I’m
linking up with the Trifextra prompt. We were asked to write 33 words about a
new beginning. I’m in the midst of directing a play that opens three weeks from
tonight. One of the best things about being involved in theatre is that many of
our new beginnings start with a round of applause. One of the worst is how little time I have left for writing!
Many
years ago, I walked into a yoga class and met a woman I had lived next door to
as a child. I was new to the class and she assured me it was wonderful. “It
really relaxes you and makes you feel at peace,” she said. “Not that you need
that. You always seem so calm.”It
was then I knew that people who don't know me well, have no idea what I'm
really like. Apparently I project a very calm exterior. My close friends and
family will find that laughable. I am like a bundle of springs compressed in a
tiny body. I throw myself into tasks and take the outcome to heart.Most of the time it's fine. Tension
fuels my crazy calendar of work, children's activities, theatre, writing and
family life. But I do occasionally pay a price.
I've
always considered myself politically moderate. But I've begun to realize
thatI'm only a moderate by
Massachusetts' standards. Compared other parts of the country I'm a bleeding
heart liberal.Four years ago on
election night, I felt like a rubber band that had been stretched and stretched
as I watched the returns. It looked like Obama would probably win, but I was
afraid of being too cocky. I went to bed before the results were finalized and
somehow managed to sleep.
By
morning, it was clear that Obama would be our next president. It was also clear
that I hadn't slept peacefully. I had clenched my jaw so hard in my sleep that
I broke my tooth. It was the second of the four crowns I now have in my mouth—all
from internalizing stress. I now carry an extra dental insurance policy, just
for me. So, yes I need all the yoga I can get.
Last
night a relative of mine wrote on her Facebook wall that she was, “Doing yoga,
drinking wine, and making a care package for my sister at college. Sending
donations to Red Cross Hurricane Relief and Planned Parenthood. Controlling the
things I can control.” Clearly, at half my age, she istwice as smart. Today I'm going make
pumpkin pancakes, go to the chiropractor, walk to the polls with my kids in the
autumn sunshine, and do some work for my upcoming show. If there's time, I may
get out my yoga mat. Controlling the things we can control. Brilliant.
I’ve been toting a four-inch thick three-ring binder everywhere with me these days. It contains the script and vocal score of the production of The Secret Garden I’m directing for a local community theatre group. I’ve been spending my lunch break pouring over my script and it has attracted some attention. Some coworkers sit elsewhere assuming I’d like to be left alone but others ask about it. I really don’t mind either way. I do most of my work at home but if I can block a page or two in the break room it is just a little bonus for me. If I’m interrupted, that’s fine too. I’m as eager to talk about my show as a grandparent showing off pictures of their newest grandchild.
One of my coworkers caught my eye as I was pulling the binder out of my locker the other day. “How’s your show going?” she asked me.
“It’s going really well,” I told her.
“I bet it’s really stressful,” she said.
I thought for a moment and said, “You know, it really isn’t.”
I’m definitely under stress. It’s no easy trick to juggle a show, my blog, my family, my home, and my job. But the show itself isn’t particularly stressful. It seems like it ought to be—doesn’t it? I have a cast of thirty actors (some of them children), plus stage parents, plus crew and a thousand decisions to be made. How high should this platform be? How white should Lily’s costume be? Do we want floor microphones or stand microphones? Would my character touch his character? What color should the flowers in the garden be? What should the clouds on the backdrop look like? Can I get a haircut? Do I have to shave my beard? Should we go out for a beer after rehearsal? Obviously, some decisions are easier than others.
I listen to these and a thousand other questions at each rehearsal and production meeting. I get them as e-mails and text messages and on my Facebook wall. Do they stress me out? Nope. They are like oxygen. I am back in my element and I have missed it. I can be exhausted from dealing with customers and helping my children with their homework and getting dinner on the table. But the moment I start working with the cast, I am invigorated.
Managing to get everything done—that’s stressful. Helping the boys with homework while making dinner and realizing I am missing a single key ingredient to every dish I can think of because I didn’t get to the grocery store—that’s stressful. Trying to make lunches for the kids to take for school while I’m making breakfast because I was too tired to do the night when I got home from rehearsal—that’s stressful. Running out the door on a Friday to work a night shift and saying goodbye to my husband whom I have hardly seen all week—that’s stressful. Coming up with a really great idea for a blog post and not having time to write it down—that’s stressful. But the show? Not stressful.
I am blessed to be working with a cast and crew that is not only talented, but thoughtful, hardworking and dedicated as well. There is not one prima donna among them. The stress of juggling it all would no doubt be too much without my remarkably supportive family. My husband has helped out in a thousand ways both small (like encouraging me to nap on Saturdays) and large (like taking on the Cub Scouts). He is there with an encouraging word and the occasional cocktail at the end of the night. The boys don’t quite understand why theatre is so important to me yet. But someday they’ll find something they are truly passionate about and they’ll understand. Unless they don’t. Now that will be stressful.
I work about four days a week for a giant home furnishings store. We are having a sale right now. We only have two sales a year so sale time is insanely busy for us. It isn’t unusual for us to do over a half-million dollars in sales each day on the weekend during a sale. Sunday and even Monday were very busy and stressful days. Customers have been particularly demanding and easily disappointed lately. I was really looking forward to my day off on Tuesday.
Tuesday unfortunately, I was greeted shortly before 6 am with a frantic, half-naked, eight-year-old in my face yelling, “Mom! James is throwing up.” Needless to say, it wasn’t quite the day off I had planned. Fortunately, my little guy is not a particularly demanding patient and his bug was pretty short-lived. Unfortunately my well-thought out “to do” list was left out in the cold.
Wednesday I was feeling the effects of not getting myself as pulled together as I had planned on Tuesday. I’m pretty sure that the medication I’m on is really messing with my hormones. I was stressed and full of self-doubt. I wasn’t prepared for my day (and I need to be prepared—it’s my safety net). I over-reacted completely and yelled at the kids for something that just wasn’t that big a deal. I was anticipating a horrific day at work—and it lived up to the anticipation. Fortunately I knew I had Thursday off, so that got me through the day.
My husband (God bless him!) was a very calming influence on me Wednesday night. He encouraged me to order pizza for dinner so I didn’t have to cook and he checked the boys’ homework. When I’m feeling that frazzled, 3rd grade arithmetic might as well be advanced calculus. We got through our Cub Scout Den meeting and after the boys were in bed we had some quiet time and a couple of drinks. I had a great night’s sleep Wednesday night, which I desperately needed.
I woke early on Thursday and managed to get some writing done. The boys were ready for school early. I was calm and peaceful. There was no yelling. About 20 minutes before we needed to walk to the bus stop, I went upstairs to prioritize my “to do” list and throw on some work out clothes—I had planned on hitting the gym after I got them off to school. I took one look at the calendar and realized that I didn’t have the day off. I had Friday off.
Thanks to my lovely and restful evening. I just took it in stride. I told the boys that I was going to need a little extra cooperation to get us all to school and work. They came through like champs. The “to do” list would have to wait another day. Yes, I was looking forward to working out and going to Trader Joe’s. And yes, I really do need to sort through the ever-increasing pile of papers in the dining room. But I realized the world would not come crashing down if those things waited another day.
I realized (as always—much too late) that anticipating a rough time and stressing about it always makes matters seem worse. Yes, my son was sick—but he wasn’t that sick and he wasn’t sick for long. No, I didn’t get to the gym when I wanted to—but I hardly went at all during the months of November and December and I managed to survive. Yes, customers were mean and nasty to me about things I couldn’t control—but when I go home my kids fling themselves into my arms so hard their affection nearly knocks me over.
Because I had let go of all of my little annoyances and allowed the love and affection of my family to heal my anxieties, I could handle it. If I had been in that place of stress and frustration I found myself earlier in the week, I wouldn’t have made it through on Thursday. Instead I looked at the calendar, took a deep breath and got ready for work. Instead of being overly irritated by my mistake, I was just grateful that I had a uniform that was clean and ironed. And having a Friday off is way better than having a Thursday off anyway.
I come from a BIG family that loves to celebrate. “Eat, drink and be merry” is a motto we take very seriously. Whether it was a family picnic or a first communion or a graduation party, all of the festivities I can remember from my childhood featured tables ready to collapse from the results of many hours of labor in everyone’s kitchens. The food was wonderful and so was the company. At some point in growing up and owning a home and starting a family I forgot that it was the social part that was important. Yes, the food was amazing. But hanging out with my cousins and other relatives was a blast. We left every occasion thinking that we ought to do this more often.
When my son Owen was born I pulled together a party to celebrate the day of his Christening. There were sandwich platters, pasta salad, potato salad, cole slaw, and all kinds of sweets made from scratch. All this while I had a newborn who nursed every two to three hours—he was born late (2 weeks), huge (9.8 lbs.), and hungry. I’m not telling you this to brag about my catering-while-sleep-deprived skills. I’m telling you this to illustrate how stupid I was. I never actually asked for help. And when I accepted the help that was offered I was less than gracious about it. Thank God my mother has thick skin and understands how psychotic a new mother can be. She would have been more than happy to help—she’s an amazing cook, a former caterer, and a retired Home Ec teacher. Did I ask her for help? Nope. See? Stupid.
This was the Christmas I decide to keep it simple by just having dessert. Psycho.
While clearing away the debris of our pre-trick-or-treating Halloween party this morning I reflected on how much more fun I have when I throw parties these days. It’s been eight (fast moving) years since Owen’s Christening and I’ve gotten much smarter—about entertaining anyway. It all started last spring. One of my fantastic neighbors held an Easter egg hunt for all the kids. They ordered a couple of big sheet pizzas and some calzones from a local take-out place. Someone made cupcakes and a few people brought beverages. No one stressed and everyone had a great time.
Owen’s First Communion was a few weeks off and I hadn’t planned a menu yet. While we were walking home from the egg hunt I said to him, “Hey Owen. How would
you feel if we had pizza for your First Communion party?”
“Great! From where?”
“It’s your party. You get to choose.”
“Yay! Papa Gino’s” he yelled.
I ordered pizza and calzones and a cake. I made a huge salad and a few appetizers. I asked my mother to make up a fruit platter (she claims she isn’t creative but her fruit displays are works of art). I didn’t break my back or stress everyone out.
It isn't as fancy, but a call to the bakery is better than Valium!
Something cool happened. No one missed my psychotic display of homemade goodness. Owen was excited we were having the food of his choosing for his party. We still ate, drank and were merry. I thoroughly enjoyed my little bear’s big day. I relaxed, drank wine and ate food that someone else made. Most of all, I got to enjoy the company of some of my favorite people—my family.
