Les Miserables LIVE

I read somewhere that this is the worlds longest running musical (something like twenty-five years).  Well, twenty years after choosing to see Phantom on Broadway instead of Les Mis., I found myself sitting next to one of my favorite people in the world, staring squinty-eyed at the stage.  Minus the coccyx, weakness from current ailment, and the man's head filling the entirety of the center stage -- it was perfect.
       After watching the seamless changing of endless sets of intricate, elaborate, and large design I wondered that set design teams have yet to demand a shout-out in the play billing. Seriously people, this was a labor of love pulled off within a hairs breadth of disaster by people who knew what they were doing.  It was amazing. 
       I had never before heard Fantine's songs sung with so much angst, bitterness, and raw emotion.  She was incredible.  I cried and cried.
       When the single remaining swear word rang through the theatre (my friend tells me they censored the show more than usual), I chuckled at the nervous laughter that rippled around me.  I wondered if audiences of other cities even noticed or if it was the mostly likely majority religious group feeling embarrassed that the word was called out in a public performance like that and no one was excommunicated.
        Now that I've seen it, I know why it's been around so long.  We aren't a culture of revolutionaries anymore.  We don't, as a general rule, collectively shun someone for a stealing a loaf of bread or for mothering children out of wedlock, but we know it happened once and could again.  We know there is still the possibility of become a self-righteous Javert, favoritism among children, unrequited love, causes we feel passionate about that no one supports us on.  Victor Hugo knew people and, whoever wrote the musical adaptation knew how to break a persons heart with a song.
       Unforgettable.  Thank you, Rachel.

Insults and Apologies

The other day, my daughter and I went to a friend's house to try on formal dresses.  (I am in need of something quick and inexpensive to chaperone Prom for the high school my hubby works for.)  My friend, for some amazing reason, had about twenty dresses at her house and my daughter, came with at least twenty criticisms.  I'm not sure I can explain how hurtful that was.  I haven't allowed teasing or put downs about body shape/size/weight, etc. because I believe the body is a gift.  I always told my daughters, "you never know what you're going to get" so why decide in advance what is beautiful and what isn't?  Well, after the shock and the hurt, I was trying not to be angry.  I finally took her face in my hands, and told her to stop talking.  Later, I wrote her a note about it.  Today, I was still upset and found myself stuck in "grumpy voice" suggesting apologies.  I honestly couldn't believe my kind, thoughtful daughter was growing into a callous, arrogant woman.
     This is the note I received in return:

Mom,
I apologize for hurting your feelings.  This was not my intention. I'm actually jealous of your figure. I love your body.  I'm totally without self-confidence, and that isn't all because of my friends.  I have a totally amazing, brilliant, beautiful woman as a mother and I'm always comparing myself to you, wishing I was more like you.  I didn't realize my comparisons were received as insults.  I love you more than words can say and I am so very, very sorry that I hurt you.  I wish I felt comfortable enough to tell you this in person, but well, there you are.  I'm sorry.  I love you.

In the note I wrote, I acknowledged that her so-called "friends" make cutting criticisms all of the time and that I hope she would find people to surround herself with who don't hurt her feelings to make themselves feel better.  I had no idea that this ever confident inspiration of a child was hurting already or comparing herself to me.  One never knows what is inside the heart and head of another.  This is why forgiveness is for ourselves. 

Love Happens (2009)

This movie was an honest look at something we don't really like to talk about in our culture -- mourning.  Burke is a psychologist turned motivational speaker who helps his patrons through the grieving process.  The sad news is, he hasn't completed his own.  But, an "accidental" booking back in his home town brings him face-to-face with the tragedy of his wife's accident.  He can longer avoid his father-in-law or his own denial as he finds himself breaking all of his own "rules" for being "A-okay."
      Eloise (Jennifer Aniston) is a local quirky florist who catches his eye as she drops her Sharpie while delivering flowers and scribbling a random long word being a painting in the hotel where Burke is staying.  She is the first woman he is prompted to ask out on a date since his wife died (3 years earlier) and she pretends to be deaf... The argument they have in the men's bathroom when he finds out is priceless.
     The thing about losing a loved one is that it still hurts years after everyone else thinks you should move on.  You're supposed to just move on, let go, and love your life again, but it isn't that easy.  There is a necessary work to be done to push beyond the anger and the fear.  Eckhart did a fantastic job walking between the roles of got it all together psychologist, distracted/despondent widower, and genuine man falling in love while weaving in all of the breakdowns and revelations necessary to that moment in life -- all in under 110 minutes.  I greatly appreciated the direction of the movie and that Jennifer Aniston was willing to play "window dressing" to allow Walter's story (one of Burke's seminar attendees) room to prompt Burke to face his own pain.
    I laughed and cried through this one.

Dehydration Station

We've gotta get these electrolytes under control, kids. 

I Do Believe in Fairies. I do. I DO!

When I first began my career in motherhood, I remember the exhaustion that came.  There was nothing so discouraging as a night of frequently interrupted sleep followed by more laundry than I had ever seen and dishes crammed so tightly into the sink, I had to fill a pitcher with water from the bathtub.  I distinctly remember holding a crying baby, tears streaming down my face, wondering where in the world my own cleaning fairy had gone.  I was certain I was as deserving as the cobbler and his shoes.

Of course, the fairy didn't come, but I gained housekeeping skill that faltered with the arrival of each new little one.  I also learned that I would rather leave the dishes in the sink for a few hours than miss out on an imagination game or story time with my little ones.  In the balance of things, I found that my children would require many skills.  One of these was clean up time, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it all of the time.

Fast forward to now...my little ones are teens and they've been joined by other little ones.  Keeping house is a daily necessity and takes hours of my time.  I've learned that keeping the house in order benefits everyone, but there is still life, pain, and sickness to take me from it.  Sometimes, my little ones lend a hand.  And sometimes...

...there are fairies...

and I am so thankful for the gifts.

My Top Ten Reasons for Hating Mother's Day

1. Mother's Day is always on the Sabbath.  This just grates on me.  Isn't this the Lord's day?  Doesn't spending a whole three hours of church meetings gushing over the best mothers ever sort of smack around the whole "Thou shalt have no other gods before me," except on Mother's Day... and Father's Day.
2. Do you have any idea how many people WANT to be mothers and can't?!  For whatever reason.  Infertility.  Lack of a partner.  Miscarriages.  This, was (obviously) not my problem.  But, I can't help having my heart break as I stand in a public place of worship to acknowledge my extreme coolness at being able to get pregnant and carry a baby to full term and think of all of the women in the room who would be better at it than I am, if only...
3. What's this?!  A whole day, for ME?  No. Not really.  This day is made for the people we've mothered and/or our husbands to make a show of gratitude.  I have a really hard time with this.  It's like only saying "I love you" on Valentine's Day.  You shouldn't need an occasion set aside by Congress to feel gratitude...and you shouldn't need to have millions of dollars of advertising for weeks at a time in your face to prompt you to do it.
4. MILLIONS of dollars of advertising.  This year, someone I know spent $90 on flowers even though their family is in the middle of a bankruptcy because he thought this is what the mother of his children would want most.
5. Breakfast in bed.  Why is this the thing to do?   It makes sense on Father's Day.  The father of my children would eat pancakes every morning if I baked them.  He also has the ability to remain comfortably in bed until well past noon on his days off.  I, on the other hand, really don't like pancakes or eggs and feel the need to rise as soon as the sun creeps through the curtains.  So, sitting there patiently, is like torture.
6. Hallmark Cards.  Who writes these things?  I am not a perfect mom.  I don't actually know any perfect moms...Well, maybe that one neighbor down the street who is always happy, raised seven kids, and has served two missions to the Islands...I want a card that says, "Mom, you're goofy and you break the dishes more often than the rest of us, but I wouldn't trade you for the world."
7. Mother's Day talks...in my church, we have these every year.  A few people touting the awesomeness of their moms.  Do you know what moms do?  We talk about our kids.  We talk about how big our bellies were, how much delivery hurt, how they painted the walls with poop that one time, how you know if your kid is lying to you, and what stories are the best to read out loud.  We are completely uncomfortable with all of this gooey, glowing spotlight business.  Turn it off.
8. Adoptive moms vs. Birth moms...today, I learned that a "thoughtful" someone has instituted the Saturday before Mother's Day to be "Birth Mom Day."  I guess this was their way of saying, see Adoptive Moms are the real moms here.  I've always thought this.  When I placed a baby for adoption 17 years ago, I spent my first Mother's Day with a stuffed mouse in my arms KNOWING that I was NOT a real mother.  I had given birth.  Period.  The woman who changed, fed, burped, laughed, and cried with him is his mother.  The thing is, we get all caught up defining what the "perfect" mom is that anyone who doesn't fit this feels left out or not good enough to be recognized. 
9. Pie instead of petunias.  Somewhere along the way a practical gift became symbolic of not recognizing the woman in your world as an individual.  That, somehow, a vacuum screamed "domestic servant."  I just disagree.  IF the mother in your world needs something to improve her everyday chores, then giving her that gift is acknowledging that being able to beautify her surrounding and having the working tools to do this IS a part of who she is.  This is the sort of gift that just keeps on giving.
10. Fathers who don't give a crap. Okay, on the flip side of all of the above, is being married to a man who does NOT feel any gratitude whatsoever toward all that you do as mother of his children and makes sure you know it by NEVER saying thank you any time throughout the year and is able to somehow ignore the millions of dollars of advertising, the talks, etc. Seriously?

Now, having said all this, I'd like to wish my mom the Happiest of Mother's Day (cuz you know I'll get it if I don't) !!

May the 4th be with you

Family Halloween pics - 2005

Nothing changes the world like Star Wars, the birth of a baby, and a light saber.

(Unless it's me, reading the prologue to each Star Wars film as my little ones sit in glowing anticipation of what is coming next...because you know we skip Episode 2 and 3 altogether.)