Another Surprise - With Apologies to Paul Harvey

The rest of concert night:

8:14 - Julie sends the following text: “Waited in line for 1 hour, nearly got crushed, gave up on t-shirts for now...I’ll try to go down during show for girls.”

8:30 - I pick up Jordan from his Robotics club-thing meeting. Only one row of Julie’s zucchini brownies that I frosted are left in the 9x13 pan.

8:35 - Jordan & I sit down for the rest of a movie that we started a few months ago - the last time all of the girls were gone: The Two Towers.

8:45 - Julie heads back into the fray in search of concert t-shirts. Still crowded, but no fear of being trampled.

9:25 - Julie gets the last youth t-shirt for Katie and finds an adult small for Sarah.

9:50 - Katie is fading fast, “Mom, it’s just like home when I can’t go to sleep.” Except for the 20,000 females screaming “She wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts. She’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers, dreaming about the day when you wake up and find that what you’re looking for has been here the whole time.”

10:00 - Jordan goes to bed. I start doing a few of the things I was suppose to do while the girls were at the concert.

10:37 - I send Julie a text, “Did you survive? Is it over?”

10:38 - “Encores...Katie’s not making it.”

10:57 - Julie calls, “We are finally in the car. Katie was fully awake for the final encore, ‘Love Story,’ [her favorite song]. I don’t think Sarah sat down at all during the whole show. Actually, I don’t know that anyone sat down the entire concert.”

11:45 - Girls finally get home. Sarah talks for at least five minutes straight without breathing.

11:55 - Sarah and Katie are in bed. Julie tries a brownie.

11:56 - “What recipe did you use for this frosting” The one you told me to use. “How much cocoa did you put in?” 1 cup. “What?! The recipe calls for 1/3 cup” Oh. I must have been distracted. “How much sugar did you put in?” 1 cup.

11:57 - Julie is speechless and goes to bed. I re-read the recipe: 1 cube butter, 2/3 cup cocoa, 3 cups powdered sugar, 1/3 cup milk and 1 tsp vanilla. Huh, two for five: I didn’t put in any of the vanilla either. None of the flatulent bunnies seemed to mind.

Apparently, next time, I get to go to the concert. And that, with apologies to Paul Harvey, is the rest of the story.

Surprise! Surprise!

Several months ago, Julie & I decided to surprise our girls and purchase tickets to the Taylor Swift concert in Salt Lake City. As our non-girl child had heard enough Taylor Swift to create various mash-up parodies, to both express his desire to never hear a Taylor Swift song again and to annoy his sisters (mostly annoy his sisters), we decided not to buy him a ticket. That meant only one parent would "get" to go to the concert.

Fast forward to tonight, concert night.

6:30 - Julie leaves to pick-up Katie from her drama class and Sarah from a birthday party, neither of which are suppose to end until 7pm. I start making frosting for the brownies that Jordan must take to his Robotics club-thing meeting. (It's some sort of competition. The team name is "The Flying Flatulent Bunnies." The parent-coach didn't know what flatulent meant, but assumed it was better than the Flying Farting Bunnies. Jordan suggested the change.)

6:45 - Julie and the girls are on the freeway. Sarah believes that she is going to her drama class. She has not noticed that they are going in the opposite direction of the drama class. I am trying to decide whether I can use margarin instead of butter in the frosting recipe (I learned last time that you can't always do that). If I have to use butter, I will need to go back downstairs and get some out of the freezer. I decide that would be too much work, besides, what do a bunch of Flying Flatulent Bunnies care if the frosting is made from butter or margarin?

6:55 - Julie is looking for parking. Katie and Sarah trying to figure out why it is taking so long to get to drama class. I drop Jordan off at his club-thing. I ask if it is customary for adults to stay for the whole thing or just drop off their FF Bunny and leave. Jordan shrugs his shoulders. I leave.

7:00 - The concert is suppose to start at 7. I call Julie. She has parked. Katie has taken off her shoes. Julie tells her to hurry. Sarah asks what kind of errand requires them to hurry.

7:10 - Sarah and Katie see Energy Solutions Arena (f.k.a the Delta Center) and are upset. "You're taking us to a BASKETBALL GAME!"

7:15 - Sarah and Katie see large trailers with super-sized pictures of certain pop-star. Euphoric pandemonium erupts.

7:16 - Sarah calls me. "Dad, Dad, WE ARE GOIN TO TAYLOR SWIFT!! Ican'twaittotellallofmyfreinds." Has the concert started? "No, the ticket guy said we didn't have to hurry because it’s just cover bands until Taylor Swift starts at 8:30 and she will play for TWO WHOLE HOURS! Are you coming too?" No, no I'm not. "Oh, that’s too bad." Yes, yes it is. "Isn't Mom lucky?" Yes, very lucky.

7:45 - I start blogging. I have another thirty minutes until I have to go pick up a Flying Flatulent Bunny.