Wrapping Up

I’ve directed shows that I hit closing night and truly the only feeling I felt was relief. Projects my heart wasn’t into, projects that took too much out of me, projects that I was ready to put to bed. Motherhood Out Loud was bittersweet when we finished our final performance to full house on Sunday. On the one hand it takes a big load off of my already full plate. It also relieves the break in routine that my husband and I pride ourselves on keeping for our kids. But on the other hand it was a piece of my heart that I had to tuck away…for now. I mentioned to several of my performers that doing this show had the felt a lot like it felt to do shows in college. I was excited every time I came to rehearsal. I wanted to hang out with the cast all the time. I never got tired of listening to the show. Every time I listened to the show something different caught my attention. Partly because the script is written in such a way I could apply my own experiences to the stories that were being played, and partly because my acting team did such an incredible job keeping it fresh and doing something new every time they performed it.

As I turn my attention to our next project, our biggest project to date Spamalot, flashes of Motherhood Out Loud flitter through my head. And I hope that stays. I feel nothing but gratitude to all those who made this show a success: the actors, the crew, the audience, my family, my co-workers all contributed to making the show work. It will be a show that I never forget, and never regret. Thanks to all.  

A letter to my daughter

A letter to my daughter 

Tonight is the second night of my production. You are a little too young to see this show. I dropped you off at your Grammy's for the night because dad and I are both involved in the show. You told me your tummy hurt, and I knew you had caught the stomach bug your brother had a few days ago. I was hoping you would just have stomach cramps like I did and not be really sick. But your little body and your little tummy isn't as rough and abused as mine and you got really sick. Grammy told me and asked me to come get you. I left the show in the last few minutes of the first act. My job as director is done. I've put everything in place to run smoothly so it's not a crisis for me to leave. Which is bittersweet I admit. But I'm not worried about my show. I came and picked you up. Another time I might have been irritated with you. A time in my past I might have showed you my frustrations. But tonight as I drove to get you all I could think of was this. You are my first job. You are one of the most important things in my life. I'm grateful not only that I was in position to be there when you needed me, but that I'm your mom. You apologized to me and asked me what would happen with my show. Pale and tired and feeling generally crappy you offered to come lay down at the theatre so I could go back. Theatre was my greatest love at one point in my life. It is still a great love. But you, your brother, and your father are the greatest loves in my life. You all fill me so completely with joy and satisfaction that as I sit here and listen to the music that is incorporated in my show about mothers all I can do is be so grateful to be your mom.  You are a beautiful, amazing, kind, smart young girl. I don't know what stars aligned to bring you into my life but I carry your heart in my heart (e.e. Cummings). And I will love you until the end of time. No matter what. Get well soon my darling. And please don't worry about my show. I'm not worried about it. 

Why do I do this?

Why do I do this? Why have I spent over half my life involved in theatre? The last 10 days have been among the most stressful I’ve had in a couple years. I am overloaded, anxious, tired, and excited all at once. And the question I keep asking myself is: Why do I do it?

Fortunately for me I know the answer.

It’s the feeling I get when I am on stage, or sitting in a house and the energy from the crowd is something I can feel. The emotion in the house is thick and the faces I can see aren’t filled with boredom, apathy, or that spaced out look you get when you know they aren’t listening. I feel satisfied as an actress and as a director when I am pouring my guts into a moment and it is tearing my soul apart because I have become one with the struggles my character is facing, or the joy my character is feeling and I can hear the sniffles, or laughter from the house.  And that is why I do it.

Some artists have the gift of painting their emotions on canvas, or even paper. Some writers can write their pain in a story, or a script. Some teachers have the gift of passing their knowledge onto another generation through teaching. My gift is directing. Being able to read a script and have a clear vision of what I think it should look like, and sound like is my greatest skill. I’m better at that than acting, than writing, than teaching. 

Directing, transferring my vision to an audience’s eyes through script analysis, set decisions, costume decisions, emotional coaching would all be for naught if I didn’t have a crowd to appreciate my work. Some artist’s work is tangible. It can survive for years and years. My gift creates only a memory that lives in the hearts and minds of the participants and the spectators. My greatest mission as a director is to have someone say, years down the road, remember that time we went to that motherhood show and what a good time we had. It’s a long answer for a short question, but that, truly, is why I do it. 

My Mother-in-Law

Another woman who has had a hand in raising me is my mother-in-law. Sharon. I was young when I met Sharon and I didn't really get nervous when I met her. The first time was shortly before our first date. The boy I was madly in love with: love at first sight at the tender age of 18. I had broken up with a boyfriend after I met Jud because my feelings for him were so strong.  Even so it never occurred to me to be nervous about meeting his mother. I viewed her as a potential friend almost from the beginning. I would be interested to know what she thought of ME. Good lord, I think I was probably annoying. I had the opportunity to interact with her more after Jud and I started to get serious about one another. We had been officially a couple for only a couple months before he left for boot camp. While he was in boot camp he wrote to me about family day. A time when a soldiers family could come see them. Probably to reassure the family that the army wasn't killing their young recruits. Despite the letters being sent home. I remember in a letter Jud sent he expressed a desire to have both me and his mom attend. This was shortly after he had made me the happiest I could remember being and proposed. I naturally was desperate to go. As luck would have it I was unable to book my own flight because I didn't have a credit card. Sharon was kind enough to book my flight for me and put it on her credit card. I'm pretty sure I paid for it. So that first summer we had a few interactions together in that process. I remember she was always very kind to me and she never made me feel anything but acceptance. After Jud got home from boot camp we were an engaged couple and family events were attended together. It was during this time that I really got to know Sharon.  We have had the opportunity to spend time one on one and discuss life, Jud, and later motherhood together. I treasure these times we have shared. The biggest thing that Sharon has taught me is how to love her son. She loves him truly and unconditionally and even when I'm tearful on the phone about something she is loyal to him without making me feel like the bad guy. I think that is a wonderful gift. She also has a gift of empathy. She is a really great listener. She will be the first to agree with me that so and so (not my husband of course) is a horse's ass. Even if we both know I'm the one at fault. It's a truly wonderful thing to have a friend like that. Sometimes you don't want advice, you don't want to be judged, you just want someone to agree with you. That's what Sharon does for me. Another wonderful thing about her is that I know she's always got my back. Like any relationship we have had our ups and downs. I know I've done things to hurt and frustrate her and vice versa. But I've never felt for one instant that she wouldn't be there when I needed her. Having her in my life gives me strength and confidence. Because I know for a fact that no matter what I do she will love me and support me and listen to me. I can only hope to one day emulate those fine qualities she has shown me.

My Grandmother

Another of the women who raised me is my grandmother. Eleanor Fowler Schimmel Staley. She passed away one day before her 78th birthday. She had an infection that her body couldn't combat. Prior to that infection she was steadily losing her memory over the course of 5 or 6 years. Maybe longer. We don't know what caused her to lose her memory. It was most likely dementia, or Alzheimer's but she never sought medical attention so it was undiagnosed.

My mother was a very young mother, in my opinion. She married at 19, had her first child at 20, her second at 22 and was divorced before 24. After she divorced my biological father she moved back in with her parents for a few years until she was able to purchase a house close by. I don't have very many direct memories of this time with with my grandmother. I do remember one time sitting on my grandmother's lap watching the fire and listening to my mother's voice on the TV. (My mom worked for KMVT at the time and did voice over work for some breaks). I also remember sitting at her kitchen table when I was in kindergarten and I bit into a sandwich and my tooth fell out. Beyond that I don't have many early memories of my pre-school years in that home.

I had a special place in my grandmother's heart because I was the only granddaughter in the vicinity, and I think because she had a large hand in raising me when I was really little as my mother was a single mother and had to work. After my mother remarried and we moved I was still able to grow sweet, treasured memories of my time with my grandmother. I know my brother Scott was her favorite, but I don't remember it ever bothering me because I always knew where I stood with my grandmother. She liked to call me Miss Tamara Ann. I would always think it was because I was in trouble.

My grandmother loved to be outside, She loved to garden, she loved the snow. She loved plants of all kinds, trees, bushes, flowers. I know she got in trouble once for smuggling a plant into Morocco. They had moved there for the Navy. They lived on 5 acres in Buhl and there are trees everywhere. She was very smart and could always take care of herself, and everyone else that needed it. She worked as a nurse for most of her life, as well as raising her children and being a navy wife. She had a formidable temper, and when she was displeased with something everyone knew it. There is so much more that I would like to say about my grandmother, but it's stuff for my journal, not this forum.

When my grandmother passed away it hit me very hard. It was kind of strange for it to bother me so much because for the last year or two of her life the memory loss had so changed her that I truly had mourned the loss of the great woman I knew before she actually died. Jud asked me what it was that was so affecting me about her passing and it took me a while to figure out that it was because of who she was for me, and what she did. She was my sanctuary. When things got difficult for me she was always there. Ready to make up the sofa with crisp, clean white sheets and tuck me in It didn't matter if it was when I was growing up and going to Grandma's meant a break from having to do chores, or take care of my little brothers, or when the man I loved was in boot camp and she comforted me as well as giving me some hard truths about raising a family in the military. It was again after I had a child of my own and my military husband was far away from me fighting in a war I neither understood, nor agreed with. Her house, her smile, her work ethic and her love were all my sanctuary. And when her spirit left this earth so did my sanctuary. And it hurt. It hurt more than the day when she came to my house and refused to get out of the truck because she didn't recognize the house, or me. It hurt more than the day she looked at me and didn't know who I was. It hurt more than the day i looked into her eyes, held her hand and realized that her eyes were blank. She was there, she was breathing, but her eyes were completely blank. When she did pass knowing that my life was going to change irrevocably, and that my sanctuary and my rock was gone was difficult to take.

And even now, I have deep sorrow for my loss. She is free from the bitter coils of no memory, and unhappiness. But I am left missing the grand lady who always made me feel like I was special. Because I remember what it was like to work side-by-side pulling the weeds from her gardens and flower beds. Even today I knelt underneath her trees, and rosebushes and pulled the "damn" grass out and spoke to her. "Grandma, I'll take care of your beautiful plants, and the home you worked so hard to build, and the man you spent your life with. I'll do my very best to take care of your memory, because you took such good care of me." Her legacy will be that I create a sanctuary for my children and grandchildren. It's the greatest gift, and the greatest tribute I can pay to the woman who had so much influence on me.

My Mother

I spent the day with my mother today. We were working on cleaning up at my grandfather's house. This has been an ongoing project since my grandmother passed away in January. It's been slow going and at times extremely trying. In working through things and separating them into three piles, keep, donate, or throw away my thoughts turned to the women who have raised, and are still raising me. Tonight I am going to talk about my mother.

She was 22 when she had me. I am her second child, and her only daughter. I love my mother, and we have spent almost all of our time together as close friends. I only remember two times in my life in which we weren't what I would consider close friends. Once was when I was about 13 and I felt like no matter what I did she simply did not understand me. I spent about a year being very close to my father and avoiding my mother all together. I also spent quite a bit of time with my grandmother at that time in my life. The second time was when I left home and moved to Salt Lake City with my fiance'. Both my mother and I had difficulty navigating the transition into adulthood.

I have vivid memories of her coming to take me out of high school classes so we could go into Twin and pick out  couple movies, grab some junk food and spend the day watching movies together. By that time all of my brothers were either in school or had left home so when she got lonely or bored we hung out together. I remember one time I had a monumental crush on a boy and he chose to date one of my friends and I had my heart broken. As I sat in the kitchen I grew up in sobbing she put on Harry Nisson's "Without You" and told me about her heartbreaks when she was growing up. After I become engaged at 19 years old she shared with me her stories of being married too young to a man she didn't know well enough to stay married to for more than a few years. Her stories were a great lesson to me. I married my fiance' but only after 3 years, and I was sure that I wanted to spend my life with him. We shared heartbreak together when her grandmother, my great-grandmother died when I was 16. She was a fierce mother bear when a sexual predator was pursuing me at 16, and again when a boy who had a crush on me followed me home on several occasions. We shared fear when my brother was in a terrible car accident and broke his arm really bad and had medical struggles for over a year getting it fixed when I was 17. We shared heartbreak again when that same brother, her third son, died. And we shared heartbreak once more when her mother passed away after spending five years slowly losing her memories to dementia or Alzheimer's (we weren't sure which it was as it went undiagnosed). There are so many other memories I could share about my mother. She taught me so much in this life and continues to teach me. She taught me how to stand up for myself, she taught me how to forgive those who had hurt me, or had wronged me. She taught me how to take care of myself, and how to rely on myself to get things done. She taught me how to have confidence in myself, and to not be afraid to be my own person. Not wanting to hurt her has shaped how I conduct myself, what I wear, and how I spend my free time. She gave me a good work ethic, she showed me how to love a child in the face of adversity. She's been a voice of reason in times of irrationality. She has driven me crazy with some of her ideas and even her fears for the future. I've gone through personal torment when I felt like she didn't want me around. I've worried about her health, her mind and her heart over the past few months. I can say with all honesty and sincerity that my mother is my best friend. I'm sure I don't tell her enough how much she means to me, but I now declare to the world that she means the world to me, and I'm proud to say that in many ways...I'm just like my mom.

Threads of connection

As summer turns into fall my thoughts are transitioning into school and routine and cooler weather. As this is the week before school starts our kids are in what we like to call “full school mode”. This means their bedtime is pushed back to 8 pm and they have to be up and moving by 7:15 am. I remember last year we started this several weeks before school started but we have been having so much fun and doing so much in the evenings that we put it off until the last week this year. For me there is always something a little melancholy about the passage from summer to fall. The warm weather fades, the carefree no schedule kind of attitude shifts, the green in the trees and grass slowly turns and dies.

I know I’ve mentioned before that my daughter is a “mini-me.” The things we butt heads on are because we are so similar but sharing things that we like together makes our relationship special. One thing about her that is NOT from me is that she is a “morning person.” (Just like dad). Unless she gets to bed super late she is up and cheerful by 7:00 am each morning. As a result our first few years of school with her have been fairly smooth. In fact, many times she will be up, dressed, and have breakfast before I get up out of bed. My son, on the other hand, has never been an early riser. Part of the reason is that he stays up much later than his sister at night. They both go to bed at the same time at night and I can rely on Abbi going right to sleep and staying asleep. Isaac does not. He will stay awake and play, or look at books sometimes until 10 o’clock. As a result, 7 am is a bit of a hard sell for him. All through Kindergarten mornings could be counted on for tears, yelling, frustration and drama. It took me half a year to figure out that Isaac likes to snooze. Abbi will hop right out of bed without lolling about as soon as the alarm goes off. Isaac likes to lie about a bit before stumbling out of bed. It took me over half a school year to figure this out. It took me another couple of months before I realized that he was just like me in that regard. I have 3 alarms that go off in the morning and they are set 15 minutes apart. I don’t like to get right up in the mornings either.

I tell this story because it’s one of the things that Isaac and I share. As a mom, and having a girl first, I’m afraid that I had an unrealistic expectation of how Isaac’s and my relationship was going to be. Abbi and I have always shared a bond. We have what I would call an easy companionship most of the time. Isaac left the baby stage and it felt like he hit the ground running...away from me. I know that is not actually the case. I know that boys react very differently than girls, and I think I always knew that, but the only thing I knew to expect was what I had already experienced with my daughter. So the morning personality thing that Isaac and I share, I hang onto that. And I work really hard to make sure that I’m treating him the way I want to be treated in the morning. I wake him up 15 minutes before I need him to get up. Then I go in again and coax him out of bed and into clothing. Usually he wants me to help him with getting dressed which I’ve told myself he’s really too old for my help in that way, but I do it anyway because it’s another thread that connects us. I don’t know what it is about being a mother to a boy that changes how we react, and what we do. But I do know that I treat my son differently than my daughter. I feel like I have to work a little bit harder to have a close relationship with him. What I have to work on most of all is accepting his love and affection, even though it come to me soooo differently than Abbi’s.

Working on Motherhood Out Loud has helped be to see, not only through the stories that are in the play, but also from the stories that the cast members have shared with me, that this is normal. Well, as “normal” as anything in motherhood is. Boys are really different than girls, but it doesn’t have to affect how you feel about them. So much of being a mother is universal. I’m sure others can identify with my stories, because they have gone through something similar. And that comforts me. Just as the “not a morning person” thread connects Isaac and I, experiences like mine are the threads that connect us as parents, as mothers of boys, as human beings.