Nostalgia, in Advance

No, this really isn't a blast toward the past, but a look at the future.

For much of the past week, seven-year old Merrick has been the sole child at home after school. HWCBN has had debate tournaments and other activities; the Diva has rehearsal and performances.

Every day, Merrick asks where his big brother and sister are --and when they'll be home. He does his homework, practices the violin and then pretty much creates mayhem, mostly with the sixty-five (he grew) blood hound puppy.

Merrick: "But I'm all alone hewe!"

The Matron is fully aware that when Merrick is 13, he'll be alone. Scarlett and Stryker -- if the college path plan works out (and believe her, it will) -- will be gone. Merrick will spend the last five years of his life in his parents' house alone with the elderly, pining for visits from the much older siblings.

And today, watching him sit forlornly on the couch, wondering where the big kids are, the Matron saw his future -- and hers.

The End of an Era

Today, the Matron will be attending the funeral of her husband's grandmother.

Yes, that's right: a 48 year old man's grandmother.

Now, the Matron is a matron, signifying a certain age. Grandma Helen? She lived a complete century--100 years.

Years ago, when the Matron and her husband were still lush, Grandma Helen gave the Matron --then a Youngish Miss -- a book she had written in a class for creative writing for senior citizens. The manuscript recounted many horrors, but the one that struck the Matron was the birth of Grandma Helen's first (of 9) children.

Instead of being in anyway assisted during childbirth, the young Helen was tied to the bed by the doctor and doused with ether. The doctor wanted to speed the whole thing up so he could go have a drink (or seven) with the new father. In fact, tying up the laboring mother and silencing her with ether meant the men could start celebrating right there in the next room.

And once the baby arrived, they left within minutes, leaving the new mama -- just 18 years old -- alone with a new baby.

The Matron now flashes back to her own experiences with childbirth. With the first two, she instantly slept with the babies, tended to them, coddled and cooed (even while exhausted). John gave Stryker an warm sesame oil rub; he did the same for Scarlett. He slept on a cot by the Matron's side, happy to be with the babies and the mama.

Merrick?

Shortly after Merrick arrived on the planet, the OB/GYN nurse asked if the Matron would like her new baby in the room with her, or in the nursery.

Matron: "Nursery. And may I please have a sleeping pill?"

And she slept.

This was, actually, a rather singular event. The Matron can't remember many instances in which she put her own interests and needs above her children. But she knew that with a six and four year old at home --and an infant -- that eight hours of sleep would swing her towards sanity.

Friends, there was nothing sweeter than that sleep.

But Grandma Helen had no such options. Instead, she raised 9 children pretty much on her own -- had babies and immediately rose to tend to the three or eight others already there. She saw her 9 children and around 40 grandchildren grow into a list of great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren to create a legacy of people tallying up to over 130. Let's just say John's side of the family is not attuned to population control.

She did all of the cooking, cleaning, laundry and child care. If someone needed to talk to a child's teacher, it was her. She kept up with all family obligations, sending the cards and letters. If the furnace needed fixing, she did it herself or called the right person. Child throwing up at night? Guess who is there. She sewed, mended, baked, and otherwise tended. Her husband pretty much went to his job every day and then came home to chill.

Good-bye, Helen. No grandma, no mother. Just a nod to the girl and woman, the spirit inside that needs no definition.

(Pretty) Free at Last

It turns out that the Matron is not cut out for home schooling, especially when 'home schooling' mostly means driving a child somewhere three to seventeen thousand times a day. If she didn't also have a full-time tenure track job, things might be different (so don't condemn her; she gave it a shot).

At least Scarlett read Jane Eyre at 12. This was the Matron's assignment and might sustain her until her dying day.

But today, after one of her recent three shows ended, Scarlett was enrolled in a new school -- an all girl's school (free, a public charter school) that seems like a little bit of heaven to the Matron. Uniforms! Binders! Girls holding hands! Is this England? Nirvana!

But Scarlett? Not so sure.

Scarlett: "MOM! Why do I have to go to school? Can't we hire someone to bring me to New York or L.A. so I can just WORK?"

Matron: "You're 12. That's sort of the end of the conversation."

Scarlett: "Sort of the end of the conversation? What does THAT mean?"

Matron: "A diplomatic way of ending the conversation. Nobody's going to New York or L.A."

Scarlett: "But I'm a working ACTOR. Time is running out!"

Now, the Matron did not ask Scarlett to elaborate on the press of time. But, as the mama to the diva, she's well aware that appearance plays a large part in the path that her daughter has chosen. Not that all actors need to be beautiful, but a young teen? It can't hurt to swing one way or the other and not be in the middle.

Of course, the Matron thinks her daughter, beautiful from the get go. But she's well aware that hers is a biased and completely unreasoned perspective.

Scarlett, as you launch into the next phase -- soon to turn 13 with all that comes with learning to be an adult and saying good-bye to childhood -- this is for you.

And for all of us.

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

Scarlett, tonight you open yet another show. This time, you're Lizzie, the little match girl in The Match Girl's Gift at the Minnesota Centennial Showboat.

Now, the Matron has blogged as Stage Mother, many times. Indeed, she has a standard 'break a leg' post that she's abandoning because the read has become too long. Yes, yes: she knows blog readers have about a two minute attention span per page and Scarlett's theater journey is now more novel than novella.

Blog readers: why are we so fickle? Yours truly includes herself in the fast-reading crowd. Give her three minutes a blog and she's happy.

Anyway, this opening night is special to your mother. Not just because it's on a boat (which is pretty cool), and five minutes from the house (even cooler, perhaps) but because the energy and idealism of the young artists (okay, she thinks being in your twenties is young) is contagious. There's something special and dynamic about this group of people; she thinks your show will reflect that energy and integrity.

Plus, it's your mother's birthday. Don't remind her of the exact number of years she's celebrating. Sigh . . .

Also, Scarlett, your mother was proud of you today. You were offered a lead role -- Jiminy Cricket in Pinocchio --and after much agonizing, turned it down so you could audition for another theater, Youth Performance Company, a place you love beyond all reason. Well, there is a reason. It's 'youth' and 'performance.' What better summary for your life thus far?

Even knowing there are no guarantees -- indeed the chances of getting into the next show are always small (there's lots of rejection, even with success) --you opted for the integrity of saying no to Pinocchio at the get go, rather than signing on and perhaps resigning a week later.

Matron: "Could you just say yes to Pinocchio and then if you get into the other show, back out a week later?"

Scarlett: "MOM! I would never do that. Once you say yes, you're in. That would be totally unfair to the other theater."

Good for you, honey. Your mother hopes you keep that spirit with you for the rest of your life, in all your endeavors.

And break a leg tonight. She'll be in the audience, cheering you on and reminding herself that she was present at your birth, so she knows a child of hers can actually harmonize in front of hundreds. That's your father's blood.

The Next Generation

Hey friends,

As someone not unfamiliar with shameless self-promotion that extends to her children, check out the diva's blog

And -- Happy Thanksgiving to all. The Matron tends toward the yearning and unrealized side of life, but is going to give the happy warm grateful thing a go today.

But she hopes everyone who visits here is surrounded by love and warmth today. And too much food.

Tomorrow it's all about shopping so enjoy the respite. Okay, there's that cynic rising again.

Blessings, Counted

So here is the Matron, driving down the freeway.

There's a big roadblock. Traffic comes to a stop. She curses the planet and pulls out her cell phone: half an hour to the next class!

People! Get out of her way!

Finally, her mini-van (still cool because of the peace signs, Dodge) is able to inch by the obstruction.

A hearse.

Overturned jeep, people weeping and wailing. And the Matron was struck by the fact that she felt 'inconvenienced.'

Fourteen years ago, the day before Thanksgiving, the Matron's father died. Her brother and sister hadn't laid eyes on him for a decade. But the Matron, then a Young Miss, was a steady presence in his life.

So today -- approaching the day of gratitude and the birthday, she's somber. And very grateful to be here, and fully aware that some day, she won't be.

Actual Conversation

Merrick: "Is there weally a Santa Claus? A weal twue Santa who brings pwesents?"

Matron: "Santa isn't quite what you think. Don't imagine a big fat guy in a red suit. Santa is different. He's more of a spirit. A collective entity."

Merrick: "What is 'entity'?"

Matron: "Group spirit."

Merrick: "Is that like God?"

Matron: "We're Buddhists. There is no God."

Merrick: "I'm a Chwistian. God lives in my heawt. God died fow my sins."

Matron: "What's a sin?"

Merrick: "What God dies fow."

Matron: "Where did you hear that?

Merrick: "Gwandma. And my fwiends at school."

Matron: "Okay, can we talk about Santa?"

Merrick: "Isn't Santa and God the same thing?"

Matron: "Not really."

Merrick: "But do they wide in the same sleigh on Chwistmas night?"

Matron: "God doesn't ride in a sleigh, if he exists."

Merrick: "Weally? How does God get awound?"

Matron: "Can we go back to Santa?"

Merrick: "Isn't that God?

Matron: "Santa and God aren't the same thing."

Merrick: "Who is bettew? God ow Santa?"

Matron: "They're both amazing but I'd give God the first ticket."

Merrick: "Are God and Santa bwothews? "

Matron: "Look at the time! Bed!"

Merrick: "And God and Santa will be with me."

Matron: "How about the tooth fairy?"

Merrick: "Oh, she's alweady asleep in my bed. She lives wight undew my pillow."