wise Men, had let out a “nyuk nyuk nyuk” as he walked down the aisle (I don’t know who would have coached him to do such a thing), we would have had the hat trick.