Blueberry’s Theater of Awesomeness ‘n’ Stuff

A few weeks ago, I uncovered an abandoned basket of single socks, most of them too small even for Sunny, who has otherwise entered a mismatched sock phase that has saved me countless laundry-folding hours*

The kids are always looking for craft materials, so I handed them the basket and told them to go for it. Coincidentally, both pairs of my good scissors disappeared for a couple of days.

Sock toes and heels make excellent stuffed animal watch caps and the rest make very strange hoodies and togas for male fashion dolls. There were apparently some baby gloves in the basket as well—there’s nothing weirder than finding a detached glove-finger on the floor, by the way, especially if it’s pastel. You can quote me.

But that’s not all.

This past weekend, my MIL bought the kids new boots. Janie’s have been on her feet every non-showering waking hour since, but she was equally fascinated by the big pink box, which she rescued twice from the recycling.

Coincidentally, my scissors disappeared again.

The kids spent a good portion of Saturday in their room, having dramatic conversations. Over and over and over, until we told them to knock it off or keep it down, please.

After dinner, I was treated to the premiere performance of the home troupe of Blueberry’s Theater of Awesomeness ‘n’ Stuff.

I can’t describe the performance—it was about the social raminfications of someone stealing someone else’s cheese sandwich and reminded me of the early Ibsenesque milieu**—but the performers were amazing.

This is Blueberry. He is the host and theater owner.  Sort of.

The Stage Hand Hands Crew Worms: Edward, Frank, Joe, Billy, and Bob.

Bob, it might be mentioned, has vision problems.  His eyes keep moving.  Part of this is because all these eyes are stuck on with double-sided sticky gel tape, but mostly it’s because he’s the thumb and therefore does most of the work.

He wasn’t even visible in most of the photos I tried to take, because a cloth backdrop wasn’t part of Janie’s artistic vision until recently, so he had to hold up the set.

As Janie said, when I complained that I couldn’t see Bob:  “No one ever sees Bob.  But he’s always there anyway.”

But I finally caught him alone.  Note the wonky eyes.

I’m going to come after Bob with a glue gun one of these days.  Don’t tell him.  Or the union.

The troupe is hiring—I sewed a pair of green button eyes on a small purple sock yesterday for Sunny—which means we can stage more elaborate productions.

I put in a bid for Much Ado About Nothing, but I was outvoted—we’re doing Cinderella.  Which means I have to figure out how to fit a glass slipper on a footless sock puppet, or convince Blueberry to wear it as a fetching chapeau.

Wish me luck.  Where’s my glue gun?

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*Or would, if I did the kids’ laundry which, as a rule, I don’t—and won’t, as long as my wonderful, delightful, longsuffering husband lets me get away with it.

**No, not really.  It was more Beverly Hills 90210 with a soupçon of Sunset Boulevard and a touch of Mean Girls.