We arrived at, The Mountaintop by Katori Hall, too early this morning. With time to kill, we wandered over to the cemetery next door. Passing through the white side to the slave side, graves marked with rocks, we discussed the stark contrast. My daughter noted this was not their first slave cemetery. Much in the same way she recently reminded we've already covered Huckleberry Finn--more than once. Okay then, it was still the perfect prelude to such a wrenching and poignant show.

See it. See The Mountaintop if you have a chance. Its surprising and awful and it will break your heart. I sniffled. Then I sort of wept quietly. Then I had to have a stern conversation with myself about not embarrassing the children and getting a hold of myself before the house lights came up.

I was so grateful the children were already familiar with Malcolm X. Homeschooling win for this mom, today. We went to the fanciest place I could think of, for lunch after. It was the children's first real experience with the power of theater. We deserved respite and nourishment and something fine after, to extend the experience, to celebrate, to let it all sink in.