Releasing the Salamanders (no, that’s not a euphemism).

#5 went on a camping trip this weekend. It was the first time he’d spent the night away since he came to live with us. It was unnerving, having him gone. But he returned on Sunday with salamanders.

CC and I are up way too late, sucked in to Kill Bill like we are every time it comes on. It’s my turn to get up with the kids in the morning.

Me: Whoa. There is some serious salamander activity next to me here.

CC: In what way?

Me: There was a splash.

One salamander is still at the bottom of the bowl, but the other is very determinedly attempting to get out.

splash.

Me: Dude is getting out of that bowl for sure. What should we do?

CC: {sigh}

Me: Really. What do you do with a salamander? I feel a tremendous sense of obligation for these little guys.

CC: Fine. Get the car keys. I’ve had two scotches and half a bottle of wine. You’re driving.

Me: Okay, but you have to carry them.

CC: Oh sure. Make the impaired guy carry the salamanders.

I pause to take a picture.

We have a park near our house that has both a pond and a stream. It’s a nice park. A great place to release your salamanders. Except it’s the kind of park that has police who notice and come to question you if you’re there after dark.

Me: Wait, these aren’t like zebra mussels are they?

CC: No. Get in the car.

We go out to the car- me, CC, and two salamanders.

Me: You know, there’s an X-Files episode about this.

CC: No there isn’t.

Me: Yes there is.

CC: About dumping salamanders out in a pond?

Me: No, but about salamanders. This guy who has it out for Mulder gets worked on at prison by some crazy doctor and he gives him a salamander hand, thereby proving my theory once again.

CC: Which is?

Me: That you can name pretty much anything, and there’s an X-Files episode about it.

CC: {silence}

Me: The end.

CC: {silence}

Me: Don’t drop the salamanders.

CC: I’m not going to drop the salamanders. They’re going to get eaten by fish the instant we set them free.

Me: No they won’t.

CC: Yes they will.

Me: Well, better to be eaten by a fish than by one of the puggles, which would cost us $400 and three days of emotional duress while they’re hooked up to an I.V. at the vet.

CC: We’re going to get arrested for this on some eco-violation. They’re going to come and arrest #5, and all the rangers that took him on the camping trip, and we’re going to have to sell the house and move into some tiny apartment where we don’t all fit to pay remediation costs to remove and restore these two salamanders to Western New Jersey.

Me: I’m pretty sure we don’t have that much equity in the house.

CC: {sigh}

Me: I forgot my flashlight. Also, I’m in flip-flops.

CC: Can we just drop them in the pond instead of the creek? The last thing I need to do is break a frickin’ ankle tonight.

Me: This decision of where to drop them probably is the single most important thing that will determine their length of life, isn’t it?

CC: Who cares? The cops are gonna be here any minute. “What’s that, officer? No, sir, we’re just taking our bowl for a walk. We do it all the time.”

We dump them.

Into the pond.

One stays put. The other heads for dry land.

I like to think he was the jumper.

Me: I wonder how long it’s going to take #5 to figure out they’re gone.

CC: About as long as it takes him to cross the floor. He did leave them on the kitchen table. It’s going to be the first thing he checks when he wakes up.

Me: Yeah.

CC: {laughs}

Me: What?

CC (re-enacting our first phone call eleven years ago when he was interviewing me to be his assistant on the Aida tour): So, I’ll hire you for the gig. In like, eleven years, you’re going to be dumping two salamanders out of a cereal bowl into a park pond in New Jersey while looking out for cops. I have no idea what happens between these two events. You still want the gig?

For the record, I still would have taken the gig.

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

#5 got a cell phone for Christmas.

He’s too young for it, we know.

We were maxed out on our family plan when it came time to get one for #4, who was literally the last kid in the sixth grade without one. We had to open a whole new account to accommodate her, and at that point it was easy to add him on.

For the record, we’re talking about basic phones here. Not smart phones. An awful lot of kids in the middle school here got iPhone 4’s for Christmas. Our kids referred to them as spoiled, which made me proud.

Though it is quite possible they were just saying what they knew I wanted to hear in hopes that I would buy them smart phones next time around.

I figured #5’s phone would last three months, tops. Turns out it was #4 who broke her phone first.

Ten days after Christmas; water damage.

She didn’t do it, she swears.

Kids text. They don’t talk on the phone. I wish someone offered a plan that was unlimited texts and like, twenty minutes a month. I would totally come out ahead on that. Which, I suppose, is why no one offers that plan.

Most of the texts I get from the girls are either asking for something that will cost me money or complaining about something that will cost me money. They are nearly always misspelled, and not in a fashion that saves them any extra effort.

-Wat is 4dinnner

-Cant we haaav bk instead of stew

-do i haaavd to do choares please say no

-HELP ME. SHE WONT STOP SNORRING.

-I haaaaate her shez such a b-word!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Cn u leev $$$ for me pleeeez?

-I just want to give you a heads up about tour. I’m going to need two new dresses. And probably shoes as well. (#2 always spells everything correctly)

Though I have to say, during the brief span of time before she broke her phone, #4 did send me a picture of Casey wearing the Gene Simmons wig.

#5, however, is different. He never texts me with complaints about his sisters, requests for money, or to say he didn’t like dinner.

This is the kind of thing I get from #5:

myarm!!! — OH NO MY ARM!!!! EVERYTHING'S BETTER WITH PERRY

A picture of him being attacked by the vacuum cleaner on a Saturday when we left them with an extensive chore list.

“Everything’s better with Perry” was his signature line. A reference to Phineas and Ferb, the greatest TV show of all time.

So when my friend Walter brought me a gift to give to #5, I texted him.

Me: My friend Walter brought me a gift for you.

#5: sweat! tell him i said thanks

I’m pretty sure he meant “sweet”. He didn’t ask what the gift was until I got home. As if it never occurred to him to pester me via text.

The pestering came later, and it was really directed more at his sisters as he proclaimed with great joy, and even greater volume, the two magical words that named the gift, over and over, all day long:

BACON WALLET!!!!!

It is his most cherished possession. Thanks, Walter- it’s sweat!

Coming Back to Life

A couple things always surprise me about going through production to open a show. I don’t know why I’m surprised; I should totally be used to it by now, but I’m not.

Maybe I’m like the goldfish. They say goldfish have no memory, so every trip around the bowl is a new experience. Swim swim swim. . . Hey, look! A plastic cave! Swim swim swim. . . Hey, look! A plastic cave!

Or like the addict: This time, it’ll be different.

One of the things that surprises me is how each time I do production, it’s harder. This is because each time I do it, I’m older (I hit 40 this month, post to come!). My brain thinks that with age comes experience and so each production period should be easier than the last. My body, however, says, Sweetheart, you ain’t twenty-eight anymore.

When the sleep deprivation is hitting me and I struggle lifting coils of cable, it strikes me how viciously difficult it must be for women that have their kids later in life.

The other thing that surprises me is how long it takes me to come back to life when production is over. In my head, the day after opening night I have my house clean and I’m making home-cooked meals after I run five miles and go to yoga. My body, however, is fully invested in making endless pots of tea, reading magazines, and eating Girl Scout cookies.

Which is bliss.

All the flowering things are blooming in my neighborhood. It’s really beautiful. The last time I was here during daylight, it was winter. To me, it’s as if they just popped up in full bloom overnight.

And around my house, I struggle to understand anything that’s happening:

#4, wearing one shoe: I lost my shoe.

Me: I see. That’s problematic.

#4, to #5: Can you come help me find my shoe?

#5: You lost your shoe?

#4, shaking her foot: Duh.

#5: What’s wrong with you?

#4: Just come help me look.

They walk out of the kitchen. About thirty seconds later #5 walks back in.

#5: Sometimes she makes no sense.

Me: Oh?

#5: Yeah. She just told me to come look for her shoe and we went to her door but then she wouldn’t let me in her room.

Me: Hmm.

#5: That’s like sending a cow to an orphanage.

Me:

One of my favorite bloggers came to my opening night show last week and wrote about it. Check her out: GoJulesGo at GoGuiltyPleasures- How I Almost Walked The Red Carpet Last Week.