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. 

My mother says my daughter's just like me

Another excellent guest blog. This one is from Jill Golding. We heard this at rehearsal this last week and all I could think of is how much this related to my life, and my relationship with my daughter. Thanks for sharing this Jill!

 “I hope you have a child just like you when you grow up!” This is an oft repeated phrase by many a parent who is exasperated with a particularly difficult child. In my case it’s not so much a curse as a statement of fact. Over the last two and a half years it has become very apparent that my daughter is just like me.

                When she was born my parents immediately stated that she looks just like me. And sure enough, after a side by side comparison of baby photos it was quiet evident that indeed she does look just like me. She has my round face, my brown hair and she’s been at the top of the growth chart since birth. With the exception of her brown eyes (mine are blue) she’s my mini me. She has also inherited my cheesy grins. Since becoming aware of what a camera is, she has adopted the same squinty eyed, toothy grin that fills several albums worth of photos from my childhood. I was always one to strike a dramatic pose whenever someone pulled out a camera and anyone who follows me on Facebook has seen that my little diva is prone to doing the same.

                Music is another thing we have in common. According to family lore, I sang before I talked. Many times my mother has talked about how when I would wake up in the morning or after a nap, I would sing to myself. Terra has also developed a love of music and a sweet little voice. Frequently, I will hear her in her room playing with her dolls and she turns life in the dollhouse into a musical. She makes up songs like I used to do and we sing songs in the car. She loves all kinds of music and one of her favorite things to do is sing songs with grandpa. My dad is the one who taught me how to sing in harmony and I hope that he will teach her how as well.

                She also has my stubborn streak. She has become little miss independent and I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard her say “I do it myself!” Whether it’s brushing her teeth or putting on her pajamas she wants to do it herself, no matter how long it takes. And every time she asserts her independence when my mother is around, my mother just laughs. “I know someone else who insisted on doing everything all by herself.” We’ve been working on potty training for almost a year now and even though she knows what to do, we just can’t quite get rid up the pull ups. My mother has reminded me many times that when I was her age, I refused to give up diapers (they didn’t have pull-ups back then) until she told me that big girls who wear leotards and go to gymnastics don’t wear diapers. From then on there were no more diapers for me. I’m sure that one of these days, my daughter will discover her own “thing” and suddenly it will be only big girl panties for her. But not until she’s good and ready.

                She loves to hold her little brother and give him kisses. She loves to read stories and play with stuffed animals. She loves to go to “school” and learn and play. She loves to give hugs and kisses.  She’s sweet and smart and sassy. She’s curious and loving. She has amazing energy and loves to be the center of attention. She talks to everyone and when people meet her they quickly fall in love with her beautiful spirit. And every time my mother looks at her with grandmotherly affection and says “I love that girl.” It feels like she’s saying it to me too.

My mother says my daughter’s just like me. My daughter is my mirror. She is the universes way of making me look at myself and realize that I am a strong, smart, beautiful woman. I want to be a good example for her and I want her to grow up believing that being “just like me” is a good thing. 

The saddest moment of being a mother

This blog is a guest entry from one of my amazing cast members: Patti Harvey. Thank you Patti!

The saddest moment of being a mother. You go to pick up your daughter from second grade. You see all the other girls in your daughter's class lined up to be picked up for a birthday sleepover. That your daughter is not invited to. All of them in the class. And the birthday girl was even at your child's birthday party a few months ago. You want to go up to that mother (the girl is a member of the girl scout troop that you are leader of) and ask if your daughter's invite got lost, but you don't because you know it didn't. So you take your child home (who doesn't seem to notice anyway), feed her some ice cream and cry to yourself later.

Patti Harvey 8-2013

The lines that reach into my soul

I wanted to take a moment and talk about some of the specific lines in the show that reach far into my soul and make me FEEL something. I don’t know if I've talked about how apathetic I am about movies lately because it seems like I’m watching so many that I simply cannot dredge up any deep feelings for. Perhaps it’s because I watch too many movies. Perhaps it’s because I’m tired and busy and just I’m just not prepared to focus on movies right now. I don’t know the answer to those questions but I do know that one thing I love about this script is that it touches me so deeply. I’m actually ELATED to say that there isn't a single piece in the show that I don’t care for. Through my cast’s hard work each of the pieces has taken on a dimension I hadn't seen before and endeared me to it. Here are my favorite lines from each piece.

About the relationship change between mother and daughter when a new generation arrives. “’Bye-bye Mom. Bye-bye.’ Wishing….yes, wishing I could call her back.”

About dad having a head cold “If I get sick, I will kill him with these very hands. And if my baby gets sick, I will kill him, and then myself.”

About expectations, especially the ones you didn't know about “Expect to cry in the aisles of Rite Aid when he’s sick, and pray to a God you don’t believe in to make him well. Just make him a happy, healthy kid!  And a Democrat. A real one.”

About letting your child be who they are: “Dear God, give me a sign. Tell me I haven’t totally screwed him up by letting him come here like this.”

About wanting to be accepted as normal, despite having differences: “'We’re the same as every other family.' 'Well, you know, actually – no. You’re not.'”

About fitting in and being recognized as a parent who is just trying to raise a good kid: “Sometimes we don’t feel so different from everyone else … and other times it’s “Where’s your mommy?”

About having moments where objects flying is the ONLY logical conclusion: “For the record, I don’t have bad aim. I miss on purpose.”

About what having children can mean to those who don’t have them: “I felt shut out and illuminated all at once: They were each other’s family, and I was just so tired of trying to force my way in.”

About saying things out of frustration that you don’t really mean: “'No, you ruined everything!’ and instantly I try to take it away.”

About the emptying nest: “It was a highway of tears, which sounds like a song. And then we were home. And then we heard this…The quiet.”

About adding children to the mix through marriage: “'He’s hers now.’ ‘You know this?’ ‘I know it for a fact.’ ‘How?’ ‘How often does your husband see his mother?’”

About losing the power to protect your children: “Like you want to be the one to always go first in the dark, make sure there’s nothin’ scary there, and if there is, you want to be the one to make it safe. So, it’s just frustrating that you can’t do that.”

About the shift from mom taking care of you, to you taking care of mom: “You can’t live on cookies and TV. Mom, I think you’re vegetating a little bit.”

About how choice has changed the family dynamic somewhat: "Because you have come uninvited into this household. Uninvited, but eventually not unloved.”

About how motherhood changes everything: “When one second you weren't there, and the next second you were.”

I can honestly say that I identify with every one of these statements as a mother, daughter, or human being. These lines are just a scratch on the surface of what makes this play, and the experiences detailed in it amazing. And heartfelt.  

The Physical Trials

One great thing about being consumed with this project right now is that I've been so focused on mothers.  ALL mothers. I don't think there was ever a time where I was discourteous to a mom who might have been struggling with their little ones in public. I do KNOW that before I had kids I wasn't nearly as patient or empathetic to the plight of temper tantrums, curious wanderings, and tired, fussy defiance.   My increased awareness to motherhood right now has led me to reflect about the general "ism" of motherhood. I was behind a mother of 3 in a store recently. I only had Abbi with my (she's 9) and all of her little ones were under 5 years old.  Two were in the bottom part of the cart and one was in the top.  I chuckled to myself as she was trying to get the littlest one to stay in the cart while the one in the top of the cart was talking non stop. I only have two but I definitely had days where I felt like two was more than I could handle in public, or at home for that matter. On the way out the door the little one escaped again and the mother stopped in front of the door trying to coax the little guy back into the cart. As Abbi and I breezed around her she said "I'm so sorry" to me, to which I responded "you're totally fine." I didn't notice if she made it out of the store, I simply went on with my task and put it out of my mind.
I've said many times that I am really enjoying motherhood more now than I did when my kids were younger. I'm not a particularly cuddly person and even though I like to feel needed, I don't like to be clung to for things. As a result of this my kids have learned to be independent. That's not to say I don't give my kids the hugs and kisses they need, and I don't help them when they need it, but I definitely appreciate that they can do things to take care of themselves without my help now. Washing hands, getting breakfast, those types of things. My daughter broke her wrist a couple weeks ago and her arm has a cast on it. It hasn't slowed her down much, but she isn't able to wash her own hair right now. So even though she has been bathing herself for 3 years I have been having to help her because she hasn't adapted to only having one arm on this particular task yet. I haven't really minded helping her in this task, and it's made me think about the WORK that goes into motherhood.
Each stage requires different levels of involvement, and physical exertion. I remember being pregnant and feeling tired all the time, and this was before the extra weight came on. Early in the pregnancy before the highly anticipated "baby bump" I felt exhausted all the time. With Abbi I wasn't working the first trimester, so I didn't really understand why I felt that way. My mother told me that my body was building a baby and that it was exerting tremendous amount of energy to do that without me consciously participating. I remember thinking very strange thoughts about my body exerting itself without my permission. Ha! If I had only known that the body starts to work hard to support and sustain the baby, sucking the energy right out of me, and it doesn't stop. When the door shuts on your body physically supporting and delivering your baby the window opens to the next stage of physical demands. Exhaustion was the next step for me. I love the line in the show that talks about sleep deprivation. "I LOVE 2 am, I can go an entire day on minimal sleep no problem" (that's not an exact quote). I never could have imagined the blinding, blurry, emotionally trying time after birth with a colicky non sleeper. I remember clearly one time getting to the store with my newborn and walking into the store and having utterly no idea what it was I needed. I was so tired, I couldn't keep track of one thought to the next. I've always written myself little notes to remember things, but after Abbi's arrival it has gone viral. I never fully recovered from the sleep deprivation. After we finally settled into a pattern of sleeping and waking then came the monumental task first of hauling Abbi everywhere (she was a really FAT baby) and then keeping up with her when she became mobile. One might say she hit the ground running and I've been running after her ever since.
Truthfully though, I'm now past the baby/toddler stages and I'm not spending much time running after my children. Which is probably a good thing because truth be told, my son can out run me. No Joke. And he's only 6. But we are spending our energy playing with them. We try to be as hands on as possible, playing softball, riding bikes, rowing canoes, and wii dancing just to name a few. And the physical demands on the body are very different.  And they are kind of fun. The work I'm doing now with my kids is much more emotional. I don't know what the future will bring for us in this area, so in the meantime I will continue to spend my physical energy in fun times with my kiddos. And I hope other moms take the time to do that too.

Emotions

Last night's rehearsal was all about the central emotions of the pieces. As I was listening to the work prepared by my performers, my "team", I was focusing on listening to the emotional connection they were making with the character. I'm sure some of them might have thought I was asking because I couldn't tell. That was not at all the case. I could tell what they were driving at. And talking about it made it very clear to me that they had as much trouble as I did in nailing down a single emotion from the piece.
Reflecting on that has made me realize that it's because being a parent doesn't have a single emotion at a time. I think about times when I was a child and how I could easily focus in on ONE emotion that I was feeling tied into a specific event. This is something I have done time and time again for emotional recall exercises. But there are events that have happened in my life that I cannot narrow down one emotion as the strongest. Childbirth was one of those. It's not simple for me to talk about my feelings at the time. I can talk freely about the physical effects, they are concrete and easy to identify. But the emotions are so difficult to pin down. I felt elation, impatience, fear, happiness, relief, worry and that's not even all of what I felt.
One of my actresses struggled through her monologue because it hit so close to home for her. I knew that when I cast her and I did it anyway. It's not because I wanted her to suffer, and struggle by any means.  It's because I KNOW her. I know her as a sister when it comes to the emotions of motherhood. I haven't experienced the same things she has. I don't have an insight into how she parents her children, that's not what I mean AT ALL. What I DO have is the emotion.
Fear was the primary thing I felt from her monologue. Fear FOR my children. How to reconcile my hopes and dreams with theirs and still love them, and not hurt them. I grew up to face my fears with logic and my fists in some cases. I grew up to be tough. I don't know if that's because I grew up with all boys, or if it's because my mother specifically wanted me to be tough. But I never knew fear until I had children and that's the absolute truth. I feared losing someone that I loved dearly. I feared rejection. I feared loneliness. I feared being alone. I feared drowning (still do that one). But Abbi was born and my fears didn't revolve around ME anymore. I feared that I would hurt her. I feared that I would "screw" her up. I feared that she would hate me because I'm too hard, or too soft. Before she was even born I feared that she wouldn't make it. Isaac was born and I had the same fears, but added more to it. I feared that my kids wouldn't like each other. I feared that they would hurt one another (not because of their actions, mind you). I feared that they would leave me one day and never look back. As I sent them to school and into public interactions my fears were all about what kind of person they would turn out to be. Have I taught them enough good so that they will recognize hate and walk away from it? Have I shown them to love people no matter what, so that they will go forth and accept others and not be judgmental and hurtful? Have I given them the tools to succeed?
The other emotion that came through so strongly for me last night was doubt. Which I think is so closely tied to fear. Doubts about my actions, my words, my choices. Worries about the consequences. I remember clearly the only panic attack I have ever suffered was on my way home from the hospital with Isaac. We had made arrangements for 3 year old Abbi to come home from a friends shortly after we got home with Isaac and on the short trip from the hospital to the house my brain took over and my body responded. I was breathing hard, my heart was racing, and I started sweating profusely.  I remember Jud asking me if I was ok and my response was "I can't do it. Oh, my God, I can't do it all with two kids." I don't know what the trigger was, but I do know that it came from my fears, and my doubts. The end result was Abbi didn't come home until much later in the evening. Until I had gotten home and calmed down and centered myself. Jud was my rock. I sometimes feel so bad for the guys that are exposed to the crazy gamut of emotions that come bursting forth with or without my permission. He must have thought I was stark, raving mad. Being unsure about a second child was likely something that should have been addressed about 9 months sooner than that. I still have my doubts. Mostly surrounding the same kinds of things I talked about in fears.
And this is motherhood for me today. And the more I interact with other mothers the more I realize I'm not alone. I share these feelings with many of them. Even though they have children that are older than mine, younger than mine, even though they have more children than I do, or less. We share these emotions. Fear, and doubt.

Motherhood Out Loud - Consumption

Only once before in my time working on productions has a show so affected me.  I knew I wanted to do a show with a large female cast as early as January 2013. I started looking at various shows and reading through some of them trying to find the perfect vehicle for our company. I received an email from Dramatists about Motherhood Out Loud and I instantly loved the title of it. I loved the subject matter and the content even before I started to read it. After ordering the script I read it. Then I read it again.  And a third time. I took my production proposal to our board and pitched the show. I wasn't super nervous as I knew I would be met with little resistance on the show. Sure enough, it was agreed that we would produce it for our fall show. Then came the conversation about a director. At the time I had made a decision to remove myself from the day-to-day tasks of producing shows to better spend my time with my family. Thus the boards discussion on who we would ask to direct this show. A few really great names came up and it was decided to begin making phone calls to those people and negotiate. A week later I sent an email to my partners. I had read the show 2 more times in that week and I couldn't let it go. I wanted to direct the show. My partners agreed and my "hiatus" proved to be short lived. A couple of weeks ago I held auditions and I cast my show. I had a large group of really varied, and really talented women come to my auditions. It turned out to be difficult to cast the show. To give the voices in my head in each of the parts an actual voice, a personality, and a physical body. The hardest part was not giving myself a role in the show. There were so many sections that I felt I could really connect with. I would identify with what the character was saying. It touched deep in my soul. I wanted so badly to take a section of the show and give it MY stamp. But I resisted. I used my actresses.  Our first read through happened shortly after auditions and it made the hair on my neck stand on end. Just reading through the script. Hearing the individual voices of this show that has been on my mind and in my soul for weeks. Toady is our second rehearsal. I have spent quite a bit of time toying with staging ideas and I will be presenting some options to my cast tonight. I know now that I want the theme of this show to be connections. I want to emphasize how we are all connected in some way or another. The play shows how we are connected in many ways as mothers, and parents in general. But I want to highlight other areas where we are all the same as human beings. I hope my vision works. I hope that I can get people to come out and watch it.