Let's See: Terminal Illness or Pregnancy?

The Matron just stumbled across a gem of an idea -- a white hot stroke of genius that might carry her through days like yesterday, wherein she of clogged nose and brick head, had not ONE SINGLE THING to say except:  "hand me a Kleenex" and "Stryker are you going to puke now?"

Why, days like that, she could completely lie!

This is not the stretch of the Achilles heel (to which the Matron is prone) or the wee waggle of hyperbole (guilty again!), but all out pure Fabrication.   Have you heard of April's Mom, the woman who faked a difficult pregnancy online only to drew MILLIONS of readers--some of whom sent her money, called her daily and organized prayer chains on behalf of her entirely fictive fetus?

Read about her here and here. 

Maybe the next time ideas elude or illness intervenes, and the Idea Well runs dry, the Matron will just invent . . . .wait! Who's that on the door step!?

Paternity raise thy unholy head!  Who knew John fathered conjoined twins, long held captive by their psychotic mother, who are now free and seeking sex reassignment surgery (like little Chastity) and in need of a place to stay while the hormones perculate!  

Just when she had nothing to say . . . . 

Swine Flu

In order to fully appreciate this post, new readers must understand that the Matron's brain is a bit of a medical mystery.  Instead of the regluar lobes--frontal and all that--the Matron has a large Hypochondriacal Lobe constituting about one quarter of her personal gray matter.

This is the Lobe that keeps her on the alert for rabid bats and routinely sends her to the ER at, uh, slightest symptom (there are too many posts on this to link).   She wishes she was making all this up.

Now, the Matron emailed the parent of one of Stryker's best buddies to inquire after the buddy's health.  The friend, Henry, had spent the better part of the weekend at a baseball tournament with the Matron and Stryker, including much time spent in close quarters of the Matronly minivan.   Henry went home sick on Sunday.

Email from noncholant sane other parent:  "The doctor says Henry has the swine flu.  He'll be better in five to seven days."

Swine flu sounds SO much more alarmist than H1N1 so the Matron is sticking with that Big Gun.  Oink.

Swine flu!! 

Funny how that other family just moves through what is a full five star alarm in the Matron's household. 

Yes, those germs are a-spreading.  Stryker, felled.  He is sleeping with a bucket by his side.  The Matron?  Felled, although she can't tell if it's just a wretched cold with body aches or the dreaded pandemic knocking at her door.

You heard it here first.  The news should be official tomorrow. 

The irony of falling ill while on a three week cleansing regime that has the Matron up to her eyeballs in Supplement and Herb is not lost on her.     Maybe if she was a little more toxic those germs would jump up and scream for a cleaner home.

On the bright side?  The  104ish lbs, size 1 Matron had this conversation with another skinny friend yesterday.

Matron:  "You should try this cleansing thing.  It's great."

Skinny friend:  "I'm afraid I'll lose weight.   I don't need to lose weight."

Matron:  "You don't have to eat less, just differently.  I've only lost a couple of pounds, I bet."

Skinny Friend (with hard appraising look):  "But you could afford a few pounds."

Okay then.  Maybe the swine flu will take care of that?  

Good-Bye, Ramona

Good-bye, Ramona Quimby!

Last night, the Matron and her husband waved farewell to Scarlett's temporary alter-ego. Ramona has dominated the scene since rehearsals started, mid-March, followed by 83 shows since the April 24th opening.


The Matron and her husband were present for the final performance and the Matron will confess to a sniffle or two, mid-production.

Okay, make that a small tsunami. There's a point in which Ramona emerges from behind a screen in a fairy-tale sweet pink flower girl dress--complete with ribbons, taffeta and twirls-- with a wreath of roses in her hair. So adorable is the child and transformation that the entire audience goes: "AAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWW."

So did Ramona's mother! Largely because she hasn't seen her real daughter don a dress (at least not without pants underneath) since 2005. Check out the length on this little-mini that Ramona wears at the end! The Matron cannot tell her daughter how adorable she thinks this is. Here are Ramona and Susan, before a post-production autograph signing.



And Ramona did lots and lots and lots of this. . . .


Good-bye, sweet Ramona! The Matron will miss seeing you pout and flutter on the big stage. Ramona is already pining for her 'people.' Every show ushers in endless good-byes and separations.

Good-bye to the midnight bedtimes!

Good-bye to coming home from the theatre at 10 pm only to rise at 6:30 am for a 7:30 television call followed by two shows and another 11 pm bedtime.

Good-bye to bloody gauze and pulled teeth. Near the end of the run, one of Scarlett's baby molars cracked and required instant operation. Without sufficient time for the post-surgical bleeding to stop, that child's gaping hole bled through an entire show. Every time she was off stage, she was surrounded by crew members with garbage can and gauze, repacking. This incident, in which Scarlett drove to the theatre half-sick with worry about carrying the show --with a mouth packed full of gauze and still half delirious from the anesthesia ---was one of the few times the Matron felt she understood the degree of responsibility that child felt and carried.

Good-bye to being the headliner.

Good-bye to wardrobe mishaps, tacks in your tennis shoes, hot lemon water, lost voices, forgotten alarm clocks, homework on the fly, dinner in a bag and eaten backstage or in the van or if it's really bad while walking to the car and theatre. Good-bye to backstage antics, stage door reunions, and bouncy little dogs who live in the dressing room. Good-bye to twelve hour tech week days, twelve hour days during 'spring break' from school, long long hours living away from home, newspaper interviews, television spots, parades and public events.

Good-bye, she hopes, to the deep black eye bags and chronic catch in an over-used voice. Good-bye to falling asleep at the kitchen table at midnight and sometimes, over breakfast.

Good-bye sweet, exhausted Ramona. And Howie and Susan . . .

And welcome home, Scarlett! Your family misses you and is happy you're back, especially this one, who nearly broke through the ceiling with joy upon hearing that tonight, you are HOME.


Merrick: "Can Scawlett stop living in a play now and stay home?"

The Matron doesn't have the heart to explain about tomorrow night's audition. And Thursday's. And the one next week. And the daily search for the next fix. And the requests to fly to New York to spend a week watching Broadway plays or the desire to rent movies and watch Rent for one solid month, or the plans for the next backyard production, or the request to see THREE local shows next week, or the need to write her OWN original script, asap.

But at least, tonight? Scarlett's home.