The six-year-old (who is only two weeks away from becoming a seven-year-old.  What is that about?!?) was in a local performance of The Nutcracker this year.  She was a peppermint hoop.  She loves to dance and perform.  She’s been to see The Nutcracker every year since she was three.  So the idea that she got to be in the performance this year was really very exciting.

I did her hair and makeup.  Have you ever used one of those bun makers before?  They look like a donut that you wrap the hair around and fold down over itself and wa-la, a perfect bun.  It was my first time using it and, despite being pretty spastic about it at first, I managed to figure it out.  Then I applied some blush, eye liner (without poking her eyes out), eye shadow and mascara as best I could with my limited makeup skills.  I’m so not a stage mom….  and dropped her off for her last run-through before the show.  Then I ran back home and picked up the rest of the crew (everyone minus the baby, plus my dad) and we returned to the theater where we met up with my mom and stepdad who were also there to cheer for our star performer.

I wasn’t sure how the two-year-old and the five-year-old would do sitting through a ballet but my mom brought snacks which kept them pretty happy through the first act.  The five-year-old spent the majority of the second act laying on the floor, pretending like he was dying.  He loudly announced at one point that he was “Sick of all this music.”  Tis the season, yo.

Anyway, at intermission they were selling raffle tickets so my mom gave the five-year-old the money to hold while we waited for the ticket seller to come around.  There were people passing by, going in and out of the theater.  The five-year-old, being a five-year-old, was wiggling about.  The two-year-old was asking questions incessantly.  And then a series of events happened in what sort of felt like slow motion.

The five-year-old, unbeknownst to any of us, dropped the money on the floor.  As he went to pick it up, a group of people came by and my mom, thinking that the five-year-old was getting in their way, grabbed him and pulled him back.  He started to scream.  None of us knew why so we quickly tried to quiet him.

“YOU JUST WASTED ALL YOUR MONEY!” he screamed at his grandmother.

Thoroughly confused, but noticing that he was no longer holding the twenty dollar bill in his hand, my stepdad and I began to look around on the floor for the money.

“NO!”, the five-year-old wailed, “SOMEONE TOOK IT!  IT’S GONE!”

Still slightly confused, I tried to get him to calm down and explain what had happened.  He said that he had dropped the money on the floor and that someone walking by had taken it.  My mom said that she had seen someone bend down as they passed by and pick something up off the floor.  She went to see if she could find the person in the lobby.

The five-year-old was beside himself.  I could tell he was angry at himself and embarrassed for losing the money.  I explained that it was an accident but that instead of screaming, he should have used his words and told us that he dropped the money.

My mom came back and reported that she didn’t see the people in the lobby.  But she knew what the person who had bent down was wearing so we waited for them to return to their seats.

As it turns out, it was a young boy, maybe seven or eight years old, who my mom had seen bend over and pick the money up off the floor.  When he and his mom came back to return to their seats, I approached and asked the woman if the boy was her son.  She looked confused but said yes.  I gently asked the boy if he had picked up some money off the floor a few minutes ago.

“No,” he replied, looking nervous.  The look on the mother’s face suggested that she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Oh, OK.” I continued gently, “Are you sure?  Because my son dropped twenty dollars onto the floor and he thought maybe he saw you pick it up.”

The boy, looking sheepish, reached into his pocket and pulled out the twenty dollar bill.

He turned over the money and I thanked him for doing the right thing.  I then turned to the mother and told her she should be proud of him for telling the truth.  He easily could have doubled down on his initial response and said he didn’t have the money.  We would have had no choice but to believe him.  But instead, he did the right thing and returned the money.

The five-year-old and I had a nice conversation at bedtime that night about how that boy did the right thing.  It probably wasn’t easy for him.  He probably really wanted to keep that money.  But he knew it wasn’t his.  And he did the right thing and gave it back.  We talked about how the boy should be very proud of himself for making a good decision even though it wasn’t easy and even though it wasn’t what he wanted to do.