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.

I think we made it

In the [truly] immortal words of the lead character in my show, it is finished.

We open tonight.

Finally.

At some point during the party that follows the show, reviews will start to post online. People with iPhones (which is everyone except me) will read them and word will spread. What did they say? Did they like it? Do we have to look for work next month, or can I buy a new laptop?

And after tonight, irrespective of critics and ticket sales, I start to get my life back.

Right now it looks like this:

That’s our room. All my mess.

Underneath that pile is my writing desk.

My life also looks like this:

*sigh*. Well, at least I know they ate.

I took the kids to school for the first time in months this morning. I overslept. I was cranky and snappy. There wasn’t enough food for lunches for everyone (not that I had time to make them all anyway). But damn, it was good to see them. I tripped over their shoes and ignored the clothes on the living room floor and gave them money, and sat with the pull of truth inside of what a terrible job I’ve done on the parenting side of things during this production period.

I’m glad we’re at the end of this.

Lots of people have jumped in to help us get through the past couple months, including my mom, my sister, and some of the best babysitters in the world. CC is amazing, the way he’s kept everything running while going into production on his own show. The kids have also stepped up and taken on more responsibility. All while I get to work with some of my favorite people, doing a pretty kick-ass thing. I’m a very, very lucky woman.

Hey, when did we get a rat?

To all the incredibly talented people – and I do not say that lightly – that I am fortunate enough to work with, I say: Thank you. Break legs. And, hopefully unnecessarily preemptively, Ben Brantley is a twat.

Merde!