Punky has been infatuated with the Fresh Beat Band since the very first time she watched an episode, and I'm fairly certain that was before she was even a year old. They are traveling the country and heading our direction in two weeks.
Of course, the advertisement for the show has been running every five minutes on TV, and Punky wants to see them in the worst way. Her dad, who is much more tightly wrapped around her little finger than he'll ever openly admit, wants to take her. I, on the other hand, have been quietly ignoring her pleas for many reasons.
First of all, the tickets are ridiculously expensive considering it's a band from a kids' show and not some mega-star with decades of contributions to the music world. Secondly, the closest venue hosting them is over an hour drive away. Even though we've been insanely lucky this winter, it's still only March and that drive is not one I want to make in bad weather. It's all mountains and extremely treacherous in the snow. And third, I just don't think she's ready for a concert, no matter who it is. It will be dark, crowded, and extremely loud, and I think we'd face a full-blown meltdown when she realizes she can't hug them, talk to them, or even get near the stage at all.
So, rather than debate the issue any longer, I opted for a trial run. Last night I took Punky to see Sesame Street Live at a local theater. The tickets were a third of the price, it was only a half-hour trip, and it was better suited for a child her age. Even though she's not really into Sesame Street these days, she was super-excited to go to the show and I had high hopes for a night of quality mother/daughter bonding.
I wanted to make sure I got a parking space so we arrived fairly early. We had fifteen minutes until they even started seating people, so I suggested we wait in the car a bit. After about three minutes, it was clear that plan wouldn't work so we headed inside. As we stood amongst the crowd of parents and screaming children, Punky's patience continued to run low. Once we found our seats, we still had thirty minutes to wait for the show to start and I almost thought we weren't going to make it. If I had a nickel for every time she asked "Mommy, is it time yet?" I would've recouped the money for the tickets.
It all seemed worth it the minute the curtain rose. The look on her face was priceless and she shrieked with glee as each character appeared on stage. The show had her full attention for the first fifteen minutes, but it went downhill after that. She started getting fidgety and she didn't want to sit any longer. She stood up to dance along, but got angry when she realized she couldn't see the stage that way. She didn't like when they turned all the lights out to accentuate the glowing costumes in an underwater scene, and she didn't like the loud cannons that shot confetti into the audience. By intermission, we were both ready for a break.
We went for a quick walk to the lobby and bought some cotton candy. It certainly wasn't my first choice, but she wanted it and it was sort of a special occasion. We returned to our seats and chatted about what we saw in the first part of the show while she inhaled sticky handfuls of pink and blue sugar. She was so excited when the lights dimmed for the second half.
Two minutes later, as serious as a heart attack, she said, "Mommy, I'm done watching this show. We can go home now."
Needless to say, we stayed until the end. I paid for the tickets and we were going to get my money's worth, dammit. Her attention faded in and out for the remainder of the show. She watched some parts, and tried to fold herself up in the chair during others. She had a small meltdown when I put a cap on her cotton candy consumption, and followed it up with a major one when the show was finally over.
"I don't want to go, Mommy! I want to stay here! I want to watch the show some more! I want to talk to the guys! Mommy, where did they go? I don't want it to be over! Please Mommy, can we watch it again? Please?" The tears poured down her little face.
She continued her protest all the way out of the theater and most of the ride home. "I'm never going to another show, Mommy, never ever again!" she yelled as I buckled her in the carseat. I dawned my super-mommy skills and talked her down from her tantrum podium by the time we got home.
While munching a quick snack before bed, she told me how much she loved the show, how happy she was to go see it with Mommy, and how much she can't wait to go to the theater again.
All in all, she acted about how I expected. After all, she did just turn three two months ago and it was her first time at a live show. When I conveyed the evening's events to her dad, he conceded and agreed it would probably be wise to skip the concert. I think next year will be perfect; she just needs a little more time to mature.
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