The Wonkerers *updated

(If the video below doesn’t work for you, click HERE for some serious Wonkerering.)

We weren’t allowed to video tape TD’s musical, Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka, (what is UP with that?! HUH?!) but hey! Who needs to tape the show from waaaaay back in the audience, when one’s kiddos have memorized the whole darn thing anyway, and commandeer the family computer for an afternoon to capture the entire show– up close and personal– for posterity? Not me, that’s who!

So, yeah. I have no actual tape of Tanner performing on stage as Charlie, but I have him (and his sisters) performing every other role in the musical– with FEELING, no less… so FOOYAH!

Yup. Feel free to take a quick peek at what it’s been like at MY house for the past five months.

Enjoy.

You Did It, Charlie!

Not to brag, but a certain desperate working momma’s son was sensationally awesome as Charlie Bucket in a certain Willy Wonka Jr. musical at a certain elementary school!

Hey. I call it like I see it.

Okay, but tonight? I’m bringing the GOOD camera!

Think Positive

Is it normal for me to be MORE nervous than TD? He’s the one singing all of Charlie Bucket’s songs and performing all of Charlie Bucket’s lines in the 6th grade Willy Wonka Jr. musical tonight! It’s out of control!

I’m a wreck, that’s what I am… A wreck, I say!

Aaaaaand TD just rushed by me, belting out “Think Positive,” complete with wild gesticulations that I certainly hope are a part of the choreography. Because if not? EMBARRASSING.

“You’ve nothing to lose so why not choose to think positive?”

Well all righty then. I’m off to the show.

And TD? Break a leg, kid.

Aerosmithsonian

When you’ve been together a while, it’s bound to happen. You know, the whole ending each other’s sentences thing? Accordingly, one shouldn’t be surprised by the following conversation I recently had with the DWM padres who have traveled all the way from Podunky Small Town Arizona to see Numbah One Grandson (Yeah-huh! Okay, Numbah TWO Grandson… happy Kim?! SHEESH.) in his musical theater debut as Charlie Bucket in Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka Junior Ramma Lamma Bing Bang Extravaganza!

Do you follow?

So we were sitting down, having a nice little chat, when my dad leaned over my mother to ask if it would be difficult to get into DC to visit some places.

I asked, “Where do you want to go?” while mentally conjuring the Metro transit rail map.

“Well, I wanted to go to the Smithsonian…” he began.

Ah. See, there is a common misconception out there in the aether that the Smithsonian is one particular building in DC. This is not, in fact, the case. Let’s see…. you’ve got the more well-known Natural History Museum (check out the Hope Diamond!), the Air and Space Museum (ooooh! IMAX and Planetarium!), the National Portrait Gallery (don’t step too close to some of the exhibits… the sensors are freaking sensitive) and let’s not forget the National Zoo (Giant Pandas! Giant Pandas!). Then, of course, you’ve got your American Indian Museum, African Art Museum, your Postal Museum… and quite few more that I am much too lazy to look up, so there.

It’s evil I know, all show-offy and whatnot, but of course I asked, “Which one?”, and blinked innocently at the confused look on my dad’s face.

To his credit, I think he must have remembered my lecture on the Great Smithsonian Conundrum (yes! I’m a horrible geek! duh!) because he was only fazed for a moment.

“I wanted to see–”

And then it happened. The finishing each other’s sentences thing. (See? I’m focused! HA!)

My mom leaned over and butted in– er, interrupted– I mean, lovingly finished his thought, “Oh! He wants to go see the Aerosmith Museum!”

I blinked again, but this time in confusion. “The Aero…Smith… what?”

There was one of those pauses where it is completely silent except for the almost perceptible sound of cogs whirring and twirling in the collective brains of those assembled. As my dad and I began to snicker, my mom blurted out, “Oh! Air and Space! Air and Space!”

But it was too late. Oh, yes. Much too late.

My dad grinned. “Yeah, hon, I really wanted to hit that rock and roll museum… see all that rock star memorabilia?”

“Oh, sure! I’ll tell you how to get there! Just walk this waaaaaaay! talk this waaaay!”

My mom, adopting her patented I Totally Meant To Say That blasé attitude, was all, “Oh, you knew what I meant!” And just in case that wasn’t enough to save face, she quickly added, “Although an Aerosmith Museum would be pretty cool, come to think of it…”

My dad and I gave her a hard time of it for a few more minutes, after which I assured my father that I would make sure he got to see the Air and Space Museum.

Then I launched into my Smithsonian Conundrum spiel one more time for good measure, naturally.

Aaaaaaand now you know me better. You see? I can’t help how I am. It’s like the magnet my parents had on their refrigerator as I was growing up:

“Insanity is hereditary. I get it from my children.”

Wait… Hey!