Exercise, mental health, and butt scratching

I wrote a post today for Erasing the Distance's blog. Wait...you've never read Erasing the Distance's blog, you say? Well, what are you waiting for? Check out my post, and then take a look around. Explore. Read up on ETD. We are a pretty cool organization, if I do say so myself.

And for those of you that only read this blog to hear funny anecdotes about my kids and really wish I'd stop talking about ME, here's a little tie-in nugget for ya...

Sophie: "My friend Margot cries when we eat peaches at school, and I don't know WHY! That's just crazy."
Me: "Well, it's not "crazy" - it just means she probably doesn't like peaches."
Soph: "But peaches are YUMMY!"
Me: "Well, I think so too...but not everybody likes peaches. Different people like different things."
Soph: "You mean like how I like to scratch-a my butt but other people don't like to watch me do dat?"
Me: "Um...well...yes, that's exactly what I mean."

When you crawl around inside my brain, it tickles!

My friend Gen turned me onto this blog entry by playwright Catherine Trieschmann. Not only is the post exceptionally written, but I actually gasped out loud the first time I read it. While I recognize that juggling life and motherhood is a (sadly) common struggle, the author's specific insight into the challenges of raising a family while working in theater was particularly resonant for me. It was as if this woman had climbed into my brain, ripped out all the festering frustration and helplessness over how to balance being a mother and an artist, and rearranged the jumbled mess into a perfectly crafted missive.

What an odd experience to realize that, in many ways, a complete stranger knows me more intimately than some of my closest family and friends.

Thank you, Ms. Trieschmann, for allowing me to express myself through your beautiful words.

Latelys

Lately, Sophie has started adopting the phrase "speaking of..." into her vocabulary. Once in awhile, almost by accident, she uses it correctly. For example, I was talking about the zoo and she said, "Speaking of the zoo, can we go see the elephants when we get there?"

But usually she shortens the whole phrase and/or uses it incorrectly, yet always with this focused, thoughtful look on her face that conveys just how much she's trying to converse on an adult level. Sample exchanges from this morning:

Me: "What would you like for breakfast?"
Sophie: "Speaking of...can you read me a book?"

Me: "Clear your plate, please."
Sophie: "Speaking...it looks like it raining outside."

Me: "It's cold today, isn't it?"
Sophie: "Speaking of dat...I gotta poop!"

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Lately, Emma's robust ego seems to have taken a hit. She's doing okay in school and likes her teacher a lot, but her self-esteem isn't as healthy as usual due to a number of things - new environment, new kids, lack of old friends, harder curriculum, etc. She was scared to go to school this morning because she's convinced she'll get a zero on her reading test and the teacher will kick her out of class. The other day, she told Chris that everybody thinks her best friend is pretty and they want to be her friend, and nobody thinks Emma's pretty or wants to be her friend. It makes me so sad to hear my normally (over)confident daughter talking like this...not only because I hate hearing her unhappy, but also because I fear it is only the beginning of voluminous amounts of self-doubt to come as she grows older.

However, I was bolstered to hear her typical self-belief emerge in the car yesterday while playing with her sister. Although, per usual with Emma, she took it just a little too far.

Sophie: "I don't want to play that game."
Emma: "Yes, you DO! This is MY world and I make the rules!"
Me: "Em, what are you talking about? You don't control the whole world."
Emma: "I don't mean EVERYBODY'S world, Mom. Just YOUR world and SOPHIE'S world. Duh."

Hello, second grade. Nice to meet ya.

Last Tuesday was Emma's first day of second grade.

I rise at 6am so I can sneak in a shower before the rest of the family becomes conscious. After dressing and a little primping (I get nervous on the first day of school too...meeting the teacher, seeing other parents, etc.), I walk quietly into Em's room and mentally prepare myself for whatever spew of fury she might unleash on me upon her awakening. Technically, we have slept in this morning - normally the bus arrives at 6:30am, which means we rise very early indeed. But regardless of whatever extra minutes have been stolen because we are driving to school this day, history indicates that Emma will not be thankful. She HATES not being allowed to awaken on her own, and being the one tasked with getting her up and ready is not a job for the faint of heart. I take a deep breath and shake her gently.

For once, she doesn't whine or growl or moan or burrow under her bed or burst into wails of protest at the horrible cruelty of being forced awake at such a ridiculous hour. She simply stands and heads to the bathroom. I silently thank the first-day-of-school gods for this rare occurrence and walk to the kitchen, where Chris is making Emma breakfast. He has decided to take the day off work so he can hang at home with the little one while I accompany Emma to school without the distraction of my ever-present shadow, Sophie P. Once Em is fed, brushed and dressed, we grab her book bag, lunch and 5 lb. sack of school supplies (I am not kidding...that sucker was HEAVY) and head outside for the obligatory first-day-of-school-posed-pic before hitting the road.

We pick up her best friend O, O's mom and little sister on the way. By the time I drop Em off at school, find parking (impossible), lug the 5lb bag of supplies and my own sorry butt several blocks to the school, ask three different people where the second grade pod is, and find my way to where I am supposed to be, all the students have already been sorted (kind of like in Harry Potter, minus the hat) and I have missed it all. My grand plan of holding Em's hand during the class assignments and consoling her if she is separated from her best friend has gone up in smoke. I discover Em already sitting at a table in her new classroom with a shell-shocked look on her face. Her eyes are bigger than saucers as she catches me in her gaze, waves me over and says in a voice edging toward panic, "O isn't in my class. None of my friends are in my class."

At first glance, it appears true. Virtually none of her friends from first grade are in her class this year. Weird. Bad. Exactly what we feared! Seriously, Em has had nightmares for weeks about this. Oh no. Still, she holds it together pretty well. We listen to her new teacher, Mrs. Whitfield, explain how school will work this year, and I see Em relax a bit as she focuses in on what her teacher is saying. Mrs. Whitfield appears tough and no-nonsense, but also warm and caring. I watch her in action and marvel at how this tiny, lone woman manages to corral 30 seven-year-olds when I can barely handle one. I stay for awhile, help the kids get their school supplies filed away. I am tasked with aiding four kids with lunch money and one table of students with labeling folders. I complete neither task, because children are constantly pulling at me, shouting "Hey, you!" and "Mrs. Jen" and "Parent!" while asking me questions about this, that and the other. Mrs. Whitfield is very gracious when I inform her of my failure, and I wonder again how she keeps everything running (relatively) smoothly and finds time to clean up after parents like me who fail to finish the tiny assignments they are given. I feel good about this teacher, and I hope that Emma does too.

Suddenly, it is 9am. I've been helping for an hour, and now it is time to go. The school has not-so-politely requested that all parents get the heck out of dodge. Em is clingy as I hug her goodbye, and I fear she is going to break down. But she rallies as I whisper in her ear, "I am so proud of you, my little second grader, and I will see you when you get home." Then I flee the scene before either of us starts bawling in the middle of Pod 221. I am actually wearing mascara for once, so bursting into tears would be a disaster on more than one level.

I go about the rest of the day as best I can. I get Sophie to preschool, eat a lovely brunch with husband, enjoy a divine and much-needed nap. But all the while, I worry worry worry about whether or not Em is having a good day. I receive the most fabulous news ever around midday - that Em's new morning bus pick up this year is 7:14am! - which bolsters me for awhile. But as the hours tick by, my anxiety grows.

Chris is the one who gathers Em from the bus stop. He takes her for a celebratory slushie before arriving home. The minute they walk through the door, I know all will be okay. Em has a huge smile on her face, and she declares that she LOVES LOVES LOVES her teacher Mrs. Maria. (How cool, that she lets them call her by her first name? This sort of makes me love her too.) Emma is bouncing around, full of excitement. I sigh a huge breath of relief and settle down to hear all about the fabulous day of this glorious second-grader of mine.

Pull my string and watch me go

We made our annual trek to Ohio with the Dippel family and had a glorious week, as usual.

Honestly, the above sentence just took me fifteen minutes to write. Camp is over, school hasn't started yet, and I've been stuck at home with both girls for most of August. After weeks of constant conflict resolution between my warring darlings, my brain has officially stopped working. I've become like one of those dolls you buy in the store that says certain things every time you pull a string in its back. I automatically shout "NO!" and "Stop it!" and "Have you lost your MIND?" when nudged, and otherwise my brain is in sleep mode.

Because I don't have a spare five hours to compose an eloquent paragraph about our vacation, I'm just gonna leave it at this: We had fun. Check out the videos below if you want a laugh. Our poor children, born into theatrical families...and poor us, too. Please, save a little of your sympathy for us?

Biology is so cool

I often question my own value and impact...as a mother, a wife, an actress, a person. It's not necessarily the most fun way to live, but it's how I've always been. I rarely feel satisfied with anything I do. I'm always criticizing, worrying, analyzing, berating myself in my head. Why? I don't have an answer to that. All I know is that treating myself lovingly is usually an act of will. I am getting slightly better at it as I age, but I suspect it will always be a struggle.

Yet even on my darkest days, when I despair that I've contributed absolutely nothing of value to this world, I know one thing to be true: I helped create two extraordinary human beings. And that pretty much trumps every horrible, belittling thought about myself that I can conjure. Because Emma and Sophie? They ROCK. And without Chris and me, they wouldn't be here. We actually MADE them.

So, inner critic? Shut your trap. These two glorious girls are in the world at least partly because of me, and that's an accomplishment to be pretty damn proud of.

Fevers and Tea Time

The girls' beloved Grandma Kitty came to visit for a few days, and they were over the moon to see her. Poor Pat. She had no idea what she was walking into when she stepped off that plane at Midway. What she thought was going to be a relaxing, fun-filled weekend of Chicago summer awesomeness quickly turned into an unbearably hot weekend of kid duty. I was sick with a sinus infection for most of her visit, sweating in bed with fever and looking like an extra from Night of the Living Dead. So a lot of the plans we had in place went on hold - either because of my illness or the extremeness of the weather. It was beautifully sunny her entire visit, but so hot that even Pat - who lives in Sarasota, FL - was starting to melt. Our a/c unit couldn't really keep up, so it was hovering around 85 degrees in our apartment most of the time. And because Chris was dealing with the girls all alone, Pat ended up picking up a lot of slack in the child rearing area too. I must say though, she was a complete sport through it all and we were all so sad to see her leave.

Here are a few photos from her trip, including tea time at American Girl Place with the girls, their dolls, and their new "pets" Sugar the dog and Ginger the cat. And the video...well, let's just say that when most parents leave their children with grandma for a few hours, they come home to an art project or some other such thing. We come home to a song-and-dance routine. And I wouldn't have it any other way. (Plus, it's hilarious how Pat quickly loses control of her back-up singers as the girls forge their own paths and pay no attention to direction. Welcome to our world, G. Kitty.)

 

 I know, this pic is totally random from the rest...but OH MY GOD. The most perfect capture of Sophie's current penchant for pouting I have ever seen. World, let me introduce you to the other side of my daughter, Miss Sophie Cranky-pants.

Barbra Sreisand, You Lied.

I whine a lot in this post. You have been forewarned. (As consolation, I offer a little brain teaser - bragging rights to the first person who can explain the relevance of the blog title. And....GO.)

I hate losing people, feeling them slip between your fingers and knowing you are powerless to stop it. The theater company I spent seven years trying to build into this fantastic theatrical empire (ie, moderately successful storefront) alongside some truly amazing colleagues is closing its doors. Infamous Commonwealth Theatre is no more. And yes, I'm heartsick to see a company that was such a huge part of my life come to such a quiet end. And yes, I'm terrified that in a city littered with thousands of unemployed actors, this is just one more indication that I will never act again. But the main root of my sadness is that I will no longer see all the people associated with the company on a regular basis. For close to a decade, I have acted/sweated/stressed/celebrated/toiled alongside these people. I've looked forward to seeing their beautiful faces at every show/fundraiser/meeting/retreat. Even if we went awhile without contact, all was well because I knew that life would eventually throw them back my way. We had the shared commonality of the theater company to keep us in each others' lives. I considered all of them friends, some of them family. And now, in all honesty, most will become strangers. Everyone has the best of intentions, but that's just how it works in this business. You move on to other projects/companies/colleagues/things, and before you know it, you're wondering how many years it's been since you talked to so-and-so. Simply put, I will miss them.

I feel myself drifting away from other friends too. It's a drift I feared knew would happen, but I find no solace in being right. I would much rather be mocked for being wrong while ensconced in the safety of a thriving friendship. But such is the ebb and flow of life, I guess. All is as it should be. And yet...that is often cold comfort.

Morose post, I know. I'd apologize, but seriously...I warned you. Still, I feel badly...so here's a clue to the brain teaser: Funny Girl.

Now go hug your friends and tell them you love them.

Halloween in July = Power Monger Syndrome

Yesterday was Halloween in July at Emma's summer camp. She dressed as a princess fairy ("NOT a fairy princess. That's boring!"), complete with all necessary accoutrements. As camp activities are mostly outside and often involve physical activity, I thought she might want to rethink the tiara. Em replied, "But if I don't wear the tiara, how will people know they are supposed to bow to me?"

Later that day, I arrived for pick up and found Emma in nothing but a bathing suit, tiara and fairy wings. She looked like a pint-size beauty contestant vying for Miss Tinkerbell. I suggested that her current ensemble was probably not the most appropriate outfit to be wearing around the park. Her body shook with excitement as she exclaimed, "But I'm a princess! I can do whatever I want!" Before I could counter, some boy waved goodbye to Emma. "Who is that?" I asked. "Oh, he's my minion," Em answered casually.

Actors Raising Polka Dotted Vaginas

Sophie loves her pink bathing suit with polka dots. While heading to the beach, she exclaimed, "Look at me! I so beautiful. Even my vagina has polka dots!" (Seriously...my girls talk about their vaginas all the time. What is UP with that?)

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While the girls are playing, we suddenly overhear Em coaching Sophie on the perfect way to say, "If you kill my sister, then you'll have to kill me too." (Why that sentence, you ask? I HAVE NO IDEA.) After about 15 minutes of back-and-forth, Sophie gets frustrated and flat-out growls the line in Emma's face. Em declares, "Yay, Sophie! I really felt that. You got the job!"

Summer Day: A Photo Essay

 

Tee Hee Hee

Greatest sound in the world...

Better than Cable

Our girls love to make up song and dance routines. We love to laugh our asses off watching them.

p.s. When Emma watched the playback on our computer, she studied the monitor intently for about 15 seconds before declaring, "Man, I look good."

Sh** My Kids Say

Sophie: "My butt itches."
Emma: "That's awkward."
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Soph: "Mommy. Emma's talking rude to me."
Em: "No, I'm not! That's just my normal voice. When I'm rude to you, believe me...you'll know it."
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Sophie: "So this [points to front] is my vagina, and this [points to back] is my butt."
Pause. Em rolls eyes.
Em: "But you still don't know your letters. Sheesh."
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Em: "I don't care if the patterns on my clothes don't match. YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO WITH MY OWN BODY!"
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Em: "I love pretty things. Pretty things make the world just...light right up!"
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Boy in park: "Bye, Emma!"
Em: "Um...bye."
Me: "Who was that?"
Em: "I don't know. Some kid from camp."
Me: "But he knew your name."
Em: "So? Everybody knows my name."
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Soph: "Emma, you hurted my feelings."
Me: "Emma, did you hear your sister? What do you say?"
Em: "Sophie, I'm sorry you made me hurt your feelings by being annoying."
Me: "Emma...."
Em: "Oh yeah, I forgot. And I forgive you."
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Soph: "Charleete and Penguin are in falling love and married. They sleep together like you and Daddy!"
Me: "Awww, how sweet. Do they have kids like me and Daddy too?"
Soph: "Yes. But Penguin got hungry and ated them for dinner. Now he is in a time out."

Summer Days

 Sam & Sophie

 Sophie & Sam

 Frolicking

Daddy time