Parenting 80's Style- Day 1

I am trying a little experiment this summer- Parenting 80's style.
Kids are home and I am off work for the summer.
What if I parent this summer the way my parents and my friends' parents did it in the 80s?
We didn't necessarily turn out "normal", but many of us have happy and fulfilling lives.
So I am trying a summer of less structure, less planning, more outside and more TV.
This is for my own sanity for sure and possibly that of my children? Time will tell.
If you can't experiment on your kids, who CAN you experiment on, right?
Fingers crossed.

DAY 1-
Sesame Street with breakfast (let them watch until they got bored with it)
Sent them upstairs to play in their rooms while I got some stuff done around the house. Whatever game they made up seemed to involve pretending to be dogs and fetching small toys.
Public Library- took out books and movies
Picnic Lunch at Park with Dad (by "picnic" I mean PBJ sandwiches, a can of Pringle chips and a zip lock bag full of cherries. I let them spit the seeds in the grass)
Nap (I took a nap, too. Let the 6 year old play on his Game Boy type device next to me while I slept. It was glorious.)
Movie- w/popcorn popped on the stove (we have no VCR and no TV in our upstairs living spaces, but we did watch a DVD from the library on my laptop which is as close as I can get to an 80's experience)
Outside- that's it. just play outside. Bubbles and light sabers were involved. I did my own gardening and dinner prep and did not facilitate anything.
Go with Dad- I had dinner plans with my girlfriends and so Dad took boys to his basketball game at his friend's house where he let his friend's 11 year old daughter keep an eye on the boys while he played basketball. He then brought them home and put them to bed.

So far this 80's parenting is delightful. I am unsure why I have not tried this before.
To be continued...

SAHM I am NOT

Next week I head back to work. Holy crap. Many of my mommy (and daddy) friends think I'm nuts. I have an infant and a 3 year old and I was staying home with them. Staying home with them during this magical time before school and friends take over their little minds and when I alone instead am their everything. So here are my top 5 reasons why I am choosing to return to work...

5) We Are Broke & I Like to Eat Out-   When we moved from NYC to College Town in Missouri in 2007 our mantra became "HERE WE LIVE LIKE KINGS!!!" When we pulled up to the 3 bedroom house I had rented that cost 1/2 what we paid for our 500 sq/ft apartment in NYC , my husband honestly thought I was joking. "Shut UP. We live here?? We don't live here." But there we did live. And in 2 years we managed to pay off all of our NYC debt and (gasp!) start saving.  We didn't stress the bills at the end of the month. We didn't stress financially at all. Wow! People actually LIVE like this!!?!?? Our eyes were opened.  But then when we moved to Suburbia of Big City and I stopped working, we not only lost 1 salary, but also our insanely low cost of living. Suburbia costs twice as much to live in as College Town when one figures in housing costs, insurance, taxes, groceries, basically everything. Now there are certainly perks that go with all that extra expenditure. Perks we enjoy. And frankly we wouldn't have been so footloose and fancy free in Missouri if we only had one paycheck. But the perfect storm of less income and more expenses put us right back into budgeting every penny, worrying about every expense, and we went back to stressing.  No more dinners just cause I didn't feel like cooking or coffee treat because dang it we deserve a coffee treat.

4) Two Words: Polar Vortex- You guys! You guys! Did ya hear about the Polar Vortex? Of course you did. Everyone heard about the F'ing Polar Vortex because it SUUUUUCCCCKKED and the media loves emphasizing things that have catchy names and suck. Do you know what sucks worse than Polar Vortex? Being 400 months pregnant stuck inside with overactive 2 1/2 year old during polar vortex. The experience killed a bit of my crafty, creative, industrious SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) soul.

3) You Can Take the Girl Out of the Theatre....- Look, I spent a lot of time (15 years) & money (let's not talk about it) becoming fairly knowledgeable about theatre. And I really like to share that knowledge with people who want to hear about it. It had become part of who I was. And I miss her. I miss that woman who fights with 18 year olds about "I liked it" vs. "It's good theatre" and "I hated it" vs. "It's bad". I miss her watching students suddenly discover Chekhov IS funny.  I miss her re-reading the same text book for the 100th time and learning something new. I miss her.

2) I've Got A Golden Ticket!- A tenure track position at a university is a golden ticket for a working artist. It just is. And like a golden ticket, a lot of it is about being at the right place at the right time. The fact that I got this offer from a college that is commutable is unbelievable. And it would be bat shit crazy to turn it down.

1) I Am Not A Good Stay At Home Mom- I am just not. I think I am a pretty great mom. But I think the longer I am a SAHM, the less great I will become. When I was young I asked my mother why she decided to go back to work and I remember she was very quiet for what seemed like a long time and I thought I had made her sad. But then she said very simply "Stacy, I think going to work makes me a better mom. Even though I miss you very much, it makes me a better mom." While I didn't quite understand it at the time, it obviously struck me because I remember it so vividly. I am SO grateful that I was able to try this. I pride myself on living life without regrets. And I tried and failed at this. So I walk away knowing this is not my path. I don't have to wonder. I will always cherish and treasure the focused time I have had with my children. And maybe in a few years I will feel differently. But I think right now, I (just me, maybe not you, but me) I will be a better mom if I go back to work.  For me, and again just me, not you, me, I want to buy my kid an ice cream cone once in a while without doing the math in my head. I want to joyfully arrive home, tingling with anticipation to see my kids and give them big hugs instead of dreading the next meltdown and hiding from them in the shower. I want my kids to know that woman who has a lot to say and even more to learn about art and life and the messy place where they intersect in the theatre. I want my kids to see and maybe, dare I say it, be proud of a mom who worked her ass off to get to the right place at the right time. Me, just me, not you, but me. Right now, this is me. And when my kids ask me, "Why did you choose to leave us and go back to work?" I will get very quiet and maybe even a little sad and I will then say "Even though I miss you very much, it makes me a better mom."

Do I think this is going to be easy? Hell to the NO. I have had 2 anxiety attacks just writing this blog post and can guarantee I need to throw up as you read this. Do I regret staying home with my kid(s) these past couple of years? Hell to the DOUBLE NO. I have so much respect for the SAHM and maybe one day in the future, I will again join their ranks. But now, I must turn in my card and then pour myself a cup of ambition, yawn and stretch and try to come to life.**

**I didn't write that last part. She did.

My Life in Play Form- #1

My Life- A Sam Shepard Prequel
(In the interest of full disclosure, I revamped this from a Facebook status I posted earlier. Look, I have 2 kids under 3, starting a new job in 2 weeks and I don't sleep. And I'm still trying to start blogging again? Cut me some slack. Baby steps.)

Time: The Present
Place: My Living Room, a few hours ago...

Mother: Please stop poking your brother with that flag.
Son: It's a TINY flag.
Mother: Fine. Stop poking him with the tiny flag.
Son: But he likes it! He's laughing!
(Baby is indeed laughing at being poked with flag)
Mother: I don't care. I told you to stop. You need to...
(A wail is heard)
Son: MAMA! MAMA! Baby Brother is spitting up on my tiny flag!! MAKE HIM STOP!
(Ineffectual Mother Figure takes flag and puts a show about baby woodland animals on the computer. Wailing abruptly stops.The mother & son begin to identify baby animals)
Mother: What is that?
Son: A baby owl.
Mother: That's right! What's that?
Son: A baby chipmunk.
Mother: Yes! Excellent. And that?
Son: A baby moose
Mother: Close. That is a deer.
Son: No Mama. That is a moose. A tiny moose. And me, my tiny moose, and my tiny flag are all going to live in the woods together one day. With Baby Brother. But not you.
 
And....Scene.

Recipe of the Week- The Return (With a GUEST BLOGGER)

A Stay at Home Mom who Blogs must share recipes, yes? Who am I to buck the stereotype!?! Society dictates and I obey...

Hey Reader(s)! Remember when I used to do Recipe of the Week? Well I asked my friend Kerry of  Raising June to send me this incredible Mac & Cheese recipe she makes earlier in the week. She is a freelance writer and mother of 2 girls, ages 3 1/2 and 9 months, so I expected (and deserved) a quick link to a recipe, a kindly worded "are you KIDDING me" 2 sentence brush-off reply or no response at all. She not only sent me a detailed recipe, but her  response reminded me of my old Recipe of the Week posts. So I asked her if  I could post it on my blog. I guaranteed her insta internet fame so make sure you tell all your friends.

Spiderman guards Mac & Cheese groceries.

RETURN OF THE MAC (and cheese)

Mama,

I’m sorry this has taken me all day, but… you know how it is.

Anyway — M&C. Totally easy. I can’t remember from whence this recipe originated, so I have no —

Shit, June just pissed herself. Hold on….

Ok, I’m back.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I have no exact measurements to give you, so I’m just winging it here.

I start with determining how big of a crowd I’ll be feeding. That last batch we had during our fun memorial day lunch, I believe I used about three cups of pasta. That sort of determines everything. Three cups of pasta means three tbsp of flour, three tbsp of butter, etc., etc.

So yeah, if you’re thinking, like, four people plus leftovers, three is a good way to go… but so is the whole damn box, too, so … scratch that. Let’s pretend you’re feeding a crowd and go with the whole box. Here goes.

Start a big old pot of water on the boil.

In smaller pot, melt 4 TBSP of butter over med heat. When that’s melted, add 4 TBSP of flour. Whisk until a paste (roux) forms and continue to whisk until it gets a little toastier — another minute or two. Add four cups of milk. I seem to recall them saying “slowly, and whisk until incorporated” but who’s got time for that shit? I dump it in, whisk to get out the lumps, sip some cheap wine, whisk for another minute, and so on. I keep an eye on the heat, at this point, since it should be sort of a very medium to low bubble. If it’s roiling, it’s burning. At this point, add kosher salt (a couple Tsps — seems like a lot, but it needs it), pepper (as much as you like), a pinch of nutmeg, a pinch of cayenne, and about 3/4 tsp of ground mustard. Keep that whisking up, girl. When you can, of course.

In the meantime, your water is boiling. Add a pound of pasta. Elbow macaroni is traditional but I sort of like the funky shapes and tubes and stuff. It doesn’t matter. Just cook it a minute or two shy of al dente.

Back to the béchamel. At this point, shit’s getting real. And thick. keep stirring until it’s about the consistency of buttermilk / thanksgiving gravy. When it gets to that point, turn off the heat. Hopefully your pasta is just about ready. Drain it, put it back in the big pot, and then add the béchamel. Add a bunch of shredded sharp cheddar and stir until it gets all melty and gooey and mac-and-cheesy. You’ll need close to an entire 16 oz bag (or block if you prefer to shred yourself. But again, who the fuck has time for that??). I usually throw in a handful of grated parm, too. Mix that business up and pour into a casserole dish. Top with bread crumbs or panko. Add about 1-2 TBSP of ice-cold butter cut up into small cubes. Sprinkle some more cheddar and parm on top amidst the butter cubage.

Bake uncovered for 30 or so minutes at 350. Oftentimes I wind up broiling it for a few minutes at the end to get the top all crispy and bubbly, but that’s not necessary.

God, I hope I didn’t forget a step. Oh, after the béchamel and cheese is mixed in with the pasta, I always taste it for seasoning, adding more if it’s too bland.

And if you’re going smaller? Like I said, the cups of pasta determine what the other measurements are, so it’s a pretty easy adjustment.

Let me know if you have any questions.

Mother's Day- Killing Me Softly

10 years ago I sent my mother sunflowers for Mother's Day. Living in NYC at the time, I remember very strongly wanting to go home to see her. But I was going home for a wedding Memorial Day weekend and it seemed silly (and expensive for my broke self) to make 2 trips so close together. I was so irrationally (or so I believed) panicked about not going home, that I decided to get out of town camping that weekend instead. Just to feel like I was DOING something. There was no cell service and I remember driving into a tiny town in the Catskills and calling her from a pay phone. She said she got the flowers and they were beautiful. Less than a month later she was dead. Cancer. Cancer we had thought she had beat. And I learned the flowers were NOT beautiful. They had arrived and they were wilted and horrible. She called the company I had used to send them and they had resent equally horrible flowers. So, in my mind, I kind of failed my mother's last Mother's Day.

Ever since then, Mother's Day has been pretty awful. As the Mother's Day ad blitz begins, the voice softly repeating over and over again "your mother is dead. your mother is dead. your mother is dead" begins its beating in my head in response to every ad I hear. It's as morbid as it sounds. Not fun. Potentially crazy making. Awfulness/insanity peaked from 2008-2010 when I was trying and failing to become a mother myself.

Everyone told me it would get easier once I became a mom, but you know what? Not so much. I gotta be honest and say that just hasn't happened yet. And I fear it never will.  Because as much as I love my kids, as much as I dreamed of celebrating Mother's Day as a Mom, as grateful as I am that I can do that very thing, my mother is still dead. And on Mother's Day, more than any day of the year, I am reminded that there is no one who can and will ever love me in that same way again. That's the hard truth. Every year, no matter how hard I try to prep myself, it breaks my heart.

And all that being said, I don't hate Mother's Day. I don't have any social or political ill will against it. I don't think it's an affront to women or setting us back 50 years glorifying traditional gender roles. I don't think it's another example of consumerism destroying the very fabric of family life. I think its theoretically pretty great. I remember really loving the holiday back when I was a kid. I loved plotting and planning with my sister what to do for her. I loved going card shopping with my dad to find the perfect card to make her laugh or make her cry. Heck I even remember loving it 10 years ago. I loved the idea of being reminded to take time to appreciate my mother, who I didn't always appreciate in the way a small voice in the back of my head knew she deserved to be appreciated. The same small voice that taunts me today.

So we celebrate. And I smile and take pictures for the scrapbook and I suck it up. Because I want to give my kids Mothers Day. Untainted. I want to give them years of  plotting and planning and making me laugh. I want them to celebrate that no one will ever love them in the same way that I do.

July 3 Adventures in Gardening

 
How's your Garden, SPJ? SO GLAD YOU ASKED! Look!!

 Front garden has lavender, roses, salvia, lettuce, hot peppers and summer squash thriving. Had a killer radish harvest (fairly sure using "killer" in reference to a radish harvest is not what the coiners of that phrase had in mind).  The carrots and onions remain to be seen. Spinach was my big bust.

 

In back,  a tomato plant that is thriving, a green pepper plant that is on life support and corn. Yep. corn. How can I call myself a wannabe homesteader if I don't try corn. Dogs and child keep running it over. Don't they recognize a crop when they see one! This yard isn't just for fun and games, ya know!

And the big winner? WEEDS. And not the fun kind. At least once I day I contemplate if all those chemicals in the weed killer are really so bad for my kid and dogs. Come on! How bad can they be? Grrr. Back to weeding. And not the fun kind.

Canning and Preserving- A Parent's Tale

I heard you started canning and preserving things. Is that true?

Why yes. The rumors are true. I distinctly remember being about 25 and broke and in the midst of tech for a show and embroiled in some existential twenty something crisis and turning on the television to see Martha Stewart giving a tutorial on canning tomatoes. I shouted at the tv some version of "WHAT!?! WHO the FUCK has time CAN TOMATOES!?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!?!"  And now I know exactly who has time to can things- parents who are seeking...something.  Something permanent. Because raising a child is incredible and beautiful and one of the most amazing jobs a person can have, but my child is not a product. Heck, I don't even really believe this little soul I am caring for is really "mine" I have been charged with taking care of him. Protecting him. Helping him. Teaching him. And being a guide on his journey through his one wild and crazy life.  There is no clear beginning, middle and end.  Being a parent seems to be about living in a constant liminal state, constantly on the threshold of...something. So I started making jam. Because there is something really appealing these days about taking something I watch grow, cooking it and then putting it in a jar to save. Also I am secretly preparing for my fantasy artists' commune where selling jam and preserves from our organic garden will be a large source of our income. So, here is my first attempt- watermelon rind preserves!

Wanted to practice on something I wasn't worried about ruining. Too bad parenting doesn't have that option.

May 9- Adventures in Gardening

So the bad news- remember that garden plot out back that I weeded and started building garden boxes for? The one I planted garlic and onions in last fall for the spring/summer. Yeah, well it floods.

YIKES!

So while we figure that out, I have moved to gardening along the side of the house.

Herb and Veggie Garden #1

The good news is that I have been re-funneling my need/desire to plot and plan my life into plotting and planning my garden. Guess what? Planning a garden actually makes gardening easier than my previous method of wandering around farmer's markets and Home Depot getting "inspired".

Let the adventure begin!

Laying Low

Oh Hello Gentle Readers. (And by "readers" I mean Addie and my mother-in-law.) It's been a while, yes? Yes. And...and...I don't really know why.

Yes I do. It's because I have been hanging the metaphorical ice rings of my life and waiting patiently. These are two things I suck royally at doing. I love proces!. I love planning! I love constant motion and moving forward! I love setting goals upon goals!

And when I sit down to to write, I start to explore and process and plan and try to figure out the next big step of my life. If I write it down, I can make it happen. And isn't a blog ultimately a way to put into the ethos our hopes and dreams and battle our fears and despair with a supportive, but delightfully invisible audience cheering us on? Ooooh! Oooh! It's my dream! Process, planning, making goals AND an audience silently cheering me on!? YES! YES!

NO.

Stop.

Step away from the computer.

I have numerous posts, started, but unfinished because I couldn't just share a snapshot of my day. I couldn't just be. I had to yes and, yes and, yes and until even the most simple post became convoluted and weird. (more so than normal).

So let's keep this simple, okay.
For the past few months I have been being a Mom, a Wife, an Educator (got a part-time job), and a Maker of Theatre (got some lovely short-term opportunities). I like doing all of these things. I am happy. And I am practicing feeling at peace with this. I am practicing feeling that Me, just Me without any Bells or Whistles, is enough.

Step away from the computer.

Flying- A Quick Drive-By Post

Lessons my 2 year old teaches me- 

Sometimes I lay on my back and put my kid on my legs and let him fly like superman. I sing the "I'm flying" song from Peter Pan.  He loves this and laughs like only a 2 year old can laugh.
Sometimes he asks for it. So he walks around saying "I FLY! I FLY! MOMMY- I FLY"
He says it loud and proud.  He doesn't ask, he demands. Not rudely, but with joy.
The metaphor here is too huge and weird and complex to even put into words. But I can say that hearing him walk around announcing "I FLY" makes my heart feel full. It makes me smile. It makes me think I am doing something right with this little man.

The Winter IS My Discontent

Winter, man. Winter.

When I was teaching I would freak out once a semester on a class for being low energy or apathetic, usually with some form of "Look, if I can get my ass out of bed and get here and be this FUCKING PERKY, then you can too!  So PULL IT TOGETHER!" Teaching moment of the year? Probably not. But it always happened and usually in the winter.  Winter, man.

Melancholy. Or maybe A Bit Touched. Or even Kinda Crazy. I embrace these terms more than the contemporary diagnosis of Depression. "Depression" is a weather pattern or an area on a topography map. The thing that invades my body has got a little more poetry than that. Teaching was good for me on many levels, but mostly because it forced me to model behavior that I knew was healthy. Even when I REALLY didn't want to. And THAT is what sucks about being a grown-up. I have done the work. I have learned the tools. I know what is wrong with me and how to fix. No more mystery. No more wondering what is wrong with me. No more excuses for self-medication or sleep marathons or 48 hours of bad television and endless crying jags. But that is not the end of our heroine's tale. No. Every morning is the beginning of a NEW adventure. A NEW mountain to climb or hole to dig out of. And that work isn't easy.

Luckily, I am a Pros vs. Cons kind of girl. And the Pros of doing the work, mental and physical, of getting out of bed and saying YES to the day and YES to the world so far outweigh the cons that usually it's an easy choice.  I can usually talk myself into making my lists or prioritizing or giving thanks or whatever it is I need to do that particular morning to motivate me towards forward movement.

But being a grown-up and doing the work also means I can also forgive myself now for those days I just take my son into bed and watch the snow fall and know we aren't going to leave the house today. Not once.  And I will let him watch some bad television with me despite the warnings from the American Pediatric Association. And lunch is going to be whatever he will eat cold from the fridge or room temperature from a box.

Because tomorrow will be better. Because I know how to make it so. Because I know I can. Winter or no.

Practicing What I Preach

January 13, 2013

So...what's next?

Ice Ring in the Freezer

The sad, sad tale of the ice ring in my freezer. Told through a series of vignettes with my husband...

December 3, 2012
Husband: Honey what the hell is in the freezer?
Me: I went to Trader Joe's today and...
H: No. No. The pan with ice.
Me: Oh. That's our Winter Ice Ring.
H: Am I supposed to know what that is?
Me: I decided that's going to be a tradition. As a start to the winter Holiday season, M & I went on walk to gather winter swag to put in our ice ring. We made it and now we will hang it up out front as a start to the holidays. It's going to be our thing. I did most of it this year, but he can help more and more as he gets older.
H: Okay. That's sweet. When are you hanging it up?
Me: First day of Hanukkah

December 10, 2012
Husband: Babe, you know your ice ring is still in the freezer.
Me: I know. I know. I totally flaked. We are going to hang it up the LAST night of Hanukkah instead.

December 18, 2012
Husband: Honey, can I toss this ice ring?
Me: NO! NO!! Stop!! I am going to hang it up!!
H: Okay, but Hanukkah is over and it takes up a whole shelf in our fridge.
Me: I know! I know! But we're going to hang it up this week before your family gets in town for Christmas.

December 24, 2012
Husband: Hey, did the ice ring melt?
Me: No. UGH! I tried to hang it up today, but I couldn't reach the branch on the tree out front and then I tried in the bushes, but it broke and shattered. So I remade it. It will be frozen tomorrow.
H: Uh..okay...but why did you remake it?
Me: BECAUSE IT IS OUR "THING"!! Look this is important to me. We need traditions as a family. Maybe this happened for a reason. Maybe your nieces can help tomorrow and instead of a start to the holiday season it can be something the kids all do together? Isn't that cute?
H: (pause. pause.) Yes. Cute. Okay. So tomorrow?
Me: Yes. Tomorrow. I swear.

December 30, 2012
Husband: No no son. Don't touch Mommy's Ice Ring. It lives in the freezer now. Forever.
Me: Don't be a smart ass. I am hanging it up January 1. It's a beautiful way to start the New Year. Dontcha think?
H: (silence)

January 5, 2012
Husband: Oh look an Ice Ring in the freezer!
Me: (silence)
H: This is nuts. I am tossing this.
Me: NO! Don't you dare.

 My New Years Resolution is simple and not so simple.

I am awesome at embracing process. I thrive in process.I thrive in possibility. I struggle finding the end.  I shun the completion of anything because I fear realizing what I could have done better and being unable to change it. I fear what comes next.  I am the queen of "Yes, and...", but sometimes life calls for  "yes" or "no".
This year I am going to practice hanging up the fucking Ice Ring.

This too shall pass...

I wrote this a while ago and was too chicken to post it. It's barely a post. I trot it out now as a gift for a friend. -spj

I read once in my teenage years, I think in my high school health book, that the human body cannot physically remember pain. It was probably the only thing I really learned from my high school health book, but think about that. That's huge. We can remember we were IN pain, but we cannot recreate the physical sensations of that moment. It's how babies kept being born before G-d invented epidurals.  It's how we fall in love with someone new after a broken heart. It's how we survive as a species. It's how we forget and move forward.


In my time on earth, I have had my fair share of pain. Thankfully first world type pain, but pain none the less. Broken heart,  broken soul, embarrassment, shame, death of loved ones, physical injuries, numbing fear, the list is endless. But that darn health book is right. As time passes, I can't remember the actual pain. And eventually I barely even think about the specific incident. And when I do, I remember it with a gentle gauzy filter over the lens of my memory.

Walking the Walk...A Confession

Confession time:
I went on an audition. Being back  in Suburbia means I live in close proximity to a Big City. And in this Big City they have them some TheeAYter. I should know. I was an actress in this Big City over 10 years ago.

OVER 10 YEARS AGO.

On one hand nothing has changed and on the other hand EVERYTHING has changed.  The rules are mostly the same, but the players have changed, including myself. Its like having one of those weird dreams which doesn't feel like a dream because everything is normal, but you still know it's a dream because things are just a little off.-"Wow. I didn't realize I could bring my cat to work. Wait. I didn't know I had a cat. Hmm and my cat is wearing a tiny fedora. Oh well, got to grade these papers." That's how I've been feeling. All the time.

So much that I have been kind of paralyzed. I have lots of good reasons to tell people why I haven't been doing anything artistic- still getting settled, not sure how the "must drop everything" schedule of an actor fits in with being the mom of toddler, blah blah blah. And that's true. BUT if I am being honest, I just didn't even know where to begin. I felt too old to be doing the whole "HEY CITY! Here I AM! LET'S DO THIS!" audition shuffle. Generals? UGH! I sucked at them when I was young and perky. I can not FATHOM managing one now. But at the same time, it's been 10 years. I can't just expect work to fall out of the sky based on my good name from a decade ago.

So when I saw this audition, I figured I had to take it. It was a union general yes (vomit, vomit, so much vomit), BUT it was for a specific show and there were no monologues, just preparing sides. Okay. Okay. Less vomit.  It was a new work and the play was about meth dealers. And one of the roles was for the pregnant girlfriend in her late 20's- early 30's. Okay. Okay. This was my thing. This is what I used to do- hooker just trying to get by?  runaway drug addict? good heart, bad decisions? I was your girl. And this sounded like  one of those kind of roles, but 10 years later. Perfect. Read up on the company- small, but very respected. Ensemble was impressive. Let's DO THIS.

And so I did. I took the Steve Martin adage "Be so good they can't ignore you" to heart. I picked up the sides even before I got a slot. I did my research. I did my homework and prep. I learned my sides by heart.  I made choices. I created backstory. I did everything a good girl should.

The people in the audition room were lovely. The reader was great. It was as perfect of an audition scenario as one can ask for. I relaxed, trusted my work and just let go. I felt good. As I rewarded myself with Starbucks for hauling my ass into the Big City and taking a grown-up audition, I was pretty darn confident I would get a callback.

I got an email that night. Thanking me for my time and my preparation, but out of respect for my time they wanted to let me know they were going in another direction.

Now first of all, thank you Small Theatre Company!! That was classy. I so appreciated that. How many times, back in the day, would I wait and wait and wait, holding on with a tiny glimmer of hope "Well maybe they all got malaria and can't have calbacks yet" "Maybe I was SO perfect for the part they don't even need to call me back" "Maybe I was SO perfect for the part, they don't need me to rehearse"  The denial of a desperate actor is so powerful that if it could be harnessed in some way, it could rival solar power as an alternative energy source. I am sure it was a pain in their ass to email everyone they didn't callback and they so didn't have to do it, but wow was that kind. And thoughtful. Just classy. They earned major points in my book.

But as kind and respectful as their message may have been, my next response was...WHAT. THE. FUCK. Holy crap! Was I that terrible?? It hasn't even been 4 hours. I thought I was good. Wait. Maybe I was not good. Maybe I thought I was good, but what I think is good is bad. Was I embarrassing? Did I embarrass myself? Did they all laugh after I left the room? Did they PITY me? Oh my gosh I bet they PITIED me because I obviously worked my ass off on this and then still sucked. And on and on I fell down the shame spiral.

 Oh shame spiral. We meet again, old friend. It's been awhile.

I rode that shame spiral right on down until I spoke the following words to my husband, who found me staring at my computer with unshed tears in my eyes, "Look honey, I just don't think this should be this hard. I mean some people are meant to be actors and I don't think I am. I can't even get a callback after I worked my ass off on this? I think it's a sign that I'm not supposed to do this anymore."
Pause. Pause.
Now, my husband, who has been with me for 14 years, always takes a pause before he speaks when he finds me in these moods. Because he knows it's like dealing with a rattlesnake or a ticking time bomb. Best to move slowly. No sudden movements and no one will get hurt.
"Babe" (yes he calls me Babe sometimes. I don't know what to tell you. I like it) "If a student came to you and told you after going on one professional audition and not getting a callback that it was a sign they should not be an actor, what would you say to them?"
"But it's not the same."
Pause. Pause.
"It's not?"
"NO."
Pause. Pause.
"Okay. I love you. Goodnight" And he quietly retreats. Hoping his not completely insane wife will be back in the morning and his words might help aid in her quick return.

And they do. Even in the depth of my shame spiral, I know he's right. I know in my head, but my heart still hurts and my stomach still aches. Was this part so amazing? I have no idea! It was a new freaking play! I couldn't even get a copy of the script since it wasn't published and there were no copies made available! I had never even heard of the company until earlier that week. But it really wasn't about this part or this company. It was about putting myself out on the line to a room full of strangers. It was about feeling judged. It was about feeling vulnerable. I was out of practice. My ego was flabby.

I have no pithy or inspiring end to this story. I went to bed. I got up the next day and still felt a little embarrassed. I have no idea if I should feel that way or not. I started to replay the audition in my head  a few times, to figure out if I really did a good job or not. Was I really just not right or did I suck? And then stopped myself. I'll never know. So why torture myself? Played with my kid. Bought groceries. Had lunch with a friend. Lived life. Went to bed, woke up the next day feeling a little less stupid than the day before. Lived life.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Photo Essay the Sequel

So my kid responded to my photo essay from the other day with one of his own. Apparently he got the camera and took all of these pictures this afternoon. I say "apparently" because I was not aware of it happening in the moment.  Found the pictures when going to upload other photos. This little episode comes hot on the heels of receiving word from a former baby sitter that she had received a voicemail she was pretty sure was my kid eating the phone. She was indeed correct. Checked the phone log. I was aware he had the phone.  I was not aware he made any calls. I continue to be Mother of the Year. Enjoy...

Experiments in Parenting- A Photo Essay

As the mother of an 18 month old child, I find that a large portion of my day is spent "redirecting" him- "Let's play with this age appropriate toy, rather than Daddy's electric shaver" or "Let's eat these blueberries, rather than the dog food".

This. Is. Exhausting.

As an experiment, I decided to spend one afternoon just saying "Yes". Please do not call DCFS- I kept a careful eye and still redirected him away from anything that could cause him lasting physical harm, but for the most part, I just went with the flow.

We both had a blast.
It. Was. STILL. Exhausting.
But gosh was it fun.

Below is a photo essay this grand experiment.***

***Eating Pasta Out of a Plastic Bag does not recommend you try this experiment at home unless you have little to no attachment to most material objects and  a tenuous grasp on sanity.