Peter Pan-ic Attack
10:58, Wednesday evening. Our house phone rings. Which means one of two things. It’s another bill collector, trying to track down a financial failure who lived in our house before we did (Hello, Mr. Ayer. If you’re out there… PAY YOUR BILLS, PLEASE.) or someone is dead. I don’t believe bill collectors work at 10:58 in the evening so I feared the worst. But then I remembered that Kayla was up at my parents for a sleepover. And it was my mom on the line explaining that my dad was driving her home.
Apparently, they woke to the sound of her sobbing and found her in the corner of the guest room clutching a wedding picture of Dave and I, muttering some craziness about Tinkerbell and how she missed me and my waffles. Now this behavior is odd, unlike her. Especially while visiting my parents, who live in the land of endless Popsicles, all-you-can-watch cartoons and 9:30 bedtimes. And they let her play kitchen with REAL ingredients. She has had many overnights in the magical kingdom on Kings Lane and none have ended like this.
In order to properly make sense of this uncharacteristic melt-down, it is necessary to recap the events of the day. We had gone up to the city to see Peter Pan at Ferry Park on the Embarcadero. We attended a special “behind the scenes” pre-show. Complete with an awesome gift and candy store.
We ate lunch at The Waterfront Restaurant, across the street. Kayla’s favorite. She had sourdough bread and maraschino cherries.
Then back to Ferry Park for the actual performance that started later in the afternoon.
It was all AMAZING. Really. The tent and technology inside, brilliant. 12 projectors displayed digital graphics on the inside of the tent (think IMAX meets live theatre). The support poles were on the outside of the tent so the actors were able to swing freely inside without getting clocked in the head. And the London aerial scenes projected on the tent walls made the flying sequences incredible. The costumes and props were the coolest. Especially the crocodile on rollers made entirely of wooden hangers.
But it was also a bit dark. Tinkerbell had dreads, some serious ink and wore combat boots. And she hissed. Captain Hook, who’s freaky anyway, had blood on his sleeve and was eaten by the coat hanger croc at the end. Definitely enough to send a 7 year old over the edge.
Or home from Nan and Pops during a sleepover.