I love summer vacation. 

I love what kids’ll do when they’ve got no explicit assignments, 
a bookshelf full-to-bursting, and a dress-up box under the bed.

The house? Messier.
The snacks? Constant.
My work? Suffering.

But I swear that this morning’s production of Little Red Riding Hood made up for any trouble. To set the scene, picture both daughters and a friend, some hysterical costumes and a good amount of face paint. Move the coffee table aside and call it a stage. I was the sole audience member and I couldn’t find my camera. They didn’t even care.

Most of the play unfolded pretty much as expected, except that Little Red sounded slightly Valley Girlesque and the wolf  resembled an anteater. Other than that, it was the usual cape, basket, skipping through the woods routine.

But then arrived the last few scenes. 

First of all, the woodsman slay the wolf with a broken sprinkler. 
Apparently this was as close as they could come to a weapon around here.

Next, Little Red and the woodsman sang a rousing version of “Ding, Dong, The Wolf is dead, Mean Old Wolf, the Wicked Wolf…” What a delicious take on fractured fairy tales.

And finally, right when I was expecting to see the final bow, two actors returned to stage wearing cardboard signs:
Wolf’s Mom and Wolf’s Dad.

Wolf lay still as a stone on the living room rug.

The grieving parents moaned and sobbed and decorated Wolf’s final resting place with a paper cross reading:
The Big Bad Wolf
He Was Good

Sigh.
Now they’re hula hooping.
I’m really hoping September doesn’t come too soon.