"Mommy, come down here, please. We need to sing a song for you."
Well, you betcha. I'm on my way.
I came down the stairs to find the boys, still in their jammies, standing side by side next to the coffee table, each with a microphone in his hand. (One was a legitimate microphone, now minus batteries and a chord; the other was a Magnetix rod and ball jammed together. Both were equally useful for the task at hand.)
I took my seat on the coffee table, as instructed. My little men sang a song about fishies swimming in the water, with a chorus about poopie diapers, because no song is complete without the mention of the latter.
And then... "Mommy, come on the stage please."
Me?? I put my hand to my chest, and raised my eyebrows in question: the common response from named audience members, worldwide.
"Yes. Please. Come onto the stage."
"Why, yes. Of course." I stood and took my one step 'on stage.'
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, Mommy will do a trick. Mommy, go."
Lucky for them, I have a tap dancing routine I keep in my back pocket, just for such an occasion. I did not disappoint, if I do say so myself.
We got loads of applause. A standing ovation, even, which called for an encore. We bowed many times, and we blew kisses to our adoring fans.
It was a stellar performance. Sorry you missed it.