Say It Ain't Snow, So (Much Too)

When will the Matron ever learn?

Because Panic and Crisis prevail every first snow.  It is all:  "where are my boots! I need better gloves! Don't you remember that my coat ripped to shreds last year?! I want a BLUE hat not a red one! These boots aren't *right* on me!"

Dear children: no piece of clothing or footware designed to save you from arctic death is *right.* Everything about a boatload of snow way before Thanksgiving is entirely *wrong.* Merrick, your mother is sorry that she forgot that you wore your coat -- literally -- to shreds last year. Of course you did. She will get you a new one. Tonight, it would appear.  

Then there are the texts from the teenager taking the city bus "STILL not here!" and Merrick's return from his bus stop: "I forgot to put shoes in my backpack!" So off she goes, driving Merrick back to the bus while praying that Scarlett's actually comes so that yours turly doesn't have to also drive downtown during their winter rush hour dramas.

Thank Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe-God.  The bus came.

Space heaters are now spread throughout the Matron's four story, 2800 square foot, 100 year old house with over 50 windows. Described thus so you understannd when she says "I work from home" this is code for:  " I am wearing wool socks, slippers, jeans, tank top, long-sleeved t-shirt, sweater, sweatshirt and sometimes hat in a wind-blown structure that eats our theoretical retirement savings as monthly heating bill."

If you discover the Matron's head in theoven, it's not because she went all Sylvia Plath. Swear. Just cooking up creative heat here in St. Paul while she waits for the next emergency snow-related text to arrive -- or even better, May

Ear Wax or Bigger Problems? So Wondereth the Matron.

Merrick:   "Can we buy some Create Juice?"

Matron:  "Create Juice?  What do you mean?  There is no such thing."

Merrick:  "Yes there is and my Math teacher said she's out of it. Hers ran out.   She seemed super crabby about that so I thought it would cheer her up if I brought some on Monday."

Here is where the Matron must sit down and put her head on the table and bang it ever so slightly, just a few times.

Bang.  Bang.  Bang.

At least he's helpful.   The rest demands emergency attention.

Matronly Malaise

a middle-aged witch, me --
tangled on my two great arms,
my face in a book
and my mouth wide,
ready to tell you a story or two
                      (Anne Sexton, Transformations)


One must be just the right mood to fully appreciate Anne Sexton and her permanent perch in the gallows.    It is the kind of mood best accompanied by a photo of a caged plastic doll and a bottle glass of cheap red wine.

And maybe a cheesecake.

The Matron finds herself just so.

From time to time, she is visited with a peculiar --quite specific -- malaise.  For the past few days, said state hinted and lisped, ebbed and surged, only to settle in today.

Nothing fits quite right:  her jeans are too, well, jean-like.   Yesterday's pert hair now hangs limp.  No book holds her attention and the play she is supposed to be penning for a local theater torments her from its unopened Microsoft Word file.    She yawns and rolls her eyes at students' online questions.  Stupid!

She knew it was going to be bad on Saturday while preparing for a lovely dinner party that she her fine self was hosting.   Whenever a guest texted or called to query "what should I bring" or "remind me of the time?" her immediate internal reaction was:  F- you.

These are people she likes.   Invited to her house, even.

The children are oppressive.   Life goals?  Laughable.    

There are too many dogs in the house.   In addition to her own two, she is currently dog-sitting her mother-in-law's.

He is 8 months old and a terror.  

Everywhere the Matron turns, there is yip, yip, yip.  The borrowed dog eats garbage.   His favorite toy is toilet paper, garnered mid-swipe (yes). The other two dogs have wood ticks.   Scarlett wants to go to Target, the library, Punch Pizza, and then a friend's house culminating in a 12:00 am pick-up.   Merrick is bored, a fact which requires much repetition and renewal "I'm bored.   Mom!  What can I DO?"    HWCBN says nothing from the sanctuary of his room until he emerges with complex requirements for cross-country college visits and immediate, equally-complex adult-level application issues for various scholarships and adult endeavors.  That must be done now.

Before anyone calls an emergency number, the Matron understands --and is grateful for -- the transitory nature of her intolerance toward . . . well, life.     This happens now and again, perhaps once, twice a year and inhabits her for a day, maybe three.  She is willing -- determined, even -- to call this malaise existential.

Being alive is to be awake, hungry, grateful, anxious, uncertain, elated.  Unsettled.  Temporary.  Yearning.

For no tidy reason or narrative, this is where the Matron sometimes resides.   Where she is now and, a psychological space from which she will -- according to life's transient and temporary rules -- also depart.    

Oddly, perhaps, yours truly is grateful for --and even oddly appreciates -- these underbelly moments.    She is glad to be a full spectrum participant, from Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath to . .. well, Garrison Keillor and Billy Collins.    Fog lifts and generally, there is sun.

After all, she named her one and only daughter Scarlett:  "Tara.  Home.  I'll go home and I'll think of some way to get him back.  After all, tomorrow is another day."

Now, pass the cheesecake.

Adventures in the Emergency Room

The Matron is a fan of Mondays:  her children go to school!

Mostly.

Last Monday, JJ Hill Montessori Elementary welcomed Merrick at 8:20 a.m. and spit him out at 9:30 a.m.    Yes, she received the dreaded School Nurse Phone Call, this time announcing that her child had a fever of 100. -- with a wee tenor of "how could you miss this, Mom?"

Merrick languished at home through Wednesday, in a state vaguely reminiscent of his Vitamin D haze.   The Matron, who likes occasional moments ALONE, was in her own state:  agitated.  She could not wait to send that child to school.   Unfortunately, Merrick's relatively languid, low-grade fever and discomfort spiked into tummy ache agony and Thursday morning found him at the doctor's office instead of in school.   With his mother, of course.

The pediatrician promptly sent Merrick to the ER, certain this was appendicitis.  The Matron, who has been down that road before with her oldest, knew enough to grab her favorite take-out on the way to the hospital.

Merrick, waiting for his mother's food at the restaurant:  "Aren't I an emergency?"

Matron (appraises her son):  "Not really.  You're not bleeding or choking, right?"

Merrick (umbrage, taken):  "Well, my APPENDIX IS PROBABLY BURSTING."

Minnesota Matron:  "You betcha."   That's just what we say here -- works for nearly every situation.

However, it would turn out that the Matron did not need to stock up on food or other hospital-stay supplies.  One ultrasound and x-ray later and the diagnosis:  poop!

Matron to doctor:  "But he hasn't been constipated.  All systems have seemed quite normal."

Doctor:  "Then he's a big producer--there's more waiting."

So they slumped home, Merrick still clutching his stomach and the Matron, in a thorough and complete funk on several time-wasting, bad-parenting, over-reacting levels.    She poured her son a big glass of Metamucil and pondered the many benefits of similarly sized wine.

Imagine her surprise when the phone rang and "Children's Hospital" popped up on caller ID.   Certain that she was about to be upbraided for something, she nearly didn't answer the phone.  Nearly.

ER Doctor:  "Is this Merrick's Mom?  Mom, you don't have to rush back to the ER after spending the day here, but . . . "

Let's pause here, to fully experience that gap between "you don't have to rush back to the ER, but" and what comes next.   How long was that gap?  A second between 'but' and --what?

 Forever can indeed be an instant.

ER Doctor:  " . . . the radiologist found an abnormality."

And the Matron sat down.

It turns out that Merrick has calcification around his adrenal gland.   That slim bit of information is all that the doctor would give her -- that and instructions to schedule another ultrasound, ct scan, and blood work as soon as possible.

Thanks to her highly efficient internet skills, the Matron has been able to come to some conclusions while they wait for the tests (Tuesday).

Calcification  =   Bad News.  Universally -- there is no way around this.   But calcification is also  a frequent companion to Vitamin D deficiency -- involving some odd imbalance of Vitamins D, K, and calcium.  An although calcification is also a marker for cancer, tumors of various incarnations, and autoimmune disease, the Matron has done what any sensible parent would do and has selected Door Number One -- Vitamin D--as the culprit.   She also discovered that repairing the Vitamin D deficiency with the mega-doses Merrick has been slurping causes . . . (drum roll):  constipation.

Damned if you do and calcified if you don't.

Still.  

Tests on Tuesday.   And that mistaken appendicitis diagnosis and half day in the ER?  Doesn't feel so much like wasted-time any more, but great good luck.

Emergency Intervention: Day Three

The Matron adores her youngest -- the wild child.  -- beyond all reason.  

John:  "Mary, why do you always say yes when Merrick asks to sleep in our bed?  We need to pull together on this and get that kid in his own bed, all the time!"

Matron:  "For the record, I am constitutionally incapable of refusing a late-night parental bed request from my baby.  If he asks me, he's in.  Keep me away from him after 9 pm."

Guess who sleeps with his parents?

The Matron makes light of the bedtime carousel,  but has weightier concerns.   The gun-toting, dog-loving, tree-climbing Merrick is doing poorly in math.   Not just poorly.   Emergency-level bad.  His teacher actually called for an Official Two-Parent Consult to report that he is failing math.  

Matron:  "Merrick?  What's 8 x 7?"

Merrick:  "Three?"

The situation was significantly dire that the Matron called in the big educational guns and had her son tested for a learning disability.  Nope.  But Merrick has what the psychologist calls a "perceptual black hole," a gap in his cognitive ability.   That gap?  He cannot comprehend how parts fit into a whole.

Psychologist:  "I showed Merrick a square made out of four sections, took it apart and had him put it back together.  He made a straight line.  Four times."

The psychologist reported that Merrick was a bright kid and generally strapping young man, but would benefit from individual focused instruction on how all those single digit numbers add up to ten, and the like.  So Merrick is headed for four weeks (mornings only) of Summer Academy, a reading, writing and math camp.   Starts next week!


Nobody wants to see a new fourth grader unable to add 2 + 2.  Right?


But.


In the interim, one of the Matron's wise blog readers threw yours truly for a loop.  She queried:  why send a gun-toting, dog-loving, tree-climbing nine year old to squirm in a desk all summer?  Perhaps--and the Matron is paraphrasing -- this child will thrive if he's tossed into the woods.  An all body boy might not actually bloom in school.  Thanks Suburban Correspondent!


This gave the Matron pause.  Summer school is just four weeks, mornings only, out of the 12 week vacation.    Merrick needs the instruction.  But the Matron took a hard, self-critical look at how Merrick spent his time outside of school.


In front of the television.


More and more, that child had been gravitating toward TV.  He argued at bedtime, not just about the parental bed but any - didn't want to go.  He'd been having trouble falling asleep and rising early.   Left to his own devices, he still grabbed a gun but carried it to the couch.  With chips.  

The television and computer were -- are -- superior in their cage-like capabilities.  The Matron and her husband, who both work largely from home, both need to - well -- work.   With and around their three children.  They are also stage parents, schlepping Scarlett from one show to the next, another rehearsal, audition or now voice rehabilitation.   HWCBN had baseball, debate.  Driving to school.   Teenagers -- at least theirs -- want to talk.  They require energy, tutelage and concentration.

The Matron and her husband were all offhand, been there and done that, with third-graders.  So they took the path of least resistance and let the television and computer take turns raising their child.  Things have been even worse, as of late. HWCBN is gone for most of the summer (debate institute), Scarlett is still in school (year-round all-girls school) with theatre and friends in the evenings, most of Merrick's buddies are in day-care full-time.  His only remaining reliable companion?  TV.

A few days ago, the Matron juggled all this information:  the poor behavior, problems in school, Suburban's advice, impending summer school, screen fixation, the absence of friends and siblings.    Actually, she didn't just 'juggle.'  She stood in the center of it all -- and knew.

Because she knows -- and loves -- this child.

No more TV.

On Monday, new screen rules -- okay, first ever screen rules -- were presented to Merrick.   The parents tried to keep it simple:  no television or computer from 9 am until after dinner.   Not a quick game of bowling on the wii, not just one tiny episode of The Office.  No youtube dog videos.  Nothing.   And no, it didn't matter what the older children were doing visa vie screen time.  This rule was the household rule for children, twelve and under.   Which was only him.

Friends, there were tears.  Withdrawal and denial.  He might as well have been attending his first AA meeting.   He begged, pleased, bargained, cajoled and reasoned.   That child raged about life's injustices.  He pouted in his room and swore of all of humanity.

Until . . . he remembered his tent!   Why, wasn't there a tent he could put up in the backyard?  Indeed!  The Matron could not pull out that tent fast enough.   And . . . wasn't there a big box of untouched leggos in the basement? Yes!   Here they are, darling!   Merrick speculated that Scruffy needed a bath.  Why, he could do it!   During a routine Target run, he expressed interest in a BOOK which the Matron promptly tossed in the cart, library be damned.  She was seizing that moment.  Merrick had not willingly touched anything with text in four months.

Buying band-aids, Merrick inquired about the $8 package of 100 latex gloves.

Merrick:  "Mom?  Can we buy those?  I have a couple of ideas for them."

This morning, Merrick forgot about television before nine. He had 12 solid hours of sleep under his skinny little belt, the second in a row after happily going to bed at a reasonable time -- in his own room.   That child popped awake, grabbed ten latex gloves, a cap gun, a comic book and headed to his tree for some reading and what-not.

This is Day Three.

She knows, she knows . . . she's all Pink Cloud and La-La-Land and also probably entirely discovering what everyone else already knew.  Parenting is like that.   In all honesty, less Matronly income-generating activity has taken place. There have been a few dark moments when the dogs and outdoors and no tent would suffice:  Merrick wanted just a few minutes of TV.    She couldn't even find those few minutes to attend to this blog.

The final bright side to the screen ban is that for the very first time, the Matron and her husband scheduled work hours.  One parent is fully on domestic duty and other, hunkered in an office.   So for the first time in oh so many years, the Matron hasn't been checking email and scanning online classes in every free minute.  Instead, she worked from 8 to noon Wednesday morning and will return to the trade on Friday.

Heaven.

Excuse her now.  She and Merrick are biking to the dollar store, rounding through the park on the way home, and then headed downtown St. Paul where they plan to window shop.   As God-Buddha-Allah-Oprah-Universe is her witness, window shopping was Merrick's idea.   Then Merrick has offered to help make dinner.

Sixteen years into parenting, the Matron is smart enough to know a corner that needs to be turned when she comes to one.   Not yet on the other side, but she is definitely rounding.  It feels good.

Matron! You're on Candid Camera!

Why depend on eye bags to age you, when there are blog titles?

Tonight, the Matron attended a Parks and Recreation department meeting for dog park volunteers.  At Parks and Rec, dog park volunteers are called Dog Park Guardians/Stewards.  This is because Parks and Rec could not decide on whether or not to call volunteers (who mostly tell people to pick up doo-doo) Dog Park Stewards OR Dog Park Guardians.

Let's just use both!

The Matron is a brand spanking new Dog Park Guardian/Steward.   In preparation for the Dog Park Steward/Guardian annual meeting, she received and responded to half a dozen emails.  Each was about which type of boxed dinner she would like and each had to be repeated.

The meeting itself is in a squat strip mall-like building.  The room?  Straight out of the television show:  a dazzling gray-brown color scheme, barren walls, big square table, folding chairs.  The walls are lined with boxes and more chairs, crumpled poster paper.   The unremarkable table is stacked full of boxed Panera sandwiches, each neatly labelled.  Boldly, gleefully, attentively in charge of these boxed delights is:  the Director of Parks and Recreation.

She is a blonde with Amy Poehler hair.  This Director of Parks and Recreation (who is chirping:  "Who has honey-glazed turkey with feta?!!" ) is wearing a canary yellow pantsuit with a voluminous scarf   to compliment.   In a room full of t-shirt, short and sandal-wearing volunteers whose hands most likely were recently scooped in a poop bag, she is wearing three inch heels and a manicure made to glimmer and shine under fluorescent light.

Here is where the Matron does the camera scan.   Surely, this cannot be true.  She has landed-smack dab into the center of a television show.   The Matron herself even complied, dressing the part in her shorts, sandals and t-shirt, clutching the thick packet of Dog Park Guardian/Steward Information and with appropriately bewildered yet authoritative look on her face.

The Dog Park Guardian/Stewards hunker up to their boxed lunches around the square table and introduce themselves by sharing their names -- and what kind of dog they own.  The Matron actually went first and initiated the dog thing.  She thought it would add flavor.  Some extras really do contribute to content!

After the Director of Parks and Recreation led the staid volunteers through a 45 minute treatise brief history of area dog parks, county commitment, various constituencies and the importance of being a team player, there is hearty discourse over the Parks and Recreation's brand new Dog Park Rules.  

These rules are presented in a paper handout, appearing as they will once they are laminated and hoisted onto trees.  You know how rules are listed - 1,2, 3?

  Here are the Rules

1.  Do not in the first place come into the possession of an 80 lb Walker Coon Hound
2. If you do find yourself so unfortunately situated, be sure to walk him.
3. When he knocks you over, it is okay to curse the gods and cry a little, knowing this will happen again tomrorow

The Dog Park Rules constructed by the Parks and Recreation staff (in consultation with various appropriate agencies) have headings and subheadings.  Sort of like this, but only with a more refined degree of murkiness.  

Here are the Rules That are the Law

1. Rule
2. Rule
3. Rule

Here are the Rules that are Unenforceable but We Hope You Follow

1. Rule
2. Rule
3. Rule

Here are the Rules that Animal Control Wants Listed

1. Rule
2. Rule
3. Rule

This unwieldy structure generated must hoopla and heat among volunteers who wanted simplicity.  As in "Rules" 1,2,3.    The Director of Parks and Recreation wanted to distinguish between various institutional means of enforcement and authority.

Why?

Director of P &R:  "This way when Law Enforcement comes to a call they can look at the sign and know what they are authorized to enforce."

This confused the Matron who spent the next few minutes wondering how Law Enforcement was thus able to respond to other emergency calls.  Were there little flashcards or posters at each burglary?  The things you discover, as a Dog Park Guardian/Steward with a boxed dinner and Information Packet.

In the end, the Parks and Recreation staff settled on footnotes.  The Matron was proud to participate in  (as another skeptical, observant and equally bewildered Dog Park Guardian/Steward noted) the creation of the only known tree-bound set of rules for a dog park to be organized by footnotes.

As the meeting was breaking up, the Director of Parks and Recreation expressed her interest in 'keeping in touch' with "the social that we have now in the media."

Director:  "You can use the facebook.   I think everybody has the facebook now.   Maybe some of you even have the Twitter.  I don't use the facebook but it's a good community-building tool!"

After securing her Dog Park Guardian/Steward t-shirt and whistle, the Matron filed out with the other sandal-wearing drones, dizzy yet appropriately directed.

It was an entirely satisfying event.

Nostalgia

Yesterday, the Matron went to the dentist -- and much to everyone's surprise, had an emergency toothectomy (yes she totally made up that word).  One of those molars was practically fermenting!    The ordeal was just that -- an ordeal, but thankfully at the hands of a kind and competent (and funny) dentist.

While tripping on all kinds of pain medication with her mouth wide open, the Matron flashed back to the past -- to an episode that she had truly entirely forgotten.

Freud has a different name for this.

See these children?  This is Stryker on his first day of second grade, successfully marring Scarlett's kindergarten debut.  Note how the daughter desired her hair all pulled up pretty, tidy little navy school uniform for a public school that doesn't require uniforms.   But that look in her eyes?  That is anger.   See that grin on her brother's face?  Joy.   Joy radiating from the suction cup stain on the middle of his forehead.

 He thought it would be fun to tell his new teacher that his parents hit him.  He also thought it entertaining if all  the pictures from this day forward, marking his sister's educational DEBUT were notable largely for his own disfigurement.

And they are.

Setting the stage for a child with PERSONALITY and WILL.  Which brings us back to the dentist and an event for which the Matron has no documentation other than her own previously repressed memories.

Stryker was maybe three and a half when he went for his first official visit to the dentist.  He had a swollen gum, a painful little tooth.  Unfortunately, this child could smell deception.  

He knew the dentist was going to kill him.

 At least that's what the Matron must tell herself to justify what happened when they stepped into the office door.  Friends -- that formerly adorable, precocious, chatty, obedient child CLUNG to the chair in the waiting room.  He flailed and screamed, pulled at furniture and drapes, lunged at desks, and howled as his mother, dental assistant AND DENTIST HIMSELF as the three adults pleaded with that child to step on into the next room.   The Matron took a few swats at him, trying to reel him in.  He was a good dodger.

 The dentist, assistant and the Matron circled around Stryker for hard-core hostage negotiations.  The dentist promised Stryker could turn on the drill.  Why, even drill a tiny bit into his very own hand!   Candy was produced by the Matron and nobody objected.  The assistant showed Stryker pictures of her own children in that chair.  She basically dissembled the examining room, bringing in item by item for Stryker to inspect.

"See, honey?  That's all this little mirror is!"

He remained wrapped around a chair leg, screaming and kicking at anyone who came near him.  He actually snarled.

The waiting room cleared out.  The Matron isn't sure if those other patrons were just hanging around to watch the show, post-appointment, or if the torture was getting to them too.

After ONE HOUR of pleading and promising, and threatening?   Beaten --and quite possibly committed to winning the battle -- they resorted to physical force.  Remember, Stryker had an actual bona fide physical problem!   The Matron now feared an infection was spreading to his brain.

The dentist and the Matron dragged a screaming, biting, kicking, sweating, sobbing Stryker into the exam room.

There!  

Child secured!  In chair, held down by his mother!

But the prisoner escapes!!   With one epic whirl of chaos and destruction, he pushes his mother aside, sweeps instruments off the tray, kicks the dentist, hits the chair and runs screaming and sobbing down the hallway, white bib bobbing from his side until he hit the bathroom and (so smart!) dashed in and locked hte door with three adults hot on his three year-old tail.

Here is the Matron, standing outside the locked door with the dentist and dental assistant.  They are sweating.  The Matron stopped trying not to cry and is now sniffling loudly.

Dentist:  "I'm retiring in two weeks, you know."

Matron:  "Really?  I'm sure after this you're ready."   Weak, but she was trying.

The dentist looked off into the distance, suddenly seeing a vision - far off and dreamy, a world the Matron could not see.  Things looked good there.  He smiled and pulled off his gloves:  "Actually, Mary, I've been a dentist for 35 years."

She waited, expectantly.  This was going to get her son out of the bathroom?

Dentist:  "And in all of those 35 years, I've seen a lot.  Some pretty bad stuff -- and good, of course -- but some really ugly moments.  You know what?  This is the worst.   Your son is the worst patient I have ever encountered.  It's almost unthinkable, how bad he is--as a patient, I mean, not a human being.  This is a little like a circle of Hell, you know?  That's what this is, this child and appointment.  Hell."

Friends -- here's where you think the Matron might be insulted? Shocked?  Surprised at the breach of professional decorum?  

But here was a man 10 days away from retiring in a private practice he owned.  A wise man, rich with experience.  He was telling it like it was.

Circle of Hell.  Even the Matron couldn't have said it better.

Matron:  "I know.  I'm sorry.   But it makes a nice ending to a storied career?"

Dentist:  "I'm going home now.  Shut the door on your way out."

And he smiled, put down his gloves and walked out the door.

Pagan Bunny, Stranger Danger and Crowbars

This post could only be about Merrick. . . . and because the Matron has not had a single blogging second since last Thursday, this narrative is an Easter tale.

As Easter approached, Merrick expressed no small degree of concern about the very real (to him) possibility that a GIANT BUNNY --whose very existence held sufficient horror -- hops the earth in one night and "bweaks into kids' houses."

Poor Matron!   She didn't want to destroy his belief in Magic!  Mystery!  The very stuff of childhood.  Neither did she want to fuel a fantasy that involved home invasion.   She tip-toed down a middle ground, full of discourse on how Santa (because Merrick implicated him too in the break-in situation facing the world's children) and the Easter Bunny were a benevolent sort, bent only on spreading kindness and love.  Entering and Magic isn't the same as Breaking and Entering.

Then a new twist emerged:  the narrative wasn't just the bunny break-in ahead but Belief  itself

Merrick:  "The Eastaw Bunny is a stranger.  Bweaking in."  PAUSE while significant look at mother.  "and I know there is no Easter Bunny or Santa.  I know it."    Then the kicker:  "Don't lie to me."

Ah, the Matron was ready for this.  She knew full well that her little guy still sort of believed and fully wanted to believe -- just not the chain-saw hauling, bunny- but he wanted to believe.  So she told him the same story that worked so well with Scarlett and Stryker, the story that extended their faith another year, maybe two.  She told him this story with confidence.

Matron:  "The Easter Bunny and Santa are real but they're not what you think.  Santa's not a man in a red suit who travels the earth in a sled but he IS real because all the adults in the world make him real.  He's a spirit.  Same with the Easter Bunny.  S/he is real, just not in the way that you think."

Done!  Time to move onto other topics.  Life after death? Mama has a good story for that one, too, honey.

But.

Merrick:  "I KNEW IT!  The Easter bunny isn't the BUNNY breaking into ouw houses but the strange MEN that pretend they are the bunny!"

In short, Merrick was convinced --and the Matron's story sealed this -- that strange men broke into houses on Easter and Christmas, alternately stealing and delivering.  He's foggy on that.  But he's absolutely certain that evil is being done on those two nights, evil in the shape of men who 'travel the earth' and 'make the Easter bunny real' by breaking into people's houses.

No amount of lies, truth, pleading and change-of-topic could dissuade him.    His main concern at the end of the maternal consultation?  A) Finding a crowbar to sleep with  and B) setting up a video camera to capture the deed and alert the world to the terror.

Thank God-Universe-Oprah-Easter Bunny-Santa-Universe-Buddha-Allah, that the Matron was able to wrench herself away from the drama by claiming dire need for an emergency trip to the grocery store.  In reality, she hadn't yet finished her own bunny hopping.  The irony--and probably mistake --  of purchasing more peeps and chocolate for the very thing that terrorized her child was not lost on her.

She did it anyway.  Hey, she needed that chocolate bunny.

Later that night, when she tucked in her cherub the Matron understood her problem to be over.  He was serene.  Assured.  Really truly, Merrick didn't seem frightened.  Yes, he had his baseball bat, drum sticks, Nerf gun, air soft rifle and hammer handy.    Not much different from a normal night with this child.

Merrick:  "I'm okay Mom.  Really.  I don't think the bad guy will break in and pretend to be the bunny."

Matron:  "I'm so glad, sweetie.  Tomorrow will be a lovely, Celebrate-Spring sort of day.  I promise."

Merrick:  "Me too."

And when the poor, unsuspecting Matron went downstairs -- where she hadn't been for a good couple of hours -- she understood why her son went to sleep confident and secure, safe from those home invasion.

The entire first floor was duct-taped shut.  Duct tape crossed all the windows, up and down, and across.  Duct tape on the front door as high as a third-grader and a chair could reach.  Duct tape across the dog door.  Duct tape on each porch window, a meticulous web with bells attached (emergency alert, she's certain).

And the fake, scary, strange men pretending to be the Easter Bunny?  They thoughtfully left three Easter baskets on the far edge of the back yard, right by the alley, far away from the actual house.

Merrick:  "That'll teach 'em."

Fun with Hormones

The Matron is sitting at the kitchen table. Laptop open. TV on. Tea simmering. The rest of the house is busy: John and Merrick are building a fire, HWCBN is engaged in some online war, the dogs mine for treats and love.

The Matron is alone with her psyche until John and Merrick walk into the room.

Merrick: "Mom? What's the mattew?"

John: "What's wrong sweetie?"

Matron, taken aback: "Why, nothing. I'm just thinking."

Merrick: "It must be pwetty awfuuul." ( he still talks that way, Buddha bless him)

John: "Nothing can be that bad!"

Matron, doubly taken aback: "Actually, I'm trying to think of something funny to blog about. I'm sitting, here, thinking funny."

John's turn to be taken aback: "Good God."

Merrick: "Weally?"

Matron: "Really. I just can't think of anything funny to blog about. It's time for levity in the blogosphere."

John: "Well . . . maybe you should watch Modern Family or something instead of CSI?"

Matron: "That's funny."

Merrick: "How come you say something is funny when you look like you'we going to hit somebody?"

Matron: "It would appear that my life is completely devoid of humor. I find nothing whatsoever funny."

John, tentatively: "Actually, that's funny."

Merrick: "I'm funny! You have me."

Matron: "Did you clean your room?"

Merrick: "Mom. That's not funny."

Matron: "See? Life. Completely. Devoid. Of humor."

John: "Can I just say again . . . that really is funny."

Matron: "In a dark sort of way, granted."

Merrick: "I know, I know! It's funny you sitting here awguing about blogging about funny!"

Matron: "Not really."

John, assessing with 20 years of wisdom behind him: "PMS jokes? Sound funny?"

Matron (snappy): "Now why would that be funny?!"

John to Merrick: "Remember that emergency fire drill stuff we practiced? Time to do it now, very carefully out of the kitchen and away from Mama."

Merrick immediately drops to his belly on the floor and starts writhing toward the door.

John: "Husband in training."

That, the Matron found funny.

Today's Actual Students

Today, the Matron put her best pedagogical foot forward and administered a fair, yet comprehensive, exam in class XXX. Because students did so poorly on the last exam, she also graciously offered this version as an open book!

An open book exam! In a fun and interesting class! Sounds like a party!! Compare this to calculus and well, let's all groove on that humanities thing!

Early this morning, however, calamity struck. She's sure her students were each, surprisingly, coincidentally born under the exact same astrological constellation. How unusual!

Email 1: "I am on my way to the dentist for an emergency root canal. When can I take the test?"

Email 2: "My car stalled on the highway and I'm typing from cell phone. What should I do?"

Well . . . she guesses that depends entirely on the veracity of the report.

Phone call: "My dog ran away, Mary. I need to keep looking for him. Can I take the test tomorrow?"

Email 3: "Funeral. Same time as test."

Email 4: "All of my four children are sick and I have to stay home to take care of them."

Phone call: "I lost my book!"

By the time yours truly got to the actual exam itself, she was beaten. Demoralized. Worn to a pulp and also annoyed with the extra work she just went to, setting up a second time for these absent students to take the exam. Yes, she gave them one final shot.

Just in case there really was a root canal, funeral, stalled car, sick children, lost dog and misplaced book. She's weak that way . . what if. Damn those stars.

So she was in a no-nonsense mood when the exam arrived for the students actually prepared to take it. With a book. To the Matron, this is sort of like saying: here are the answers. But she did it anyway. . .just in case that last test really was too hard.

Those students dug in. Got to work. Focused with barely a pause for a question or two. A peaceful, somewhat foreign, aura of genuine studiousness permeated the room. She began to relax.

Click, click click. Ten minutes are the test time was up, she gave the stragglers a two minute warning.

Click, click, click. The stragglers wrapped up and sort of meandered about, a few waiting to talk to the Matron. Except one, who kept on writing even as her instructor (the supposed authority figure) stood next to her and said: "really, it's time to stop."

Student Q: "I just need, like, another hour."

Matron: "Well, it's a timed exam with a grace period. That's all part of the process." Plus, the Matron had plans for that hour that did not include sitting in this classroom.

Student Q sighed deeply and shut her book: "Okay, but I did horrible."

But, there appeared to be a solution for Student Q. She handed the Matron her test and said: "You should just let me take this again tomorrow, okay?"

Now . . . the Matron isn't sure if it was the build-up -- the well-timed emergencies, the hours spent creating an exam (open book tests are tricky), the grading ahead -- or if it was just the 'you should' part that hit that wee little gas light that had ignited within her that morning.

Actually, she's pretty sure it was mostly shock that colored her reaction.

Matron: "ARE YOU KIDDING? NO. No. NO. This is a TEST which means how you actually perform on it MATTERS."

Student Q: "Well, it was just an idea. How else can I get a better grade on this test?"

Matron: "You can't! It's a test! Like Driver's Ed where if you crash you fail. The 'how can I do better' part is over!"

Student Q: "Well, the whole test situation just doesn't seem right."

Here, she was in complete agreement.

Break a Leg, Scarlett (Belated so Maybe that Leg is Long Broken)

Photo from The Match Girl's Gift (see way way at end of post)

Scarlett's current show is Mean at Youth Performance Company. Friends, the Matron is here to tell you that this intrepid theater is the best thing going for teens in the Twin Cities! The show addresses all things 'mean,' from online bullying to the jostling in the high school hallways and bathrooms. The actors? Let's just say Glee pales in comparison.

Here's the deal: yours truly has six tickets to Mean to give away. Write about bullying on your blog-- whether that's helping your children through something or a memory of your own, an experience that shaped you, etc. -- and I'll post all the links to your posts on Friday. Send me your links at mpetrie33@gmail.com and I'll pick a couple of strong stories and toss some tickets in your direction. The Matron reserves her right to select one or two winners that move her.

But this is an important topic, so even if you're in Japan (and you know who you are : -) or Australia, consider a post about bullying and meanness. I'll put everyone's links up on Friday.

And even though this show opened on Saturday and the Matron is late . . . break a leg, Scarlett! She's reverting to her regular "break a leg" post with new content (and an update on four shows) at the end.

*~*~*~*~*~*

She knows regular readers have seen most of this. New content, at the end. Beware if your child likes acting!

But back to the more fun part of being a Stage Mother.

Scarlett was seven when Theater stole her from the Matron. This happened while she watched a performance ofEsperanza Rising at the Children's Theater. She wept--mourned, wailed and railed-- about illegal immigration until well-past midnight. The play's topic became urgent and real. Art had hold.

Scarlett: "Mom, I want to be in theater. Can you get me a show?"

A couple of months later, she and a 15-year old friend wrote, produced and directed a backyard production ofAnnie that involved 27 children, 100 audience members, a sound system, choreography, enormous painted backdrops and red hair dye (lasted six weeks).

You know who's Annie.

During the course of the week-long rehearsals, Scarlett requested email addresses for the children's families so she could better communicate with her cast. She is not yet eight.

When tucked her into bed after the first rehearsal, she offered this: "Mom, why don't those orphans listen better? They're supposed to do what I say." A director is born. You can rework those letters just a bit to get dictator, you know.

John and the Matron were in charge of food. Lots of it. Those orphans had no issues there.

Next, Scarlett auditioned for Little Bird at SteppingStone Theatre, St. Paul's children's theater. She stood on that big stage and belted out a song. She shivered and cowered on cue.

She didn't get in. But she went back for the very next audition with undiminished joy. And landed the role of Gladys Herdman in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. You know the book. This Official Theater Debut came four months after Annie.

Scarlett recognized that SteppingStone Theater was actually her new home and a much better place to be. Below, here she is, once again embodying poverty, in The Prince and the Pauper.



The cast of The Prince and the Pauper then became the cast of The Sound of Music for Scarlett's Second Annual Backyard Production. She was Gretel. And all those teenagers from SteppingStone traipsed to our house for more singing and dancing, under Scarlett's Command. She's eight now.

Our neighborhood is high on a bluff above the river. When the Matron mentioned to a neighbor that Scarlett was rehearsing a backyard play, the neighbor said: "We all know. These hills are alive with the sound of music, my dear." And it made life a little sweeter, she said.

Now, the Matron didn't feel like a real stage mother -you know, all claws and competition--till auditions at the Guthrie. This is the real deal, folks. Cash money and world stage, all that. Here is The Matron's Very Fine Rule for auditioning at the Guthrie Theater: Do Not Talk To The Other Mothers. Then, you're fine. Here's Scarlett as Maisie McLaughlin, impoverished and dirty Irish waif in The Home Place.


Check out that playbill. Yes, that's her in the second picture, the only person in pony-tails. Scarlett rubbed shoulders with Fame. And what did the famous do in return? Showered her with candy. gifts and generosity of spirit. The child landed a Webkin, drawings, flowers, jewelry, ornaments, (did she mention candy?) books,boundless good will and adoration. She was also exposed to a staggering scale of swearing, drink and Late Night (uh, some of this from her very own Mama). The child supervisor said he tried to cover her ears at just the right moments.

Every night she stood on that stage and hundreds applauded. That was her favorite part, she reports.



Next came Almost to Freedom at SteppingStone Theater. Scarlett played Mary-Kate, the plantation overseer's daughter. It's a stark, beautiful play about slavery. Kim Hines did the adaptation from the book by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson. If you don't know this book, it's worth trying.


This was the first play in which the Matron watched her daughter and thought: Wow. A child of her blood could harmonize in front of hundreds? Thank goodness John witnessed the birth or she might not have believed it.

That 9-year old pro's next show was also with SteppingStone Theatre. Scarlett was a weasel in Anansi the Trickster Spider. By this point, the Matron was getting so, oh, nonchalant about the whole endeavor, that she forgot about pictures (and she had a whole month to get some).

Here's how Scarlett has spent her free time for the past two years: online looking for auditions.





After Anansi came the Third Annual Backyard Production. This time it was Peter Pan. Scarlett was a definite Tink, not a Tinkerbell. The cast included a sea of pirates, Indian maidens and mermaids. The grand finale was a highly highly choreographed blast of Elton John's Crocodile Rock. More than one parent wiped an eye in the Matronly backyard--once again stuffed full of people!

Wait! The Matron forgot the movie! During the month of July, leading up to the play was the small independent art film: Minka is Here. Here is the daughter in a movie.



If you go to film festivals, you might even see it someday. It's lovely.


Reader, are you tired yet? Because the Matron is. Between the actual Theatrical Event comes the down home theatrics AND the search for the next gig. Because when Scarlett doesn't have a show?

She's worried. But if she's down, she can just think of her favorite things and feel better. Like realizing a (short and adorable) lifelong dream and being an actual Von Trapp child on an actual stage in an actual play that is NOT in the backyard.



This time for The Sound of Music at the Phipps Center for the Arts! Scarlett was Marta. Here she is charming up the Julie Andrews type.



Sound of Music took this child away (and the Matron to Wisconsin!) nearly every night for six weeks this fall.


In December, Scarlett traded traipsing through the hills for the deaf blind shuffle. Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker! Now, if Sound of Music stole Scarlett and kept her busy, this production did not. Indeed, the first 2/3 of private Helen and Annie rehearsals were cancelled. Here you are, in the midst of the actual shuffle.




"We don't need them."

But wait! The Matronly psyche did! That's an awfully big role to be dropping stage time. Not that she knows one single thing about theatre. Still, Stage Mother fretted as rehearsals fell like the stock market.

But all went well. The show opened to rave reviews.

For the entire run, Scarlett, you came home with spectacular bruises, splinters, two inch gashes on your arms. The role is physical. You were doused with water. You had so much blocking to remember you said it's almost like being in two plays at once. But you still found time to play 'school' with your brother and tried to mention all of your friends, by name, in the program.



Your fellow actors gave you high praise. You're a good team player. Even if Helen appears, well, fiesty.



After being the only child on the set for The Miracle Worker, the Mother Ship opened her arms to you and you happily climbed aboard, mid-March. The Matron doesn't think she's seen you since. Have you grown?

A little. Here you are, on a rehearsal break, with your latest set of best friends, the people who see you more than your family does.




Sometimes when she misses you, your mother tunes in as best she can. She watches this. That's pretty much the most direct contact she's had with you in a good long while, except for the driving.

But . . . being an icon is a once in a lifetime thrill. Right, Ramona?




Oh wait. You were just Helen Keller. Okay, you get to be an icon twice (three times, it turns out, but that's coming up next). You took the definition of trooper to new levels, Scarlett. Seventy-six shows in six weeks! Once you went on stage with a mouth stuffed with cotton and gauze, bleeding from an emergency tooth extraction and sick from the anesthesia. Your mother watched you cover once when your adult counterparts forgot their lines. She knew then you'd crossed one: you are a professional.

Over the summer, you reprised your role as Gladys in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. This is the annual backyard production that resulted in more wet parental eyes and about $600 in groceries. The closer your friends get to teenagers, the more they are eating. Can we stop this upward climb?

There are no pictures of the summer show. That's a whole other story.

Then, this fall you donned yet another adorable wig (actually two but th Matron hasn't yet signed the permissions form for the cute culy redhead wig) and stepped into a third iconic role:Annie!


Even when the skin on her neck hangs so loose and low it can cover small children (and possibly developing nations), your mother will never forget the morning you woke up after being offered that role. The theater had called late the night before, just as you had arrived home from the audition.

The next morning, your mother opened your door to find you stretching into the day, just emerging from the night's cocoon. You opened your eyes and whispered "I'm Annie" with such pure and uncomplicated joy that your mother nearly cried. If only we all could wake like that each day! I'm _____________ .

Just look at that joy.

Your mother was once again shocked and slightly disturbed that her lineage could actually sing. Really well. Amazing, actually. The autograph seeking crowd afterward was 40 minutes deep.

Annie was an emotional moment for the Mama, who relived that first backyard production and all that came in between. Her daughter was living the dream -- her own dream! Hey, that's what the Mama wants to be doing too (only this dream involves a computer and one lucky book publisher, no vocals).

Somewhere in the middle of Hooverville, Scarlett decided that she should do . . . drum roll . .. .

Dinner Theater.

Which she did, popping in as the scullery maid, Fanny, and Scrooge's sister (in one of those freaky childhood flashbacks) in a little holiday show at the Actor's Theater, Fezziwig's Feast.



You had a small part onstage but a big role in managing the younger children.

The Matron is glad that you are good with a comb. After Annie and Fezziwig's Feast, you had a blazing FOUR DAY vacation that included Christmas itself, and then started rehearsals forSister Kenny's Children at the History Theater. Yup, that's you in the braids.

The cast consisted of one very well known local adult actor, several teenagers from St. Paul'sPerforming Arts High School, and -- you. This experience only cemented your desire to attend this performing arts high school, just two years in the future.

High School? Scarlett? Two years? Hey -- fork over that Kleenex!

Fezzwig's was followed by a bit of a heartbreak: the second round The Miracle Worker was cancelled. There went your spring --but a big lesson in the up and downs of theater. Thank goodness there was a nice break for the first time in four years!

This summer, you were Amaryllis in The Music Man at Como Park Community Theatre. Your mother was once again amazed by your ability to harmonize (and had to remind herself that she was there at the birth and therefore, there is a bloodline). That show seemed almost like a continuation of the four month break, as rehearsals were entirely manageable.

Well, that all ended, didn't it, my dear?

More heartbreak: your fall show was also cancelled. This meant you had to scramble for auditions. Certain that you'd the usual round of rejection and perhaps one show, your parents allowed you to audition for THREE shows. You landed roles in all.

You were the unhappy and beleaguered Sarah-Kate in Afternoon of the Elves at Youth Performance Company. This theater has strict rules about age limitations -- 12 is the earliest one can possibly audition. My dear, you were counting the days. You probably don't remember, but you started begging to audition there when you were eight. Two days into your 12th year, you auditioned for the first time--and got a lead role. Your mother witnessed this and understood the meaning of joy, watching you. She bows down to teh people running this theater, which is without question the best place ever for teens, hands down.

Scarlett, last fall for the first time , you were in shows that overlapped. So while making audiences weep as Sarah Kate, you were also the young Clara in Isabella Allende's The House of Spirits at Mixed Blood Theatre , You went from performances to rehearsals and Merrick wondered where you were living. The van and a theater, said the mama.

During The House of Spirits, you started rehearsals for The Match Girl's Gift at the Centennial Showboat. Guess who was the Match Girl? Your mama wept every night at your near death. Hans Christian Anderson, for shame! Too much emotion for the hormonal and middle-aged.

And now, you're happily back at Youth Performance Company for Mean, perhaps a better version of Rent and Glee wrapped into one (not that she's biased). Once again, you're the busiest person in the household. The Matron watches in amazement as you complete all of your homework, get the straight A's and strut onstage several hours a day. Plus you still help your little brother with his homework and all things love. The Matron can barely look at the photos in the post without weeping, seeing how you've grown so she's savoring those moments when you cuddle with the little guy in the house.

When the Matron was pregnant with you, darling, she dreamed of a daughter who would be something special. Never, ever in a million years did she think she would get this lucky. And if tomorrow you're an apple seller too, you're going to be amazing at that. It's not what you're dong but the grace and intelligence you bring to everything in your life.

Your mother will always look at the night sky and blazing stars and feel grateful, knowing one bright light lives in her own household --and she gets to kiss that light's forehead every night and pull up the covers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Home Place Photo credit to Michal Daniel of Proofsheet Photograhy. Miracle Worker and Minka is here Ann Marsden and Ann Prim photo and movie credit, respectively. Sound of Music photographs are Mandsager Photography. The Ramona photo was lifted from the StarTribune. Fezziwig Photos by Alan Weeks and Annie shots by George Clager. Top photo (Match Girl) is from Leonard-Gorril -- more photos in the link.

Nostalgia

The Matron loves birth stories. Loves the kinship that the herculean effort inspires. It's strange how giving birth is both so highly personal and significant, yet universal. Even cats do it. And rats.

Please don't tell her that cockroaches share their birth stories. Far too much detail for this delicate psyche.

When she was pregnant with her first, the Matron - then a Youngish Miss -- decided that she should finish her dissertation and be all singularly up to date and professional before the young man arrived in the world. Instead, she watched cooking shows on PBS and read People magazine all day long.

She accomplished nothing but gestation.

This haphazard attitude extended to the actual birth of said baby (remember this is He Who Cannot Be Named).

John: "Do you want an epidural? Pain medications lower than that? Water birth?"

Youngish Miss: "Whatever. . . as long as this thing comes out."

At around 10 pm on July 15th, 1995, the Matron was subject to a strange sensation--which turned out to be the beginning of labor. This is not a comfortable way to spend the night. Because she had a regularly scheduled O.B. appointment the next day at 5 p.m. and she knows how slowly these things can go, she just settled in and waited.

The next day was an endurance test of sort--still, she managed to go out for a huge breakfast at her favorite joint and see a movie.

Here is the Matron at her O.B. GYN appointment--at 5 pm. Remember, alarm bells went off a good 14 hours earlier.

Midwife: "Mary, your water broke -- probably long ago. You need to check into the hospital right now."

Youngish Miss: "Is this why I'm vomiting and doubled over in between movies and meals?"

Midwife: "Do you know who the president is? What year it is?"

Youngish Miss: "Uh, not sure I know what you mean by "president."

Hospitalization immediately ensued.

It is now July 16th, at 8 pm. Labor is well under way and even the Queen of Repression and Denial understands what's going on. She notes that this has been going on for 22 hours.

And continues.

Finally, after a long sleepless night filled with Nina Simone (thank you, John for thinking of music), the baby is jumping ship. It's time for the big push. . . which last about 10 minutes.

Stryker's head is in the world!

But just his head.

Without getting overly graphic, let's just say that shoulder dysplasia was involved. The baby's shoulder was stuck under the delicate pelvic bone and could not be lodged --- even with 33 hours of labor under her belt (but she's not counting), the Matron had energy -- energy of a mama -- but could not dislodge this child.

Whose little face was turning blue.

She wishes she remembers more, but John tells her that suddenly the hospital lit up. Blue lights, emergency codes, a c-section table immediately wheeled into the room. Big announcements blaring: Code Bad! Code VERY Bad!

Nurse One: "We're doing an emergency c-section. The doctor's on his way but I'm going to start the incision. We have about 90 seconds. Are we all clear on this?"

John: "All clear! Don't let them die!"

Nurse Two: "I have an alternate idea -- stand back."

The c-section team roared in. The doctor ran in and yelled: "there's no time to scrub" and grabbed his tools.

The nurse-- of heft --held up a hand and said "give me three seconds" and jumped on the hospital bed and straddled the Matron, facing her feet and the dying blue baby. She jumped a foot in the air and --using her balled fists-- came down with the full force of desperation and hope for life -- right above the baby, slamming into the top of the uterus with all her force.

Stryker shot right out.

Every single person in the room started crying. Every, single, person. The doctor took off his glasses and collapsed into the sink.

Except the then Youngish Miss who was sort of dazed by the amount of pain one person can experience.

Youngish Miss, later: "John? Did I make a noise when she belly-slammed me? It seemed like I screamed. It hurt an awful lot."

John: "The entire hospital staff called 911. Nobody missed that noise. But it's okay."

From time to time, the Matron thinks about that blue baby and this nurse. Actually, she wants to lay down by her feet and send her children to college. And arrange that heaven thing.

Thank you.

Wherein the Matron Provides Entertainment for Others

Yesterday at 7:00 pm, the Matron (still mulling over the home schooling issue) picked up Scarlett from a rehearsal at Mixed Blood to take her to an audition at the Children's Theatre . The child needed to be immediately returned to the first theater for the remainder of the evening rehearsal.

Driving! Homework! Merrick's violin lessons! Over 100 students who all turned in essays at once! Varsity debate team for HWCBN! Committee work, running the Parent Teacher Organization, yard work and that 55 lb ill-advised blood hound puppy. But here she was, driving the daughter.

Foreshadowing for disorientation.

Let's just say the Matronly head gave Regan in The Exorcist a run for its money.

But for a few minutes, yours truly was ever so organized. Before retrieving the thespian -- who had just half an hour in between commitments -- she stopped at a restaurant and ordered take out, which would be ready when she drove by after grabbing Scarlett. They arrived fifteen minutes early for the audition. The Matron remembered everything--head shots, resumes, conflict information -- oh, she had it nailed. She even brought her laptop!

Matron to Scarlett: "Break a leg, honey. I'm going to grab my laptop from the car and work while you're auditioning."

So they departed.

And the Matron could not find her van.

She knew EXACTLY where she parked. She walked by that spot 500 times, eventually reverting to clicking on the 'emergency horn' button on her keys, hoping to locate said vehicle. Every inch of that parking lot was scrutinized, every detail reviewed.

No van.

Stolen--with her laptop (and that dinner!) inside.

Calm was the first requirement. Thus composed, she dialed the number for security. A very nice older man showed up in the jeep with lights and symbols within 20 seconds. she assured him that the van was unmistakable: a green Mazda with big magnetic peace signs (blue and yellow) on the side.

They drove through all the parking lots and the neighborhoods. He consoled her. No van.

Security Guard: "This is highly unusual. We have break-ins but haven't had a theft in years. I'm really sorry! You seem pretty pulled together, considering the computer and car are both gone."

Matron: "In about two minutes, my 12 year old will come bursting through that door. I don't want to unduly alarm her. When she's gone, I'll probably cry."

They pulled up to the stage door and Scarlett emerged, with a friend and most importantly, the friend's mother (also a friend to the Matron) who knew about the stolen vehicle and was on board to shuttle Scarlett back to rehearsal and the Matron, home. Or to the psych ward.

Security Guard: "Well, it's time to call 911 and report a missing vehicle."

He got out his phone.

Matron: "Scarlett, everything is okay, but we have a small problem. Someone stole our car. It's gone."

Scarlett (screaming): "SOMEONE STOLE DAD'S NEW CAR?"

Oh, if only she had a visual. This is where the Matron collapsed into the side of the security jeep and said, "OH MY GOD. I DROVE DAD'S CAR." And not the van.

The car was right there where she left it, lap top and dinner secure.

The security guard said it was the most fun he's had at six months and nobody offered to drive her to the psych ward. Because she could drive herself.

Break a Leg, Scarlett. Again, again, again. . . and so on.

She knows regular readers have seen most of this. New content, at the end. Beware if your child likes acting!

And THANK YOU, everyone, for the homeschooling comments! The Matron has a phone conference scheduled with Scarlett's school counselor later today. But she might be leaning in the homeschool direction. . . .

But back to the more fun part of being a Stage Mother.

Scarlett was seven when Theater stole her from the Matron. This happened while she watched a performance ofEsperanza Rising at the Children's Theater. She wept--mourned, wailed and railed-- about illegal immigration until well-past midnight. The play's topic became urgent and real. Art had hold.

Scarlett: "Mom, I want to be in theater. Can you get me a show?"

A couple of months later, she and a 15-year old friend wrote, produced and directed a backyard production of Annie that involved 27 children, 100 audience members, a sound system, choreography, enormous painted backdrops and red hair dye (lasted six weeks).

You know who's Annie.

During the course of the week-long rehearsals, Scarlett requested email addresses for the children's families so she could better communicate with her cast. She is not yet eight.

When tucked her into bed after the first rehearsal, she offered this: "Mom, why don't those orphans listen better? They're supposed to do what I say." A director is born. You can rework those letters just a bit to get dictator, you know.

John and the Matron were in charge of food. Lots of it. Those orphans had no issues there.

Next, Scarlett auditioned for Little Bird at SteppingStone Theatre, St. Paul's children's theater. She stood on that big stage and belted out a song. She shivered and cowered on cue.

She didn't get in. But she went back for the very next audition with undiminished joy. And landed the role of Gladys Herdman in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. You know the book. This Official Theater Debut came four months after Annie.

Scarlett recognized that SteppingStone Theater was actually her new home and a much better place to be. Below, here she is, once again embodying poverty, in The Prince and the Pauper.



The cast of The Prince and the Pauper then became the cast of The Sound of Music for Scarlett's Second Annual Backyard Production. She was Gretel. And all those teenagers from SteppingStone traipsed to our house for more singing and dancing, under Scarlett's Command. She's eight now.

Our neighborhood is high on a bluff above the river. When the Matron mentioned to a neighbor that Scarlett was rehearsing a backyard play, the neighbor said: "We all know. These hills are alive with the sound of music, my dear." And it made life a little sweeter, she said.

Now, the Matron didn't feel like a real stage mother -you know, all claws and competition--till auditions at the Guthrie. This is the real deal, folks. Cash money and world stage, all that. Here is The Matron's Very Fine Rule for auditioning at the Guthrie Theater: Do Not Talk To The Other Mothers. Then, you're fine. Here's Scarlett as Maisie McLaughlin, impoverished and dirty Irish waif in The Home Place.


Check out that playbill. Yes, that's her in the second picture, the only person in pony-tails. Scarlett rubbed shoulders with Fame. And what did the famous do in return? Showered her with candy. gifts and generosity of spirit. The child landed a Webkin, drawings, flowers, jewelry, ornaments, (did she mention candy?) books, boundless good will and adoration. She was also exposed to a staggering scale of swearing, drink and Late Night (uh, some of this from her very own Mama). The child supervisor said he tried to cover her ears at just the right moments.

Every night she stood on that stage and hundreds applauded. That was her favorite part, she reports.



Next came Almost to Freedom at SteppingStone Theater. Scarlett played Mary-Kate, the plantation overseer's daughter. It's a stark, beautiful play about slavery. Kim Hines did the adaptation from the book by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson. If you don't know this book, it's worth trying.


This was the first play in which the Matron watched her daughter and thought: Wow. A child of her blood could harmonize in front of hundreds? Thank goodness John witnessed the birth or she might not have believed it.

That 9-year old pro's next show was also with SteppingStone Theatre. Scarlett was a weasel in Anansi the Trickster Spider. By this point, the Matron was getting so, oh, nonchalant about the whole endeavor, that she forgot about pictures (and she had a whole month to get some).

Here's how Scarlett has spent her free time for the past two years: online looking for auditions.





After Anansi came the Third Annual Backyard Production. This time it was Peter Pan. Scarlett was a definite Tink, not a Tinkerbell. The cast included a sea of pirates, Indian maidens and mermaids. The grand finale was a highly highly choreographed blast of Elton John's Crocodile Rock. More than one parent wiped an eye in the Matronly backyard--once again stuffed full of people!

Wait! The Matron forgot the movie! During the month of July, leading up to the play was the small independent art film: Minka is Here. Here is the daughter in a movie.



If you go to film festivals, you might even see it someday. It's lovely.


Reader, are you tired yet? Because the Matron is. Between the actual Theatrical Event comes the down home theatrics AND the search for the next gig. Because when Scarlett doesn't have a show?

She's worried. But if she's down, she can just think of her favorite things and feel better. Like realizing a (short and adorable) lifelong dream and being an actual Von Trapp child on an actual stage in an actual play that is NOT in the backyard.



This time for The Sound of Music at the Phipps Center for the Arts! Scarlett was Marta. Here she is charming up the Julie Andrews type.



Sound of Music took this child away (and the Matron to Wisconsin!) nearly every night for six weeks this fall.


In December, Scarlett traded traipsing through the hills for the deaf blind shuffle. Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker! Now, if Sound of Music stole Scarlett and kept her busy, this production did not. Indeed, the first 2/3 of private Helen and Annie rehearsals were cancelled. Here you are, in the midst of the actual shuffle.




"We don't need them."

But wait! The Matronly psyche did! That's an awfully big role to be dropping stage time. Not that she knows one single thing about theatre. Still, Stage Mother fretted as rehearsals fell like the stock market.

But all went well. The show opened to rave reviews.

For the entire run, Scarlett, you came home with spectacular bruises, splinters, two inch gashes on your arms. The role is physical. You were doused with water. You had so much blocking to remember you said it's almost like being in two plays at once. But you still found time to play 'school' with your brother and tried to mention all of your friends, by name, in the program.



Your fellow actors gave you high praise. You're a good team player. Even if Helen appears, well, fiesty.



After being the only child on the set for The Miracle Worker, the Mother Ship opened her arms to you and you happily climbed aboard, mid-March. The Matron doesn't think she's seen you since. Have you grown?

A little. Here you are, on a rehearsal break, with your latest set of best friends, the people who see you more than your family does.




Sometimes when she misses you, your mother tunes in as best she can. She watches this. That's pretty much the most direct contact she's had with you in a good long while, except for the driving.

But . . . being an icon is a once in a lifetime thrill. Right, Ramona?




Oh wait. You were just Helen Keller. Okay, you get to be an icon twice (three times, it turns out, but that's coming up next). You took the definition of trooper to new levels, Scarlett. Seventy-six shows in six weeks! Once you went on stage with a mouth stuffed with cotton and gauze, bleeding from an emergency tooth extraction and sick from the anesthesia. Your mother watched you cover once when your adult counterparts forgot their lines. She knew then you'd crossed one: you are a professional.

Over the summer, you reprised your role as Gladys in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. This is the annual backyard production that resulted in more wet parental eyes and about $600 in groceries. The closer your friends get to teenagers, the more they are eating. Can we stop this upward climb?

There are no pictures of the summer show. That's a whole other story.

Then, this fall you donned yet another adorable wig (actually two but th Matron hasn't yet signed the permissions form for the cute culy redhead wig) and stepped into a third iconic role:Annie!


Even when the skin on her neck hangs so loose and low it can cover small children (and possibly developing nations), your mother will never forget the morning you woke up after being offered that role. The theater had called late the night before, just as you had arrived home from the audition.

The next morning, your mother opened your door to find you stretching into the day, just emerging from the night's cocoon. You opened your eyes and whispered "I'm Annie" with such pure and uncomplicated joy that your mother nearly cried. If only we all could wake like that each day! I'm _____________ .

Just look at that joy.

Your mother was once again shocked and slightly disturbed that her lineage could actually sing. Really well. Amazing, actually. The autograph seeking crowd afterward was 40 minutes deep.

Annie was an emotional moment for the Mama, who relived that first backyard production and all that came in between. Her daughter was living the dream -- her own dream! Hey, that's what the Mama wants to be doing too (only this dream involves a computer and one lucky book publisher, no vocals).

Somewhere in the middle of Hooverville, Scarlett decided that she should do . . . drum roll . .. .

Dinner Theater.

Which she did, popping in as the scullery maid, Fanny, and Scrooge's sister (in one of those freaky childhood flashbacks) in a little holiday show at the Actor's Theater, Fezziwig's Feast.



You had a small part onstage but a big role in managing the younger children.

The Matron is glad that you are good with a comb. After Annie and Fezziwig's Feast, you had a blazing FOUR DAY vacation that included Christmas itself, and then started rehearsals forSister Kenny's Children at the History Theater. Yup, that's you in the braids.

The cast consisted of one very well known local adult actor, several teenagers from St. Paul'sPerforming Arts High School, and -- you. This experience only cemented your desire to attend this performing arts high school, just two years in the future.

High School? Scarlett? Two years? Hey -- fork over that Kleenex!

Fezzwig's was followed by a bit of a heartbreak: the second round The Miracle Worker was cancelled. There went your spring --but a big lesson in the up and downs of theater. Thank goodness there was a nice break for the first time in four years!

This summer, you were Amaryllis in The Music Man at Como Park Community Theatre. Your mother was once again amazed by your ability to harmonize (and had to remind herself that she was there at the birth and therefore, there is a bloodline). That show seemed almost like a continuation of the four month break, as rehearsals were entirely manageable.

Well, that all ended, didn't it, my dear?

More heartbreak: your fall show was also cancelled. This meant you had to scramble for auditions. Certain that you'd the usual round of rejection and perhaps one show, your parents allowed you to audition for THREE shows. You landed roles in all.

Today, you're the unhappy and beleaguered Sarah-Kate in Afternoon of the Elves at Youth Performance Company. This theater has strict rules about age limitations -- 12 is the earliest one can possibly audition. My dear, you were counting the days. You probably don't remember, but you started begging to audition there when you were eight. Two days into your 12th year, you auditioned for the first time--and got a lead role. Your mother witnessed this and understood the meaning of joy, watching you.

Scarlett, for the past few weeks, your family has assisted as you rehearsed both at Youth Performance Company and Mixed Blood Theatre , where you'll be the young Clara in Isabelle Allende's The House of Spirits. Please cover your ears during much of this show. Today, after your performances at Youth Performance Company, your father will immediately drive you to Mixed Blood for a night of rehearsal.

But today, Scarlett, please enjoy the thrill of yet another opening! Even though your current daytime life includes only actors, light technicians, directors, stage managers, ushers, audiences, costume designers, make-up artists, and set-designers, your mother still tucks you in every night.

She gets to hear the hopes, dreams and fears flow from the pillow, smell the soft breath of sleep after you finally fade and stand in the doorway--heart full--grateful that you are here.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Home Place Photo credit to Michal Daniel of Proofsheet Photograhy. Miracle Worker and Minka is here Ann Marsden and Ann Prim photo and movie credit, respectively. Sound of Music photographs are Mandsager Photography. The Ramona photo was lifted from the StarTribune. Fezziwig Photos by Alan Weeks and Annie shots by George M