Unless you’re in an ugly contest

The entire contents of #5’s room are spread out over the living room. The Puggles are a mess about it. They go back and forth between climbing the mountain of clothes on the couch and stamping their feet at us because everything’s different.

The reason for this is that we’re painting #5’s room. And by we, I mean everyone in my family except for me.

I walked in there today and the girls were painting each other, not fully hip to just how hard it is to get wall paint off one’s person. And hair. Ah well, they know now.

Casey was wagging her whole self at me and I rubbed her ears and said, as I often do, “You are too cute!”

To which #5 replied, “You can never be ‘too cute’. Unless you’re in an ugly contest.”

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I made it to the day off again, end of my second week of my extra job.

I had noticeably less energy today than I did last week.

Also, far less patience.

But I went to yoga. We made popcorn and milkshakes and are watching Harry Potter Two: The Chamber of Secrets. I’m blessed that my husband did laundry so that I don’t have to go to the shop naked tomorrow. I’m lucky as hell that I got the day off today anyway.

Here’s why I didn’t have to mix my show today:

Thanks for doing Sunday’s shows so I can have a day off and not be an entirely hateful human being. These pictures are from the shop build that we’re doing together. He’s Vato’s dad, the teacup chihuahua with the bark control collar that #5 liked so much.

He’s a rack-building ninja. And a hand model.

Also? I was totally coveting his baby drill there. I loaded my current show in so long ago that even power tool technology has lapped me. Most stagehands in New York, even if they’re running a regular show, will pick up extra work building shows like this or else loading in those shows into the theaters. I did some of that, and then I got a bunch of kids. I’m finding myself having to replace a lot of work-related things (tools, work boots, pants I can actually work in- uh, not to mention underwear). Though I was pleased to discover that my old tool belt fits me again. I outgrew it for a couple years.

And Lo, the new Makita!

I haven’t been this worked up about a power tool in a long time. I think I may turn my old DeWalt over to #5.

I have a feeling he would like that.

Reality Check

So I’ve started work on a new show. Right now we’re getting all the gear together at the sound shop during the day. Daytime I’m in the shop, and at night I mix my old show. If I felt ineffective and absent as a parent before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now, and I’m only three days in.

I take Sundays off from mixing the old show so I can have a day off. I know myself. If I don’t do that when it’s possible, life sucks. I need a day off. Sue me.

We’ve got some budding athletes in our family. It’s a genuine treat (rare and enjoyable) when we can get to one of their games/meets/matches. Because of the extra work right now it’s nearly impossible to get to one. My guilt is directly proportional to my availability.

I started my day today by getting more than five hours of sleep. I followed that with not having to drive over the George Washington Bridge. Made a last minute appointment to get some PT on my shoulder. Hung out with kids and puppies. Ran errands. Went to Bikram Yoga with #1, which was way cool (and she didn’t even make me go on the opposite side of the room from her). Came home and started getting dinner together and pondered the rest of the day. My list of must-do’s was far longer than the hours remaining.

#3 had a basketball game tonight. She’s on the middle school travel team. While I was ~~cooking dinner~~ heating up food she asked me if could come to her game.

Me: I don’t think so, sweetie.

#3: Awww. Pleeeese?

Me: I really don’t mean to blow you off, but I’m working two jobs right now. This is my only day off and I’m trying to do the things I need to do to be okay. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything, you know? You know how I can get.

#3: (with a knowing nod and a sigh) Yeah, I do.

Me: I’m trying not to get like that.

#5: You mean fat?

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For the record, I sacked my must-do list and we watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone while having popcorn and milkshakes, thereby negating my one and only workout this week. It was totally worth it.

Oh, there you are!

CC mentioned to me on our way in to work the other day that I needed to put a post up explaining myself and my absence. As if somehow I were unaware that I haven’t posted on this blog, Facebook and Twitter for like three weeks now.

He said I needed to let the people who follow my blog know what’s going on. Apparently both of you are worried about me.

So here’s a story:

I go in to the city early one day to hit a yoga class before work. I drop my bags at my work area and go into the bathroom. Remember that I work in a theater.

The bathroom is in the basement and is, as my sister would call it, a one-butt bathroom. I d0 what I need to do, wash up and go to leave. I grab the doorknob, pop the lock and turn.

The doorknob spins in my hand. Loosely. Ineffectively. I would go so far as to call it impotent and flaccid, even though it’s a doorknob. The doorknob isn’t doing a goddamn thing. The door is still closed, and, somehow, still locked, even with a freely spinning doorknob.

Okay, I think, no biggie. I’ve been locked in far worse bathrooms than this. Plus, I’m a stagehand. Oh, wait. All my tools are at my work area. Not in here with me. As is my cell phone. Crap.

So I dig around the bathroom and find. . . a roll of paper towels. That’s it. No pipe wrench. No random screwdriver. Not even a goddamn plunger.

I start yelling and banging on the door to try to get someone’s attention, because people are actually in the building even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. The only thing is that I’m in the basement. They’re on stage, rehearsing. Far, far away.

I may as well be on the moon.

And suddenly I’m pissed, you know? I get dinner made early, I arrange a babysitter early, I pay extra for early parking all to come in early and take this goddamn yoga class and now I’m stuck in the frickin’ bathroom? Are you kidding me?

I’ll be damned if some doorknob is going to steal my peace.

So I start kicking the crap out of the doorknob. It takes a little while, but eventually the doorframe bends, the knob breaks off and I am free and I have exactly five minutes to haul ass down 8th avenue to get to my yoga class.

I drop the pieces of the doorknob off at the stage door on my way out and tell our doorman, Gus, what happened, apologizing as sincerely and as fast as I can.

I make my yoga class.

When I come back I have to endure a rash of crap from lots of people for breaking the bathroom door and leaving.

House Head Carpenter: I don’t get it. I don’t understand how you were locked in. The doorknob still works.

Me: But it came off! Completely! That’s how I got out.

House Head Carpenter: The door’s bent now where you kicked it, but nothing’s wrong with the doorknob. Even though it broke off.

Me: Dude. I don’t know what to tell you. I was locked the hell in. For like twenty minutes.

House Head Carpenter: I’ll replace it, I’m just saying it still works. Don’t kick me.

None of this has anything to do with my absence from all things social media. But it does explain these:

The old doorknob is still on the door and sometimes I forget and try to lock it instead of using the latch.

Don’t let anybody steal your peace.