Amateur Theatre and Family Entertainment

I’ve just gotten home from a night out with the step-fam, and I’m feeling really good about the co-habitation situation. (For once.) So, I feel like I should blog about the good stuff, especially since I make a major point of using the blog to complain.

Fife rang me today just as he was going to get the kids from school to ask what I wanted for my tea. The thought of yet another evening crammed in that tiny flat with those little serial-killers in training set me on edge. So I suggested that we take the boys out for the night. Go to the cinema, bowling, I didn’t care where we went, as long as we went somewhere.

Fife liked the idea and said, ‘That’s a good idea. I think they may be getting bored in the flat.’

You think?

The kids are staying in Dundee through the weekend, and Fife is looking for stuff we can do with them on Saturday and Sunday, so we didn’t want to do anything that should be reserved for the weekend. We needed something special, something for a weeknight, and something that would keep their interest.

I had a tootle around on the internet but couldn’t find anything child friendly. Luckily, Fife came across a play that we could take the kids to. It wasn’t children’s theatre, but it was a ‘family oriented’ play (no swear words or sex) and it was dead cheep. So, plans were made and we were off to see a Dundee Dramatic Society production for our evening entertainment.

To be honest, I was a bit hesitant as I wasn’t sure if the boys could sit still for that long, but it turns out they love the theatre. The play was a iTV mystery drama type production. That old style whodunit. And it was totally armature hour. There was someone in the back feeding the actors on stage their lines, and a lot of the performances were a bit hammy. But there was one actress, this American lady (or maybe she just had a really good American accent), who stole the show. The woman was a baddy and I completely got lost in the story when she was on stage. Oh, and there was another woman who was like a friend or a cleaner or something, and she was dead good as well. Oh and the husband of the story was really good too. So, I guess there were a few good actors in this rogue bunch of amateurs. But it was still a great laugh. The set looked like something from a school play, and with people forgetting their lines, it was actually more fun than if we’d gone to the proper theatre.

Plus, LittleOne was memorised, and BigOne even put his phone away and stopped texting half way through the first act and paid attention. I think the fact that it was like a school production helped keep the kids involved. Plus, Fife lets them watch adult telly, so they were way into the whole murder mystery aspect. In fact, when it was over Fife asked the kids what they thought, and BigOne said, ‘It was good except for the end. They just threw that ending at us without planting any clues. That wasn’t a surprise ending. We need to have clues or else it isn’t fare. It’s not good storytelling.’

My god it was like Fife was being channeled through BigOne. It was exactly the sort of thing Fife would have said (Fife believes in the importance of a good story line, and feels that too many literary writers forego story for effect.) That boy – if he stays out of jail – may be a writer one day. Hell, even if he’s in jail he could be a writer.

We headed home talking about mysteries, thinking that we got away with a drama free evening. Unfortunately, we were wrong as PoshPhD reared her stupid ugly pretentious head. I came up the landing to her hanging over the railing yelling down at someone who had obviously left. As usual she was wearing a small t-shirt and her pants. That’s it.

‘I want a bottle of champers. I’m celebrating I tell you. This is a happy occasion,’ she said in a VERY slurred shout.

BigOne stared at her scantily clad-ness like he was getting a peak at a girly magazine. Fife noticed the look on his son’s face, laughed to himself a bit, then pushed him forward and up the stairs.

LittleOne on the other hand, his eyes got so large, and he scooted in close to me like he was afraid of PoshPhD. As we walked past her, I told LittleOne, ‘Don’t worry. She won’t hurt you’, and handed Fife the keys and asked him to take the kids inside.

After we’d passed her, she looked at me like I’d popped out of no where and said, ‘Oh look who it is. It’s miss goodie two-shoes. Well, I only have one shoe, and you can’t have it.’

She was off her tits. I mean completely gone.

I tried to guide her back into her flat, so that I could shut the door and tune her out. My flat is quite drafty so any talking in the stairwell (let alone yelling) travels straight into the flat, and I didn’t want the kids up all night listening to her rant. But as I put my hand on her arm to guide her, she ripped it away from me almost tumbling backwards and down the stairs. As she teetered on the step, I grabbed her shirt and pulled her forward. Then I grabbed her shoulders and marched her into her flat.

She flung herself onto the floor and started babbling. I didn’t get most of what she said, but from what I could tell, she didn’t pass her progression, and she’s being kicked out.

I’d feel sorry for her if she hadn’t roofied me. Or if she wasn’t constantly knicking stuff out of my kitchen. Or hitting on my boyfriends. Or being a massive pretentious jerk.

I decided to leave her mid-sentence. I can’t deal with her drama, Fife drama and the massive stress load from work. Something has to give, and it’s her. I left her there to wallow in her own drunkness.

I shut the door behind me and locked our door. Fife was in the process of putting the kids to bed when I came in. I told them good night, and turned to go to my room when LittleOne asked if I could be the one to put him to bed tonight.

BigOne totally rolled his eyes and said, ‘I am way too old for this. If we’re not going to be in my house, then you need to get a place where I can have my own room. Not negotiable.’

I cannot believe he said, ‘Not negotiable’. Where did he learn that from? Kids are weird.

I sat on the foldout bed next to LittleOne and asked him what I needed to do to put him to bed. He said I had to ask him questions, and he had to answer the questions.

‘What kind of questions am I supposed to ask?’ I said.

He said, ‘Like if I’ve brushed my teeth? Silly.’

I told him that tonight I’d watch Fife so that I could learn, and tomorrow night I’ll put him to bed. LittleOne said that was okay.

When Fife was done, the lights went out and the night light came one. Fife gave them both a kiss on the forehead, and I went to leave the room, when LittleOne called out, ‘You need to kiss me good night too.’

He really is sweet that LittleOne. I gave him a hug and a kiss goodnight. And Fife and I went off to bed, and Fife said to me, ‘See I knew you’d make a good mum.’

I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet — step-mum status, but maybe this whole thing isn’t so bad after all. It just needs to take some time. Maybe the kids just need to time to adjust. Maybe I need time to adjust.

Fife’s in the bedroom with me just now typing on his laptop. Claims seeing the play gave him an idea for his new book, and he just had to get it down. (I’ve given up trying to nag him about finishing the edits to the other book first.) I told him I had some work to do, so he thinks I’m doing that just now (obviously he doesn’t know I’m blogging).

I love watching him work on his novel. He’s so intense. The house could blow up around us and he’d still continue to type. The look on his face is stern, but you can see when he does something new, or comes up with an idea, because his expression changes. It’s actually kind of sexy. God, I wish the kids weren’t here. Hmmm, I wonder how quiet Fife and I can be?


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