I bought the tickets in early November, after making sure it was okay with the kids' family schedule.
Then we bought a translation of the original Pinocchio--not the watered-down Disney version but the more complex one in which we learn that Pinocchio was often one thoughtless and self-involved puppet. Peter read to the kids each morning and they finished just yesterday. Yes, Pinocchio got to be a real boy, and yes, our kids agreed that by the end of the story he deserved it. He would be a good boy.
Today, the family saw the play at Children's Theatre in Minneapolis. Except for me. I'm enthroned in my recliner, "enjoying" flu-monia. It's been two weeks. The first week, I was pretty much able to keep up with shopping, cooking, and dishes, and do my share with the kids. The second week, slam. Nasty coughing attacks. Shortness of breath. No appetite. No energy. Peter has returned to waiting on me.
I don't really mind missing the play. It was way outside the realm of possibility for me to get out in today's frigid air with my messed-up lungs. And it will be fun to hear what the kids have to say about it when I see them on Monday. (While coughing only into my elbow, of course.)