… Started reading the first Stephen King book (fiction, that is – I read ON WRITING and was thrilled) in more than twenty years this weekend. It’s creepy, I tell you what. (It’s the 11/22/63 one about the Kennedy assassination. And I’m scared. The man can tell a story.)

… Kids 3 (10.5) and 4 (very nearly eight) played Catchphrase yesterday afternoon while I was making Lemon Pound Cake. They were so funny. I wish you could have been a fly on the wall, because not much of it translates to blog. They speak their own language, frequently referencing platypus love, obscure MONK tv episodes, and pineapple. They’re cute. You can trust me on that.

… Amazon, get ready. I’m coming back today, armed with a credit card.

… Shopping is almost done. See above.

… Got the lights and decorations on the tree, and candles in the windows. I should take a picture. It looks precious. And I mean that with all the sincerity I can possibly muster. Truly.

… I love the little kids I work with at church. All 80 of them. They are adorable and hilarious.

… Scotch Tape, where have you gone? I mean it. Where are you?

… We sang Christmas songs in church yesterday, and it flipped a switch in me. Suddenly and without warning, I committed to singing in the Messiah Sing-In choir next weekend. The rehearsal last night brought some “who-do-you-think-you-are” eyebrows at our late join-up, but the music makes me crazy happy. To be alive. To worship Jesus. To sing alto. To repeat “we like sheep” until I have to actually put my hand over my mouth to suppress the “baaaaaa” noise. To want to dig deep into Isaiah and understand the Mysteries. Happy, happy.

… Hope is a thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson said. I love to see some feathers fluttering around here.

I watched one.

This one.

I know. It doesn’t make me any cooler. But it is so, so good, and I want to tell you everything in the world that I thought of it. Ready?

Go.

* Oh, Les Miserables. I love you with all my heart and soul, and I’m not even being a tiny bit insincere. For more than twenty years, I have loved you. And this concert was nearly perfect. The orchestra? Phenomenal. Also? There were fireworks. I do not make these things up.

* I found Jean Valjean strangely handsome. Does this mean I’m getting old?

* I always fall a little in love with Enjolras. When I see the show, or read the book, or even listen to the music, my heart goes lurch for him. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the doomed emutee-leader. *Sigh* for revolutionaries. Also? He may have been played by the following middle-Eastern god (behold):

Even had he been a troll, I’d have loved him. But, notice? Not a troll. Yes, the dimple may have helped. Also? He could sing. Oh, yes he could.

* Cosette’s teeth? Distracted me. (The two in front were long. And curved. Unto a beaver, a little bit.) I had to look at her beautiful eyes or the cute mole on her cheek in order not to be sidetracked completely from her perfect performance. I am shallow. I know.

* Shall we talk about Nick Jonas? Firstly, he bears a striking resemblance to my cousin’s husband Ron. And pondering this, I realize that I’ve never seen the two of them in the same room. Hmmm. But I don’t think Ron sings. And, it turns out, Nick Jonas does. (Even if, in Crash’s opinion, [1] he doesn’t hold his notes long enough.) The short notes did not bother me. Want to know what did bother me? Nick Jonas’s propensity toward the earnest eyebrows. Yes. Marius is earnest. But really? Nick was distractingly earnest. Want to see?

Those eyebrows came at me all night. Both times I watched it. I stifled the urge to rub the lines out of his forehead. Through the screen. Eyebrows notwithstanding, he was terrific. Really. This was my first taste of any of the Jonas brothers, and I approve. Of his performance, anyway.

* Eponine. After all these years, at least 10 readings of the novel, and many, many hours spent singing along with her, I still want to be Eponine. Not in real life. Just on stage. (Yes. I know I am too old. I don’t care. Not at all.) This Eponine (Samantha Barks from the London cast) was stunning. Vocally and costume-wise and characteristically. I wanted to bring her home with me. See her up there, singing “A Little Fall of Rain” at Nick’s earnest eyebrows? She also had a killer dimple and glorious eyebrows.

* Costuming/makeup did something to both Mr. and Madame Thenardier’s teeth. A gruesome, yellowy-brown something. Fascinating. I want to know how that happened.

* Gavroche looked like a tiny Aladdin, and I wish he’d been able to do all the “Little People” song, or die on the barricade. Alas.

* Lea Salonga played Fantine. If that sentence means nothing to you, we can still be friends.

* At the end of the show, there’s some Family Reunion-type stuff which made a tear or maybe two fall out of my eyes.

* I borrowed the movie from Netflix. But don’t be too surprised if I end up spending too much money to own it forever, as long as a DVD shall live. I loved it that much. The traveling show was in a City Near Me until today, actually, and I decided not to sell an internal organ in order to take the Kids to see it. So I made them all watch the concert with me after church today (with the added bonus of fast-forwarding through the Lovely Ladies scene, you’re welcome, small Kid 4). I remain of the opinion that this is a piece of literary genius turned musical genius that will (or at least should) remain for generations. At least.

—

[1] I love that Crash and I watched this at the same time. I’d drafted this, and then I read her post, and then, saw that we even stole used the same images from Goooogle — except hers are big, and mine are teensy. Perhaps I’m stalking. Or maybe it’s just a Great Minds moment… or something.

I still have a 5000 words/week writing goal. There will be weeks I don’t make it. And that will have to be okay. But I made it last week. And today I get to teach Kid 4′s class. Which is adorable in all its first-grade glory.

Also, Kid 2 competed? Performed? Violined? Something. She had Suzuki Federation on Saturday. She played Vivaldi. In A minor. It was stunning. Hours of practicing. Many, many hours. And? She was rated Superior. Natch. It was intense. I got a little sweaty. Especially when the first kid in their group played. Holy cow. He was a violin ninja. But My Kid 2 was awesome, and that was fun.

Also, we went to see the musical Hairspray. Oh, the joy. And that woman who played Motormouth Maybelle? She made me cry. I told husband I want to be black. He said, “I know,” and patted my head. Because he knew that at that moment, what I wanted was to be able to carry that kind of emotion in my voice. *sigh*

Then we watched BYU not quite win the championship. Poo. But there was Brick Oven Pizza involved, so it was certainly not a wasted evening. But poor Jimmer. I wanted him to come off Victorious.

I finally saw Megamind. I laughed. A lot. “And I love you, random citizen.”

Sunday = naps. Oh, yeah. I’m getting old, because daylight savings hurts. It does. Ow.

‘K – I gotta go to school now. Have a great day, and be nice to your teachers.

XO
B

It’s just that I heard a song on the radio this morning, and I had to share.

Aerosmith’s “Love in an Elevator.”

I wish I were kidding. But see, there’s backstory. I have this little problem. I love Christmas. I love all of it, the commercial, the spiritual, the edible, the familyness. And I love Christmas music. Much of it. But I sort of get twitchy when I hear the same songs, sung by the same artists, over and over and over starting in the fall. So I did an on-purpose hiding of the La-La-Songs-of-the-Season radio stations. In fact, when I’m in the car longer than kid pick-up, I have my phone singing to me (“Legally Blonde the Musical” and “The Drowsy Chaperone” lately) and ignore the radio completely. I have heard more talk radio in the past 7 weeks than ever before.

So my radio is tuned to a strange station that plays just pretty much whatever song it finds. It is seriously random. Hence this morning, on the way back from the school drop-off, I hear Mr. Steven Tyler screeching about love in an elevator.

The weirdest part? I knew all the words. That’s one naughty song. And did I mention? I knew all the words.

Also, someone took time to write harmonies to the entire song. Not complex ones, you understand, but the sort we’ve come to expect from 80s metal bands.

Harmonies.

To a song about hooking up in AN ELEVATOR.

And the darn thing won’t leave my head. “Living it up when I’m going down.” Mmm-hmm.

And now I give it to you.

You’re welcome.

Merry Christmas.