Schizophrenic, maybe....?

Really - there's nothing else to be said...




(except for maybe I'm really proud of myself for spelling schizophrenic right on the first attempt)

A Decision Made With His Aide

*Ha ha. I just realized my title rhymes.

I enjoy taking Malia to her dance class every Saturday morning for two reasons: the obvious, being that I love watching my adorable daughter run around in a tutu. The other is the fact that I get to enjoy adult conversation with the other moms. These women, although, come to think of it, I probably don't know any of their last names, have become a welcome social aspect of my week. We come from all different walks of life. Of the 5 of us who generally dominate the conversation, 2 of us are Caucasian, 1 is Hispanic, 1 is African American, and the other is Indian. 3 of them attend a popular Christian Church in the area. The other is an ex-Hindu who now claims to be agnostic. And I, of course, am LDS.

Aside from that, the other thing that I am also alone in is being a stay-at-home mom.

We talk about this a lot. Aside from "the agnostic" who absolutely loves her job, we all want to stay home with our kids, but I am the only one who claims to be able to make it work financially. ("making it work" is obviously a subjective perspective, of course).

A few weeks ago, we were talking about our career paths, and when it came to my "back story," the women seemed a little skeptical. I could sense they weren't quite sure a person would choose staying home over understudying the lead in a hit Broadway show in L.A. It also didn't help that I weigh (fill-in-the-blank) lbs. more now than I did at the peak of my performing age. And it also doesn't help that you're lucky if I even get out with any chap stick on, more or less, looking anything glamorous, to say the least.

People with talent... I should say, people with the talent to perform (everyone has talent of some kind), generally look a certain way, I've found. They usually keep up with the fashion trends; stay in good shape; overall, they keep their outward appearances appealing to the eye of a possible audience. Needless to say, on my average day, I just don't look the part.

But that's not the point of all of this (someday I will learn to mince less words... no I won't. Who am I kidding)?!

Last week, after a month of their prodding, I finally sang for them a small little ditty. And yes, it does feel weird to sing in intimate settings in front of a small group of friends. I much prefer a stage in front of thousands... that's normal, I promise.

They sat quietly for a minute and then one of them said, "Wow. I didn't expect you to be that good."

I was embarrassed, but pleasantly flattered.

Then another said, "Seriously. Why aren't you out there trying to get rich and famous? Your kids will understand someday. You don't want to sacrifice all that. I'm sure there's a way you can do both. "

I told them I knew I was doing what was best for my girls and that I was in the right place for me right now.

But, let me tell you - as often as I feel a little bummed once in a while about the supposed "sacrifice" I'm making to be home with my girls, I am grateful 1,000,000,000,000 times over that I have been blessed with the peace of mind knowing I am doing what's right for my babies. I don't credit myself with that... I don't profess to be some awesome woman who is totally at peace with her decisions. Not at all.

I credit God entirely. It's almost as if He has given some sort of shield to my heart so that, at those moments when certain questions arise again and again (as they always do), I am always overwhelmed with the peace I feel for making the decisions I've made up to this point. I thank God He has blessed me with that, because there ain't no way I'd be able to trudge through this without His calming influence.

Thanks for that , God.

Oh, and P.S. Thanks for these guys.

Happy Bunny Day Yesterday

It's a tradition I started when Malia was about two-years-old (long-standing, I know...), that we do all of the secular Easter fun on Saturday, in order to save Sunday for the Savior.

This is what happens to a dress when you involve
3 brand new molars,
1st jellybeans,
...
& drool.

And this is what happens when Mommy is pooped after a day of activities and a pre-toddler is gaining interest in cartoons while coming down from a sugar high.

Thoughts on Easter to come.

Not a Single Lady

I *heart* kids so much!

Tools of the Trade

*this is not an April Fool's Day post, so feel safe to progress forward*

So... we all know my history as a performer, by now, right? (If not, you haven't been paying attention. Shame, shame).

Well, as I was pursuing my college degree, I couldn't help but frequently ask myself if I was wasting my time due to the fact that I had every intention to be a stay-at-home-mom. What I mean is, there is a high rate of female students pursuing an MFHD degree at BYU for just that reason: they felt it would best benefit their eventual career as wife/mother/homemaker. Made sense. I knew I wanted a degree, don't get me wrong... but was it worth my tuition and time to get the kind I was getting? These other girls were learning all about childhood development, and marital skills, etc.

But, no. Not me. I'll get a performance degree about dancing and singing to Showtunes that will then collect dust on my wall as my fellow peers trek all over the world in national tours, Broadway shows, and nationally-syndicated commercials!

(P.S. I swear to you I truly don't feel any resentment, as that previous sentence may allude. I am truly, very happy with my choice to be married, have beautiful babies, and stay home with them, wiping bums and noses).

Don't get me wrong, I have learned a few things that now benefit me from my past as an "entertainer." (Oooooo, that sounds shady...). For example, the most obvious being my hyper-active nature. Even on the most exhausting day, I can occasionally stretch out 5 more minutes of zany, loopy, Mommy goofiness just before nap-time. Also, although my children are too young to care less, I can sing a pretty awesome lullaby or two. And I challenge you to create better voices and more drama than I do at story time. Not to mention, my girls' hairdos are usually fairly impressive on a daily basis due to the multiple characters and time periods I've had to concoct on my own head.

But last night, I found another benefit. First, some history:

Any good LIVE performer knows that you must always do your very best, no matter what happens, to stay-in-character. This not only includes flubbed-up lines or unexpected wardrobe malfunctions, missed technical cues, etc., but natural disasters and biological mishaps as well.

For example: Opening Night. Playmill Theatre. "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers." I was running through a closed, backstage curtain to make an entrance as one of the other actors was striking a bench. He had forgotten the instruction to back into the curtain instead of dangerously proceeding forward, props first, thus, slamming my head, full-force, with the leg of a large, wooden bench. Next thing I remember, the theatre owner's wife was above me, shoving some sort of acetaminophen down my throat and pushing me onstage. I stood there, a little garbled, until I slowly started recognizing some of my lines, being covered by frantic cast mates. I finally threw in my last line of the scene in time for the music to start for the big dance number, after which, I began my fouettes, flinging blood from my spilt eyebrow onto first-row audience members (hey, you can't pay for that kind of interactive experience). During intermission, I received a blessing (so nice to be involved in theatres with members of the Church), and continued through the 2nd act, dizzy, in pain, but alive. I had a black eye for 3 weeks after that.

Another time: My show in Japan had a lot of pyro-technics. After a rapid costume change, I would then walk to a "safe zone," push a button, there would be a huge explosion, and I would then appear, as if by "magic" behind the left-over smoke. I'd been doing this show for well over 8 months when, during one, a hot piece of ash - (ha ha... say that really quickly.... it sounds like something else... *chuckle*.... sorry. Growing up now) - landed in my right eye. Problem was, at that particular moment, I was supposed to stand there, arms in the air, frozen, until all the other blasts for other characters occurred and they appeared as well. It was, probably, a good 10 seconds and then I had to proceed with singing and dancing. After that 2 minute song ended, I had to run off-stage (not part of the show) and rinse my eye profusely with the faucet provided there for that particular reason. My extensive make-up job was ruined, however, and they had to continue the show sans Bride of Frankenstein (we had practiced different show versions for just such emergencies).
Now - the application: Cecily has had this really obnoxious cough for a week now and it only bothers her during naps and night (of course). Last night was particularly hard for her. And despite the cough attacks, she tried so hard to sleep.... never crying out for me.... just whimpering out of frustration once in a while. I went in at about 1 AM. I picked her up and held her as she coughed and hacked and nearly threw up, she was coughing so hard. :( After about 45 minutes, I could feel she had finally fallen asleep. The poor thing was so exhausted. Problem was, I wanted to give her a good 5-10 minutes so she'd be in a deep enough sleep for me to transfer her to the crib without waking her and setting off more coughing. All of the sudden, the most irritating itch of my life occurred just below my rib cage. It was INTENSE! I wanted to scratch it so badly! But I didn't want to disturb this poor child who was finally getting some much-needed rest! Most people would be weak, and would just scratch the darn thing, waking their poor, slumbering baby. But not me! I'm a PRO!

And there it is, folks. 4+ years of a legitimate education and 20+ years of on-hands experience all came down to that one moment. And CC slept goooooood the rest of the night.

*insert applause here*

But don't think I didn't scratch the you-know-what out of that sucker as I walked down the hall back to my room! Oh, sweet relief!