Today was my son's kindergarten Thanksgiving play - "Tommy the Turkey." We saw the same production last year when my daughter did it, and can I just say "Wow! They really do the same thing every year!"

My son proudly presented me with the invite to the production last week, and I assured him that I would be there with bells on. He talked about it over and over and over and I sort-of blocked some of it out, but I think we can agree that the important thing to remember here is that I knew when the thing was, and I was going to be there, camera in hand.

This morning dawned what felt like hours before I was ready to drag my carcass out of the sheets. Before I was fully upright, my son was at my side, tugging on my hand, chirping something about needing to wear a red shirt yadda yadda yadda. I'm really sharp first thing in the morning. Once I had a hot cup of coffee in hand, I helped him select a red shirt from the closet.

See, he had to wear a red shirt, because he was going to be a redheaded woodpecker in the play, and it would really help the overall story if he had a red shirt on. I lucked out and had one clean. Whew!

I arrived minutes before the play started, because my youngest was on the verge of either a nap or a nuclear meltdown, and it was touch and go whether bringing her into a classroom full of parents with video cameras would be a good idea. I bribed her with some crackers and we made our way into the back of the room.

My son beamed at me under his red construction paper beak. The teacher's aide smiled with relief - since I had arrived so close to showtime, they were worried that I would miss it. Apparently, the boy had been stressing a little.

Anyway, as the teacher turned on some music for the kids to sing along to, my son keeled over on the floor, and then rolled around for a few moments, twirling his ankles, before he flopped over onto his stomach and tucked his legs under him in a butt high in the air, beak crushed on the carpet yoga pose. All this was going on while the kids were sort of mumbling along to the Raffi cassette.

He was half hidden behind the other three woodpeckers, so I don't think his antics ruined anyone's footage. After the song, he straightened up as the little girl who played the turkey made her rounds. The turkey girl was hilarious. She had this walk and posturing that sold the whole turkey persona. Her mother was dying next to me, and said it was all the kid's idea.

Anyway, the play goes something like this:

Turkey has beautiful feathers. Runs into some mean bunnies, who taunt the turkey until it goes home and dyes itself so that it is white like the bunnies. Turkey runs into taunting bluebirds, dyes itself blue. Cruel woodpeckers, goes for red. Yellow something or other - dyes itself yellow. Black cats? You betcha. Turkey goes goth. Then, finally, Old Man and Old Woman spot the now completely humiliated and insecure turkey, and taunt it, and then take it home to turn it a nice golden brown Thanksgiving color.

The End!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Uh. I guess reinacting the whole Pilgrim/Native American dinner thing is politically incorrect, but I'm just not sure on the message of "Tommy the Tortured Turkey." I'm overthinking.

So, my kid snapped to, and performed his lines "Ha ha ha, hee hee hee, you're the silliest turkey I ever did see. You should be red like me, since everyone knows the most beautiful color is red." Shortly thereafter, he went back to laying on his side and fidgeting on the carpet.

After the bows from the play, the kids were singing another Raffi song, but my son had to go to the bathroom. The kids sat in a semi circle and sort of mumbled the words and did hand motions, while my son sat on the toilet and belted out an improvised song about love and turkeys and being grateful and hand soap.

He sort of drowned out the mumbling Raffi-farians. I'm so, so proud. We might have ruined a few videos with that little stunt.

At the cookie party after, my son posed for photos and ate a cookie, and then he was ready to go home. On the way out, the teacher caught my arm and confessed that my crack from the previous day was a hit with the staff - when she told me that my son had been really wiggly and out of control, I told her that he was always like that when he was sick. And then I told her that the way we always know that the kids are getting sick is when they act like they are possessed for a day or two. Usually after 24 hours of satanic behavior, noses start running.

Do normal parents not say things like that to teachers? Oops.

I thought back to my own kindergarten thanksgiving production, where if I remember the story correctly, I hid behind my little boyfriend's back and picked my nose through the whole thing. My parents must have been as mortified and yet amused as I am today.

Q: Why do the pilgrim's pants keep falling down?
A: Because they have their belt buckle on their hat!

Once again, my own childhood quirks come roaring back to bite me in the ass.

I'll tell you what didn't come from me, though. My oldest has been to Starbucks with me a grand total of four times. She may have gone with my husband an additional once or twice. We visited Target the other day, and I offered to buy them a pretzel at the end of the shopping trip. We sat down and my daughter demanded to know why Target had the same light fixtures as Starbucks.

They had a little Starbucks in Target, so cute! But we were around the corner from any displays with the logo. My six year old noticed the lights, and knew where she had seen them before and SHE DID NOT GET THAT FROM ME. I don't notice details like that. She's really starting to scare me with all this observing and remembering and the planning. My God. The planning. She's still on about her birthday (March) but is also cooking up an itinerary for our vacation to Florida. (June) And she's concerned that she doesn't have anything green for St. Patricks Day. And she thinks that a barbecue would be nice for Father's Day.

I gave birth to an events planner. Have mercy.