Birthday Week Blues

I'm in a Monday morning funk.  Still in my bathrobe.  Sulking.  Instead of being grateful that I have legs, which is my policy.

Just returned from a Jewish Women's Retreat in the woods near a town called Angelus Oaks.  Yeah, I hadn't heard of it, either.  Apparently, bears know it well, since a gal opened her cabin door and one was chilling right outside.  I didn't want to walk alone at night (hell--ever) after that.  But otherwise, the weekend was a good experience.  I met some really cool women who have had amazing lives (a bunch of them were older than me) and taught three Nia classes to smiling and appreciative students (even if two of these classes were at freakin' dawn.)  They served massive amounts of tasty food, provided lots of pretty paper and glue for a Saturday night art project, built a big campfire for s'mores, and introduced me to the wonders of Liat, the 25-year-old song leader, who could play absolutely anything on her guitar for sing-alongs.  Because I'm a big diva, I insisted on my own cabin (the other women were four to a room) and I'm glad I did, after Saturday morning reports of snoring, heating disagreements and constant bathroom trips.  I'm a light sleeper, and I was snug in my tiny cabin with the white noise feature on my iPhone and a luxurious mint-green velour blankie from home.  It also gave me a place to hide for 15-minute increments of reading when the hours of making cheerful small-talk with strangers got to me (extroverts are really just introverts who charge their batteries with huge swatches of alone time.) 

And that should conclude my near-constant gallivanting for the present.  We had returned from the Florida/Bahamas/Disney Cruise excursion only four days before I left for the weekend.  I am happy to say I am a cruise person (I think?  This was a short cruise) and that the Disney Dream is gorgeous and not just for kids.  One of the highlights was an adults-only dinner at Palo where we were treated like kings and queens, and the "Rainforest Experience" in the adults-only spa where you could stand in a beautifully tiled chamber and press a button that said "Mediterranean Storm" or "Siberian Mist" and get a personal show of water, light and scent.  In the ports of Nassau and Castaway Cay (the Disney-owned island) I loved, respectively, the Dolphin Encounter (it's impossible to be cynical about hugging a dolphin) and the Stingray Adventure, where we snorkeled in a crystal-clear white-sand cove with 56 resident sting rays swooshing and flapping around us.  Bliss.  Disney Dream employees either love their Disney jobs or are operating under threat of some horrific punishment, but they were smiling, generous and warm 24 hours a day.  Free self-serve ice cream cones and towels shaped like animals and a veranda overlooking the navy-blue sea didn't suck, either.  Oh, and Jarrah was all about the Oceaneer's Club and the Aquaduck, a water slide four flights of stairs above the top deck that actually extends over the sea. 

I also fulfilled a life-long dream of visiting Epcot park, and it did not disappointment (it didn't hurt that it was International Food and Wine month, either.)  The various lands are so beautiful, and the gray, misty weather really cooled things down that day (otherwise, both Florida and the Bahamas were ridiculously hot and sticky for October.)  There were no crowds, and it was all very relaxing, except for Mission to Space where I'm fairly certain my heart actually stopped for a couple of minutes.  We also visited Magic Kingdom, which was sort of interesting and sort of meh, considering most of the rides are the same as in the park where I practically grew up, and it was horribly hot and crowded.  We took one Disney sabbatical day and traveled a couple hours to the Gulf of Mexico and Clearwater, FL for a pilgrimage to the marine rescue center that is the home of Winter, the famous, tail-less dolphin from the movie "Dolphin Tale."  That was a great day, and sunset on the sugar-soft, white beach capped it off beautifully.

See?  I have nothing to be funked about.  This always happens, though.  I look forward to my birthday celebrations but I dread them, too, expecting too much and also expecting disappointment.  It's a vicious cycle. 

But enough about me...how are you?  How do you feel about YOUR birthdays?

Room Moms Are Evil

I haven't written here in ages, and I've skipped a soul-shoring trip to Maui, the first day of second grade (we scored an amazing teacher) and Jarrah's budding soccer career, which is blazing (as I expected--the kid doesn't share my scared-of-balls genes.)

But what has sent me scurrying for the benevolent cover of my blog is a problem that I have no idea how to fix.  I signed up to be "Room Mom."  I wanted to help.  Let's be honest--I wanted to put my stamp on things.  But I never should have done that.  Because now I am being steamrolled by the twin Mack trucks of the campus mean moms.

Yes, yes, I'm overstating a bit.  But at our first meeting, the two of them seemed to have everything all figured out--had I missed a previous meeting?  The plan, as David described it, was to "shake down" the parents through a process of guilt and intimidation for large sums of money (this is public school, people!) which we would then use to purchase birthday, holiday, end-of-year and Teacher Appreciation Week gift baskets and gift cards in eye-brow raising denominations.  I should add that I was instructed to email all the parents to clarify that they were still expected (I changed it to "welcome") to contribute individual gifts for all these occasions.  I asked (reasonably, I thought) how much of the money would go back into the class?  Again, public school:  maybe the parents would like to see some of this money spent on class parties, or classroom supplies?

Apparently, I'm an idiot, and a stingy one at that.  I was quickly schooled that parents would be contributing potluck items for the parties and we wouldn't spend one cent of the gift fund there.  As for supplies, which I observed running low by second semester in first grade, I was told that I had been given an opportunity to donate these supplies at the beginning of the year, and I was welcome to take it.

That burned me. I followed that "suggested donations" list like it was gospel, and gave every item, some of them twice.  It's also been suggested that I don't understand that teachers are "unpaid" (I guess she meant "underpaid") and "unappreciated" and the least we can do is lavish her with $500 (!!!!) worth of gift cards.  The least we can do, people.  The least.

Well, color me schooled.  I mean, I taught for 18 years, but I had no idea that teachers are underpaid and unappreciated.  Really?  How weird.  I always felt uber-paid and uber-appreciated, every minute of every day.  And $500--bitch, please.  I got at least $1,000 in swag every time I taught, because I'm just that awesome.

I would kind of like to quit, but I don't want our teacher thinking I have some kind of personality disorder or follow-through problem.  But I can see lots of fun ahead as I tacitly cooperate with the total domination of the second grade, or I step aside and watch the room get leveled under a pile of BevMo and Macy's cards, flower arrangements from Costco and "Coffee Day Theme."  I would kind of like to tattle to the teacher--really, that's what it would amount to--but maybe she'd like a say in where this absurd amount of money goes?  She can't possibly want that much stuff.  It makes it seem like we're overcompensating for our Talking Tina/Chucky Doll-type children--I don't need to do that.  My child is a treat empty-handed.

And I do care, very much, about teachers, public education, and my daughter's classroom in particular.  After all, I volunteered to do this thankless job.  But seriously, I turned in my form on the first day so I could be eligible for art help and reading and stuffing folders and chaperoning field trips.  More significantly, I will actually be providing P.E. for a P.E.-less school when I start teaching Nia to the class in a few weeks.

A friend reminded me that I'm not doing this to make friends with Mean Room Moms--I just want to be a part of my child's classroom experience and help out her teacher.  I need to stay focused on that.  But I can't decide if I should continue to fight the good fight, which is basically:  "Let's save $100 of this money for classroom needs!  We can even ask the teacher what she prefers!" or just lay down and let the gift baskets march over my body.

Any thoughts, Readers?  If any of you are out there?

Pippin and Other Projects

As you can see, I've been on a bit of a hiatus since NaBloPoMo ended.  But I came by it honestly.  After a long week of tech, Pippin opened on August 3rd, and closed on August 12th.  During that time, I hosted three (!) cast parties at my house and went out every single night after the show, often with most of the cast, as we became very close.

It's been a beautiful summer, in which I learned to really dance on stage, sported more than my share of sequins, got called "baby girl" by beautiful gay boys, and had a whole lot of fun ad-libbing in a British accent.  (Favorite Sam moment:  when Prince Lewis tells Pippin that another king "demands his reproductive organs on a pike staff," I exclaim "Kind of a deal breaker, that." in a concerned deadpan.)  I also got to wear my hair crimped for the first time since the '80s (and learned that it will stay in indefinitely if I don't shower) and discovered that it is possible to wear three shades of eyeshadow at once, as well as glue rhinestones to one's face with eyelash glue.  Yes, I'm getting an education here, people.

And when the last of the sequins had been swept away, the facial designs scrubbed off for the last time, and the trays and trays of cookies packed up and sent home with younger people, I didn't have much time for sadness, since the very next day I started auditioning for my playwrights festival directorial debut.  Two nights of 3-hour monologue and improv sessions ensued, and I'm happy to say that I've completed my casting.  Sarah will be played by Loni, a gal I fell in love with during the auditions, and I wasn't the only one, so I was lucky to get her.  Larry will be played by Andrew, from our 48 Hour team this year, who serendipitously showed up for auditions when I'd been thinking he'd be sort of perfect.  We have our first read-through tonight.

Sadly, it doesn't look like I'll be acting in this year's festival.  I've been so distracted by Pippin that I didn't prepare a monologue until the morning I planned to audition--Mabel from Wilde's An Ideal Husband, a great piece, very funny.  But when I tried to do it for David right before leaving and messed up three times, I knew it wasn't going to showcase my brashness if I stood up there stammering and shaking.  I made a sudden, bold decision while I was sitting there to submit to on-the-spot improv, and I think I got a pretty difficult topic:  "The apes have taken over the world and put the humans in cages.  What do you say to them?"  Going on a tip I'd received from a 30-year improv pro the night before who totally killed it ("Just start talking.  No silence at all.") I started yammering about how I can't take any more bananas and wheedling that I'd be happy to pick fleas off each other so we could relate to each other better.  There was a lot of laughing, but then when I said I was only free the last weekend of October, there were also a lot of audible "Awwwwwwwssss."  Which is flattering, I guess.  I got approached by three directors who said they wanted to use me, but they weren't Week Four, so that was that.  In the second half of the night, directors had different groups of actors up on stage to read from their plays, but I didn't get called even once and felt grumpy about it.  And now I haven't had any calls.  David says I'm being silly since I said myself that I'd limited my chances by 75 percent because of our October trips.  But it still stings.  I had a lot of fun acting last year.

So, onward to focus on directing for a while!  I really am very excited about that part.

Day #31: Back In Time

This is it, kids!  (See what I did there?) 31 posts in 31 days!  I'm pretty proud of myself, even though it's been a lonely journey.  It's funny how blogging has changed so much that you can post something on the internet for the world to see and still feel like you've written it in your private journal.  It's good timing for me to wrap up this little exercise, as we moved to the theater last night and I get very tired during tech week.  Throughout this show, I've been leaving rehearsal more energized than when I arrive, but last night I just wilted during Act 2.  Sure, it was a long night (four hours) but not nearly as long as some I've experienced, and really, it went pretty smoothly.  Except for when I galloped on for one of my entrances (having forgotten it) and--once there--realized I'd entered from the wrong side.  Well, I get another chance tonight.  We're getting used to a stage that is not as deep as our rehearsal room (though wider) so we're having to dance closer to each other (me to Charlemagne:  "You kept poking me with your sword!") and I'm realizing there are a bunch of times I'm so mushed in between people you can't really see what I'm doing anyway.  That's the magic of theater.

Today's topic is an interesting one to close:  "If you could go back to one point in your childhood, which would it be and why?"

It didn't take much thumbing through the memory bank to alight on fifth grade, and I justified staying there because my memories of that year are really strong.  I was absolutely smitten with my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. von Kleinschmid (we called her Mrs. von K) who was beautiful and raven-haired with a bell-like laugh.  She was a real champion of mine and I believe she gave me the confidence to pursue my education like a smart girl--she always made me feel I could do anything.  Once she cast me as Queen Isabella in our Columbus play, and I was suddenly moved to do a lot of ad-libbing with Columbus and completely change the script, effectively writing myself a much bigger part.  The class howled and beat on their desks and it was the first time in my (surprisingly, cringingly shy) childhood that I felt the sensual pleasures of pleasing an audience.  Later, Mrs. von K ruffled my crazy-curly hair and said "You know what you are?  You're uninhibited.  Do you know what that means?"  "It means I don't live here?" I said.  She laughed.  "Go look it up.  It's a good word for you to know."

And I remember that play for another reason:  the boy who played Columbus, Greg Rokos.  Ah, Greg Rokos.  I was not the only girl in Mrs. von K's class swayed by his considerable charms.  I think we were all in love with him, even the ones who swore he had cooties.  He was tan and kind of beefy of body, with long, thick, shaggy golden-brown hair and big, brown eyes.  He had very white teeth and a slightly raspy voice.  He was beautiful, but what I remember most about Greg is that he was kind.  He seemed to know he had a community responsibility for the fragile psyches of a dozen 10-year-old girls, and he took that seriously.  On Valentines Day, we each received a card with a personalized note, stuffed with candy.  I wonder if I was the only one who slept with theirs under their pillow.

Greg was my first real crush, one that I sustained the entire year.  I do remember the heartbreak of the last day, when we went rollerskating as a class and he skated the Couples Skate holding hands with Jennifer Pomeroy, who seemed much more mature than the rest of us.  I felt slightly numb with disappointment all day, but I remember feeling like that field trip was the end of childhood in a weird way, because we were going to middle school now.  I was sort of right--middle school was a lot bigger and scarier and meaner.

That year I also spent a lot of time with my two best elementary school friends, Wendy and Jill, but also with my own, new friend from class, Kristin.  I slept over at her house a few times and since she was an only child, her house was quiet and serene and her mother had time to bake cakes with us and her dad took us to the movies.  I also remember her parents gave us money to take ourselves (!) out to lunch, a decadent pleasure I'd never had, and that we walked to get "subs" at a hole-in-the-wall deli that is still there.  I had no idea what "subs" were but was afraid to admit it.  Then it turned out to be the most delicious thing I'd had so far in my life.  Roast beef, swiss and mustard--the sacred trinity that I love to this day.

It was the year we invented Future Worms (a fuzzy, personalized creature that Wendy and I did a brisk business selling at recess--the market crashed when we ran out of the special fat pipe cleaners necessary for the bodies, and in the pre-internet age had no idea where to get replacements for) the year that Pop Rocks could command top dollar on the playground black market, the year I learned all the capitols, read Are You There God?  It's Me, Margaret and spent countless hours walking the school track with my friends, puzzling over the details.

But you know what?  My real answer is I wouldn't want to go back to any point in my childhood, and here's why.  Even in a magical year when I discovered both theater and love, my happy memories are clearly all of school.  Though I've blocked a lot of it, that would have been the year my parents split up and were living apart, trying to decide whether or not to divorce (they ultimately didn't.)  There was a lot of screaming and a lot of things said that I didn't even understand except that they were bad.  My dad bought us two hamsters--since we'd never had pets at home--and one morning discovered that the larger one had eaten the head of the smaller one, which pretty much sums up what it was like to be the oldest child, caught in the middle of their crumbling relationship.

I'm pretty hazy on the details of my home life during that time, but that's okay.  I have no desire to go back and have my memory refreshed.  And I'm sure that goes for any other time that I now recall through a golden scrim of nostalgia.  I'm happy for those times to stay that way--distant, indistinct, and--whether happy or sad--not visceral.  Just a part of my history.  Onward.

Day #30: Shavian Wisdom

Today's topic:  "Do you agree with George Bernard Shaw that youth is wasted on children?"

Well, when I first saw this question, I was kind of annoyed, because I would have bet something important that the saying is actually "Youth is wasted on the young," which I think is very different than saying it's wasted on children.  Children are not the ones living the life which Shaw considers wasted.

But then I started Googling, and found the alternate version "Youth is a wonderful thing.  What a crime to waste it on children."  Which really doesn't have the same insouciant roll off the tongue, if you ask me.  Nor the same meaning.

Then, further searching revealed that no one is sure when or where he said this--it doesn't seem to be in any of his plays.  The final muddying of the waters made me giggle, which was someone arguing that it wasn't Shaw at all--it was Oscar Wilde (and it does sound rather Wildean, I think.)

So, I will be discontinuing my quest to scoff at the composer of this topic, and reverting to a more traditional response in the actual spirit of the thing.

I think I can begin by returning to my Googling, where someone had posted "I know this saying, but what does it actually mean?" and someone retorted "You must be young."

Which is really the point, I suppose.  That when you're young, you're clueless about why youth is so amazing.  You spend a lot of time wishing you were older, or just kind of reacting to your circumstances and rolling through the days, doing a lot of sleeping, eating and playing and precious little thinking.

On the other hand, this is precisely why this time is such a gift.  It's a time unfettered by the weight of mortality, the heavy hands of regret, guilt, and doubt.  People spend a lot of time telling you to "apply yourself" but you figure there's time to do that tomorrow--today you're going to watch TV, argue about gymnastics vs. ice skating, eat Froot-Loops out of the box, kiss someone inappropriate, and lay on the grass watching a bug.

I'm constantly reflecting NOW on the gift of hair that doesn't change color by the end of the month, staying up all night but then not sounding like a yeti the next day (or looking like one, either), eating chili-cheeseburgers at 4 a.m. and then sleeping like a baby until noon, knowing that all the leading lady parts in the play are open to me, (sigh) getting chatted up by strange men in public places.

Some of the other stuff is too painful to joke about, and almost even to write about:  a time when I didn't know my body didn't make children, a time when I thought I would soon become a famous movie reviewer, a time when I assumed I'd move around the country and the world every few years or so, as it suited me.

But I don't need to be too maudlin about it, because everyone will go through what I have.  It's the one unavoidable experience.  Getting older and realizing that youth wasn't as everlasting as it seemed when I was in the middle of it--working a thankless job in advertising (but the next one I'll have more responsibility and lots more money!) smarting from an unexpected break-up (but the next relationship will be transcendant and lasting!) living in a railroad apartment where you heard gunshots (but it was romantic and historic and only temporary!) drinking and dancing with friends after work most weeknights (because we need to vent and you can sleep when you're dead!) and never really thinking about what exactly would come next because it's a hot night in Boston and the Charles ripples in the moonlight and soaring strings rise up from the glowing Half Shell and grass tickles your bare feet and the people you're with are definitely going to be there always because this is the real thing, the essence, the soul, the center of life.

Being able to access those moments again are why Shaw (or Wilde, or whomever) said what he did, and why it makes everyone ruefully smile.  Unless they are young.  In which case, let them revel in this time when they have no idea what it means because they will, oh.  They will.

Day #29: Lazy and Crazy

It hasn't been that long since I wrote the last post, but it's been sort of a weird day and soon David and I are going to see The Queen of Versailles and maybe eat some Afghan food.  We haven't had a date night in ages because he's been away a lot and I've been in rehearsals.  Of course, we just had lunch, so maybe a big meal in an hour isn't going to happen.

The reason we had lunch at 3:00 is because Jarrah was having a fit.  She does that sometimes.  This time it was because we'd asked her to turn off the computer where she was playing some Wizard game, so she could get ready to go out.  And the "going out" was purely a treat for her--we were headed to one of those indoor arcade/restaurants--not Chuck E. Cheese but another one--at her request.  So when she freaked out, we had no choice but to cancel the field trip.  I've been trying to stick to consequences that I threaten, because I realized that for years I rarely have, and she knows it.  No matter how much she cries, she ends up really getting the message and it's gotten a bit easier to to sway her behavior with a mention of consequences than it used to be.

But then, there was at least an hour of crying and recriminations, so we were all pretty light-headed by the time we got to El Zarape.  And then it was so good.

Next, we went to Party City in search of some dog ears for her Snoopy performance this week, and did indeed find some, though they are brown and that's not right.  David is all keen on dyeing them, because he's an engineer to the core that way--why buy something when you can take a really, really long time to make or fix something else?  And we also had a treasure hunt in Ross Dress for Less for anything white for her to wear--the only shirts were for school uniforms (which bothered her mightily for some reason--we got one anyway) and the only white bottom in the place turned out to be a pair of boys basketball shorts which might look really cute because there's a black band around both legs--very Snoopy-esque.

It will be nice to have a quiet night before the madness starts this week.  Because this company rehearses in one location and only moves into the actual theater the week of the show, the first couple nights of tech are more or less harrowing (and time-consuming) and the director sometimes looks like s/he needs a big ol' drink as we flail around, entering and exiting wrong, stepping out of the light, tripping over things.  I have faith it will come together, though.  It's just I'll be really, really tired by the time it does.

On the other hand, I get to recuperate in Maui, so I really can't complain.

Day #28: Grad Night Tired

That's a weird title, referring to the time after ninth grade graduation that my class spent the night at Disneyland.  That's how it works--they sort of lock you in until 5:00 a.m.  Wearing a dress and heels.  Sounds like torture now, but we were pretty stoked then.  I remember that Tommy TuTone, they of the one (admittedly pretty rad) hit "Jenny, Jenny (867-5309)" played for us, and that my boyfriend, Isaac, gave me a gold necklace with little wings on it for our one-month anniversary.  One-month anniversary:  freakin' adorable.

The next day they bussed us back home and then we had about an hour before the bus picked us up for school.  Why did we have school the next day?  I don't know, but while we were sitting around at my friend Terri's house after breakfast, I started studying the faux-Persian carpet and next thing I knew there were some loud noises and I opened my eyes and there was a kind of blue fuzz where my vision used to be.  I jerked my head and realized I had fallen face down into the carpet pattern while I was looking at it and was now covered in drool and the bus was here.

So, that kind of tired.  I fell asleep on the couch for a few minutes this evening even though I could clearly see David was having to do all the dinner prep himself.  I just couldn't pick my head up.

I think this was partially due to a three-hour run-through early this morning followed by a two-hour dance rehearsal this afternoon, all of which had been preceded by four hours of sleep following a party I threw for the Pippin cast last night.  Whew!  That's too much math for this state of mind (and body.)

The party ended up being fairly relaxed and a nice size--about two-thirds of the cast came, plus our director.  We had burgers, a sundae bar and lots of other fixin's that people contributed.  Teresa brought her guitar and she and Nick played for us.  We sang a little and spoke of watching the Olympics but it never happened.  I stayed up talking about life with Austin, Cody and Teresa, and most of the time I didn't feel much, much older than them.

I do think the atmosphere was livelier, closer, more optimistic this morning.  And it was definitely our best run-through so far, or maybe I just felt that way because I remembered 90 percent of my notes and 75 percent of my dances.  I'm shooting for an even 100/100 on opening night.  Monday we start tech in the theater, so this was our last day in Santee.  Always makes me feel a little sad.


Afterwards, a bunch of the cast had lunch together at a fairly repugnant chain restaurant, and then I spirited 17-year-old old dancer and castmate, Ariel, back to my house (Jarrah was on a swim date, and David at the movies) for Pippin Dance Boot Camp.  I'm not sure who worked harder--me because I insisted on doing everything over and over and over to really drill it into my head, or her because, well, I insisted on her doing everything over and over and over, too.  Either way, I know we both had a sense of satisfaction when we were done, and I feel like I really put in the work and it will pay off come show time.


Now to put in that time for my harmonies.  Wait, not now.  Now, time to sleep.  

Day #27: Kid Questions

Today's topic:  "What's the best question a kid has ever asked you?"

Oh, this one is easy.  And the way I know it's easy is that I tell this story all the time, so it obviously made quite an impression.

When I was 25, I met a guy through my sister--she worked with him and I spent a day volunteering at her work.  He called the next day to ask me out and our relationship was sort of fast-tracked because I was leaving soon for a summer teaching job in Utah.  He was only five years older than me, but he was divorced from a youthful military marriage and had a son, age 5.

On our third date, he said it was his regular afternoon with his son and that I was going to meet him.  I felt pretty anxious about this, for lots of reasons.  It seemed awfully big and soon to be meeting someone's kid (and these kinds of boundary issues did end up being a problem.)  Also, as I've discussed in previous posts, I was pretty skeeved out by kids and had no idea how to act or what to say around them.

Daniel quashed my anxieties pretty quickly.  After they picked me up, I rode in the back of the car with this little tow-headed cutie who smiled sweetly but didn't say much.  What won me over is he reached out and gently petted my arm as we drove, stroking me with two fingers the way children are taught to pet rabbits.  I was pretty charmed by this and stopped being nervous.

And then when we arrived at the beach, he automatically reached for my hand before we crossed the street.  Now that I'm a mother, I know that little kids whose parents have put a monstrous fear of cars in their heads do this automatically to any adult-type person within arm's reach, but at the time, it seemed a  gesture of trust and I fell for it immediately.

We trudged through the sand down to the water, and I followed Dan when he started climbing the rocks.  My new boyfriend was standing below us in the waves, and for a few minutes, Dan and I were alone, our conversation drowned out by the surf.

He was a child who knew his mind.  He spoke clearly and unhesitatingly on all occasions, and almost always, I was amazed at his maturity and insight.  But I didn't know any of that then; I'd just met him 30 minutes before.

He climbed onto a rock across from me as I held his hand and said:  "So you're a teenager?"

"No, I'm not a teenager." I said.  And then, inexplicably, "I'm a fully-grown adult."

"Is that as big as you get?"

I laughed so loudly that Dan's dad came dashing up the rocks to see what happened.  Dan was still watching me with his big, round eyes under a fringe of almost-white hair, waiting for an answer.

Now I know that kids ask stuff like this all the time, and they do so because they'd genuinely like some information to add to the stash they've begun squirreling away.  I still love it, but that day, I was completely amazed by it.  Dan cut through all the formality, the expectations, the ordinariness of a getting-to-know-you conversation, right to the stuff he most wanted to know.

I fell in love with him right then and there.  Driving home from the beach later, my new boyfriend asked "So what did you think of Dan?"

"So far I like him more than I like you," I said.  And he laughed with delight, as a father should.  The fact that it was true and stayed true is probably why we went out as long as we did.

Day #26: Hungry

Today's topic:  "What did you swear you would never do as an adult that you still never do to this day?"

I should preface my response by saying "Not much.  Hardly anything.  Nope, mostly I'm just a big, fat hypocrite now."  My stance on television, kids' meals, saying "Because I'm the mother, that's why" and practically everything else has been leveled under the bulldozer of actual parenthood. 

But there's still one thing that haunts me and I try not to forget it.  And that's that you don't have control over your own appetite as a kid.  No, someone is always saying "You'll spoil your dinner" or "You've already had enough" or "But we're eating a real meal in two hours."  And I'm still traumatized by that.

You see, I am what nutritionists typically call "a grazer."  And what may also be called "hypoglycemic."  (I actually don't know that part for sure, but I will tell you I have a full personality change when my blood sugar gets too low--I can't think, speak or behave rationally until I get some real food.) And I think maybe I have some control issues about food as an adult because a lot of childhood is defined by the "three squares a day" model and "no snacking between meals" ethic.

Having skipped breakfast (too early, too lazy) and eaten ice cream and Diet Coke for lunch, I was chew-an-arm-off hungry after school throughout junior high and high school.  But I had to sneak snacks when my mother was out doing errands with the other kids.  I didn't even want sweets--I remember standing at the fridge shoving cheese and fruit and hot slices of my mother's homemade bread in my mouth so I didn't get caught. 

But the worst days were when I had swimming.  Now, I know that two hours of swimming laps can burn like 1,000 calories and it was no mystery why my legs were shaking when I got out of the pool.  But it was still two hours until dinner, two hours I often spent weeping in my room instead of doing my homework because I felt so weak. 

I'm not trying to vilify my mother.  She was making the choices she thought best, not trying to torture me.  But my memories of that gnawing hunger are still so visceral, I can't bring myself to deny Jarrah her snacks unless we really, truly are eating dinner in five minutes. 

I guess I also ascribe to the hilarious Seinfeld bit on "the appetite." 

I gotta tell you. I am really enjoying being an adult. You can do whatever you want. For example, If I want a cookie, I can have a cookie. I can have 3 cookie or four cookies or 11 cookies. Sometimes, I intentionally ruin my appetite and then I call my mother to tell her that I did. "Hello mom, I just ruined my appetite with cookies." Because as an adult we understand that if we ruin our appetite, there is another on the way. There is no danger of running out of appetites.

This makes a lot of sense to me.  There's no danger at all.  If my kid is hungry, I say let her eat.  Why should she have angst about it?  Why does it have to be an opportunity for neurotic doubt and introspection?  She feels like she wants food; she should eat food.  Now, I do have to police what KIND or she would eat nothing but candy from morning to night.  But otherwise, I say food is fuel and since she only has two speeds--turbo and asleep--she probably needs a lot of it.

I want to let her know that I trust her to know her own body.  That I don't get to say what it needs and doesn't need, when, where and what.  Let her grow up knowing she's beautiful and that food is beautiful, too.  I never want her to have a second of doubt about either of those things.  

And while I'm at it, I'm still trying to fix the hungry kid in myself, too.  There are times I actually speak soothingly to myself when I'm really hungry and in a situation where I can't get food for a long time.  I will say, Sssshhh, it's alright.  You're alright.  You are not going to be hungry forever and as soon as we have an opportunity to find food, you can have some.  No one's trying to deprive you.  Just chill.   

I have to remind myself that I'm in control now.  And when I do, it actually does help. 

Day 25: Stuff That Keeps Me From Napping

Today's topic I sort of covered yesterday, about stuff I do now that I wished adults wouldn't do when I was a kid.

I'm feeling really wiped out today.  I've been rehearsing a lot at night, and then being totally wired until 1:00 in the morning.  I think I'm kind of worried that we're not ready for this show, or maybe just that I'm not ready.  I am still messing up the dances, but now I am also messing up the songs.  About the only thing I can count on is my acting, so I'm really going all out in that area.

I've also been spending long hours reading plays.  Have I mentioned this?  I'm going to direct a short play for a festival and the trade-off is I have to read 300 of them to vet 24 for the program.  I'm trying to be really careful because from the five I'm ultimately allowed to choose, one will end up being the one I'm assigned.  I don't want to end up directing something I don't care about.  Therefore, I've already visited the theater five (!) times, with a sixth coming up tomorrow.  It's all very low-tech--we just sit there with a pencil and a plastic tub filled with plays stapled together.  I've gotten a bit better at just reading the first page and knowing whether it will work for me.  Here are some of my rules:

1.  No anthropomorphism.  If it says "Charles Darwin is having lunch with a jellyfish," I'm moving on.

2.  No world-weary military vets.

3.  No meetings between God and the Devil.  No angels, either.

4.  No preliminary stage directions longer than two sentences.  And no outlandish staging, such as "throughout the scene, mackerel are falling from the sky."

5.  No plays featuring teenagers or octogenarians (just because they're going to be hard for me to cast.)

6.  Meta is ALWAYS in.  The second the play mentions directors, actors, auditions, or references the play currently occurring, I'm all in.

I am also researching a trip to Maui--I think that's what they call "white girl problems."  But I am so neurotic I have to research and cross-reference every hotel, every neighborhood, ever itinerary, before I commit to anything.  Whereas David looked at my copious literature and notes and remarked, "I think I would like any of these with the beach and the trees and stuff."  Bless his blissed-out little heart.

I've also been "auditioning" for a job I don't think I'm going to get, but I'm giving it the old college try.  Only the job is not about acting, and in college I wasn't expected to lie through my teeth.  A pal of mine from Birdie is a producer for a local station and is looking for a promo writer.  I asked if I could apply and he said you have to know how to write.  I said, haughtily, "I have a Ph.D. in Literature!" and he responded just as haughtily, "Not THAT kind of writing!"  I love that.  Anyway, he said I could have a three-day trial--watch the news, then write a 1-3 sentence promo that would make people want to watch that story.  The first thing I learned is that the news is really hard up for things to talk about.  Most of the 30 minutes is weather and sports.  The rest is strangely amplified reports of things like the economy and local real estate.  Which is maybe why they need the promos.

Anyway, I thought my first attempts were completely awesome if maybe a bit exaggerated, but he had the chutzpah to call them boring!  He sent back "revised" versions and I had to restrain myself from writing back, "Oh, so you just want them to be outright LIES?"  Which I meant in a gently amused way--it seems sort of strident in writing.  Which is maybe why I didn't write it.  So last night I tried again (let me tell you how fun it is to watch the news and write stuff about it at 11:00 p.m. after you've been dancing for three hours) and didn't hold back on the hyperbole this time and today he said they were good!  I was so proud!  But he still offered the job to someone else who has, like, EXPERIENCE.  Whatever.  Harumph.  He was really sweet, though, and said if that guy doesn't take the job, he is going to try to promo me to the higher-ups in such a way that they'll consider me, lack of experience notwithstanding.