Woops a Daisy Angel | Mum In The Madhouse

Woops a Daisy Angel

MaxiMad’s Nativity play was held yesterday afternoon and MadDad made a mad dash down the A1M in order to get back for it.
Now MaxiMads year (reception or FS2) is a very big year with excess of 70 children in it and 3 classes, so I can not imagine what work has gone in to this by teachers, Teaching Assistants and the children.  We were not asked to provide costumes, so I was very excited to arrive and see what was going to happen and what everyone was wearing.
Maxi wouldnt tell me or MadDad anything about it at all, as it was a secret, he wouldnt even practice his words with us.
Well it was a wonderful production, every body had a part to play and there was lots of snivvling mummy’s and stolic daddy’s in the audience and I was very proud of MaxiMads speaking voice.

He was dressed up, as was everybody, they had the ususal Mary, Joseph, Angels, Snowflakes, Shepherds, Animals and Wise Men.  Everyone else was either dressed as an Angel or a Sheperd, even the narators.
It was a Fabtastic time, how 70 mostly 4 years olds managed to put on a suberb singing and dancing spectaular is beyond me, so hats off to every one involved.

When MaxiMad got home MadDad suggested now that he has dressed up, he could join in with fancy dress, world book day and the likes.  His response “It was for the production Daddy, I had to get in to my character” Oh and then he followed this “I am not going to dress up for yours or anyone elses pleasure unless it is for another play”.  

We were floored, he knows his mind that boy.

I will be more prepared tomorrow at MiniMads, I will have tissues on hand, to wipe away my tears, as 60 odd 3 year olds do their nativity.

Oh and I am so sorry I have been slack on the Advent crafts and calender posts, but I keep forgetting to take pictures.  We are making Jelly Baby Jesus cakes tonight!!


Don’t stay on in Bethlehem
When the counting’s done
Hurry back to Nazareth
So we can see your son

It’s eighty miles to Bethlehem
Where Mary and I must go,
And I’m worried about her –
The roads are rough
And the donkey can only go slow

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