Youth

Need she say more?

Her mother-in-law goes to five funerals a week. Elizabeth Taylor is lost to time; Michael Jackson, dead. She remembers when Princess Diana died --and got married.

In tribute to things past.

The Matron remembers this as the first ever music video she ever watched.

To this day, nothing compares.

And time?

Flying.

Musical Beds

This is what happens nearly every night (and far too late).

Merrick: "Can I sleep in the big bed?"

Scarlett: "Can I sleep in the big bed?"

John: "Can I sleep in my own bed tonight?"

Scarlett: "Can someone sleep with me?"

Merrick: "Daddy, can you lay with me fow awhile?"

The dance begins around 8:30 when Merrick starts his marathon slide into sleep, a slide that always includes one last (long) bathroom trip right when the parents think he's finally tucked in and tuckered out.

Merrick (calling from the dark): "Mama! I have to pee!"

How can you say no?

But before the last minute bathroom trip there is the inevitable negotiation about sleeping in the parental bed, a place more popular than Disneyland in this house. Merrick's lobby sometimes begins at breakfast.

Merrick (over cereal and hot cocoa): "Can I sleep in the big bed tonight?"

Scarlett's lobby is frequently more successful because she, adroitly, selects to win her way into the bed sometime between midnight and 1:00 a.m. Because she's currently getting home at 10:30 pm every night and has to be at another theater by 9:00 am the next morning and not only do the parents worry about her sleep but want their own, she's got the upper hand.

1:15 am

Scarlett: "Mom? Daddy? I can't sleep." Maybe there's a little crying. Always an appeal to 'daddy' instead of 'dad' (sucker!). A slight tilt to the head, doe eyes. "Daddy" is a puddle.

John: "Oh, just come on in . . . you need your sleep."

Scarlett is somehow instantly recovered from whatever trauma she was suffering and falls asleep.

Once, Merrick and Scarlett discussed arm wrestling in order to see who 'won' the coveted 'big bed' position.

HWCBN: "I am SO glad that sleeping in my parent's bed now inspires disgust rather than desire."

Huh, her too, honey.

Maybe if she starts reminding everyone that the 'big bed' was (probably) where everybody was made, it won't be so appealing?

Home Schooling 101

The Matron doesn't quite know if she's officially homeschooling or not. She does SOOO appreciate her debt to blog readers and dear in-the-flesh friends (thank you!). But she and her wiser, better half (this would be you, John, if you are still reading the blog) decided to pull the plug on school for Scarlett, at least for a couple of months. The Matron is still waiting to hear what the school says about returning in January.

So . . . .yours truly thought all was well. Groovy. Problem solved. Anything but algebra is up her alley and then she has HWCBN to help. Sure, she has to create curriculum and dye hair (Scarlett must be a Chilean dark for a current show) but the Matron felt everything - well, perhaps under control.

Until the reality of today.

Stryker goes to school. Merrick goes to school. Matron starts working.

In thirty seconds a slim ghost appears at her shoulder.

Scarlett: "Mom? Can we go to the thrift store and get Halloween costumes?"

Matron: "I have to work. You have five jobs today: homework, laundry, breaking up dog treats, sweeping and making your bed. You have 50 algebra problems to complete before 3 pm."

Scarlett: "You are SO MEAN!!"

Thus the day began. While the Matron attempted to attend to her full-time job, Scarlett flitted at her shoulder.

"Mom? Can you make J-ello?"

"Can you find my blue sweatshirt?"

"If I write my history essay first, can you read it and make comments?"

"I wonder if Grandma would like me to call her today?"

"What happened to the brownies? Did someone eat them already?"

This, within 15 minutes. Add another six hours and you get the drift. Home schooling was seriously back on the cutting board.

People! Why didn't anyone tell her this is work --and OMIGOD--mandatory interaction with one of your children? Who has really no direction other than that you give her and no friends or siblings to distract?

At least the Matron got a taste of Purgatory before she goes there.

Thankfully, starting tomorrow there are five solid weeks of performances so the child will be gone. Because the Matron more fully understood today that what she needs? A little bit of solitude, in between driving (and work, errands, cleaning and the sixty-pound blood hound puppy).

Fraying at the edges. . . .

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

No, the Matron is not going to, once again, repost the standard "Break a Leg, Scarlett." Here's the most recent, for a lovely, warm yet deeply sad show at Youth Performance Company. Can she say enough good things about this theater company? To every reader with a teen wondering where to take classes or audition, she can say: YPC. Scarlett might soon ask to move her mattress there.

Last night, saw the first preview of her next show, The House of Spirits, at Mixed Blood. Here's a little newspaper tidbit, featuring the truly amazing director.

Friends -- the Matron is now up to over 400 daily readers. If you live in the Twin Cities, this is one show that's worth seeing. For those of you in Japan and Australia? Well, maybe not.

Scarlett hasn't been to school in three weeks, but will return on Monday. If she gets into another show--one for which she's in the throes of callbacks -- the family will turn the home into a school and just throw hats into that ring.

Maybe Scarlett can just attend the Matron's community college?

Despite the driving, the time commitment, the drama -- the Matron is eternally grateful that her child has been living in a world of creativity, art and talent since she's been eight. She's sure that exposure has changed her daughter on a cellular level.

Note to Scarlett: Just leave the world a little bit better for your presence here. It doesn't matter if that's through theater or not (but maybe your mother's left wing politics MIGHT also influence?). But she hopes you've found some beauty and grace to pass onto others.

The same message goes to the other children -- be a good citizen, first. Stand for justice and peace; if you have extra money, give some away.

He Who Cannot be Named (HWCBN): "How can you be a billionaire and still be like Buddha? Isn't that your goal, MOM, for us be like Buddha? Did he nearly die of starvation, wander the countryside in rags and then get poisoned? Aren't you supposed to make the world a better place by doing what you love? And I love money! And food!"

That's okay, darling -- as long as you give some of both away. With heart.

What She Loves About her Children

1. They are hers.

2. He Who Cannot be Named? In-house tech support. Computer problem? Solved. Thanks HWCBN. Someone who can now reach to the higher shelves. Another man to rig open a stuck garage door. Transferring at-home argumentative skills to high school debate (and winning everywhere). The person who notices when someone is hurt or anxious and takes the time to help.

3. Scarlett? Um. . . is it bad to say that the Matron can google her daughter and get more links than for her own fine self -- and the child is 12? A young woman who can spend 12 hours a day working as a professional and still get straight A's. Someone who pauses everything to help the younger kid -- in any scenario--and who coos over babies. The girl who claims she will live on the island of Lesbos with her best friend, Eleanor, when they turn 18. Rejecting all things fast food (in theory) but falling numb at the thought of Subway ham and cheese sandwiches.

4. The little guy, Merrick? Can she just first say that when one has a 14 and 12 year old, the 7 year old is a precious commodity and unrivaled in the adorable factor, throughout the world. No child is more adorable. Perhaps that's enough? But let us consider his missing front tooth. How about the proclamation that he is "President of Dogs" and the proclivity to live out this destiny on the living room floor with as many dogs as possible? Then there's the day the Matron told him he could stay up (at a party) until he dropped --and Merrick asked "will it huwt when I dwop?" She could die now of love for this child (did she mention that youngest child bias yet?).

Today, HWCBN noted that he hadn't seen Scarlett in six days (note: read recent theater posts). There was also no school due to some teacher conferences that the Matron does not have the benefit of attending. So after picking up Scarlett for her two hour lunch break from the current theater (where she needed to arrive at like, dawn, and return to until, well, like midnight -- she just go home), the Matron stopped by the beloved Subway--to the tune of $25 for four people. What's up with that?!!

Yet upon returning home, all three children took their rare and unrivaled treat into the family room and spent an hour laughing and talking -- the first time they had been together in, well, six days. Their joy with one another -- pure and unfiltered -- is another thing the Matron loves about her children.

Well worth twenty-five dollars. Actually, don't let her even touch that checkbook.

Humble Pie, Baked by the Matron

Sunday morning was particularly arduous.

Merrick, who suffers from 'unbearable sensitive prickly skin disease,' could not tolerate his new pants. This is a child who has a uniform without a school requirement: same two pair of blue jeans (now with holes that distinguish one from the other) white Hanes or Fruit of the Loom T-shirt (she mentions brand so one can fully appreciate how nondescript said t-shirts are) and a black sweatshirt (this item is singular but also has helpful identifying holes).

So the intrepid mother went to the thrift store and The Mother Ship (Target) and purchased a wide variety of items without holes -- new pants, new sweatshirt, more white t-shirts. Leading toward a complete psychological collapse of the youngest child.

Sunday morning.

Merrick: "WHAT AWE THESE THINGS PWETENDING TO BE MY CLOTHES?"

Matron: "Merrick, these are new clothes. Here are clothes without holes. They're just your size. Look! New jeans! New white t-shirts! New sweatshirt--black. The same color as required."

Merrick: "These clothes awe EVIL. Whewe awe my weal clothes?" The Matron may have downplayed the number of holes in said clothes. It's significant enough to expect a phone call from the school social worker.

Matron: "Honey, you really need to try on these new things. They're almost exactly like the other clothes."

Screaming ensued.

During this mayhem, Scarlett woke up.

Matron: "Scarlett, you really need to shower and do homework before your tech rehearsal starts today."

Scarlett: "Mom! That is SO UNFAIR. I showered five days ago. I'm not even going to school anymore so I can put off homework. I have TEN HOURS of rehearsals today and I'm SO TIRED."

All true. Scarlett has been to school just six days this entire year. Thus, the earlier home-schooling query. She's currently logging 14 hour days.

Matron: "I know, but do you have to scream?"

Then HWCBN decided to complain, loudly, about his life.

Everyone was in distress. The new (now sixty pound) puppy was trying to eat the tea pot while simultaneously chewing Merrick as dessert. Satan's Familiar pooped in the basement. John couldn't find his cell phone or wallet, something the Matron tried to forgive since she lost the car.

All this before noon on a Sunday morning. The Matron had enough. She gathered her things and announced her departure, in an uncharacteristic move of intolerance and complete surrender.

Matron: "I have to go. I have some errands to run."

HWCBN: "Right. You're just bailing because everyone is upset."

Matron: "Indeed." That's actually a good word, as there's just the right amount of superiority and ambiguity.

The whole household watched in wonder as the mother, heart of the household, stormed out the door. Lest there be any misunderstanding: she stormed. Drama. The Matron was making a Significant Point about Unacceptable Behavior.

She marched out to the garage, hit the door opener and . . . . the door started to open and then sighed, slopped down and died. With the car and her escape inside.

There were a few frantic moments of button pushing and door heaving. The Matron prayed to God-Buddha-Oprah-Universe-Allah for assistance. Alas, the gods appeared to be asleep.

She considered her symbolic departure (from the less than powerful position of the sidewalk by the driveway) and the result of skulking back in. So much for emphasis. She walked back into the house, where the squabbles and upheavals in the kitchen remained in full force.

Scarlett: "I THOUGHT YOU WERE LEAVING US!"

HWCBN: "So much for your dramatic departure."

Matron: "I need help. The garage door is broken."

HWCBN and John came out with gloves, screwdrivers and hope. Merrick found a pair of black gloves -- because that's his color -- and took the role of lifting up the door (with some deceit involved in how much of his personal power might lift the thing). It took some time, but they were able to heave open the door and inspect the broken cables (which later cost $119 to fix). The Matron held her bag, computer and dignity while she watched, at the mercy of men and the very people who were driving her crazy.

John: "There. It's all fixed--you can go."

Matron: "Are you going to make pancakes?"

Merrick, HWCBN, Scarlett: "Pancakes!!! Yes!"

Matron: "Actually, I think I can stay for awhile."

They all went inside and ate breakfast, better.

Gone Fishing?

No, the Matron does not fish.

She actually hates nature.

By this she means nature that involves camping, hiking, or otherwise peering at wildlife. If you've seen one deer, you've seen them all. Hiking? What's the destination? End goal? She is not about process, which may not psychologically sound but her reality.

Spot that bird? Um . . is that available online?

Nature exists in the wide open air between bars, coffee shops and bookstores, where she thrives. Air is everywhere. Breathe. . .. that's nature, even if you're at Target or walking out of a bookstore. Or wondering where the next gin and tonic is at the restaurant patio. Isn't there grass nearby?

This is an official digression.

Real post on Monday . . . .