Won’t You Take Me to Dramatown

Y’all. We are in the last days of summer.

There is mixed feelings all around. I find myself dipping into hormonal moments of nostalgia. I start humming, “Sunrise, Sunset” and then snare a stray child, clutch him to my chest, start rocking and sorta moaning, “Mah babieeeeeeeee. My pweshus widdle cherub… Momma wuvs you so much,” until we both get nauseated by the baby talk and lack of oxygen, and said child breaks free and slinks off to do something annoying to balance out the situation.

But also, every once in a while, I act like this guy:



Holy Braveheart, you have ask???

FREEDOM, Y’all! It’s not just for political ads, ok? It’s for mommies, the frazzled, the worn OUT,

Give us your tired, your poor, your huddles masses of mommies… THE KIDS ARE GOING BACK TO SCHOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!!!!!!!

And for you home schoolers out there. I salute you. You don’t really get to revel that much in all the chirpy back-to-school commercials and over-merchandising and backpacks that are grossly overpriced, but we still buy them because, lo, our children will take those backpacks and LEAVE WITH THEM!  I really don’t know how you do it, but I salute you anyway because you kinda terrify me.


I have two extra boys at my house these days – and evidently drama is their thing. No, I mean really. They like to put on plays. So far I have seen Joe vs. the Scary Thing, A Very Long Play About Really Nothing, Something With Dragons and Joe Again, and then a piece so avant-garde there wasn’t even real children, just an audience who tried to secretly multi-task, and a weird dialogue that took place IN AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ROOM. There were some problems with that one – something about stage directions.

Also, there are costumes. Like (dramatic flapping of hands to add flair) THIS:

photo 1

Note the shoes. These pink mules with cute little bows from Nordstroms (back when I bought shoes) were donned to help with the sound effects. Blonde informed me that he was a ninja warrior but the shoes added a thunder sound. Of course.

Also, (more flapping of hands) THIS:

photo 3I apologize for the horrible pictures. I was laughing my butt off.

In this image, our main character is a troubled and conflicted soul who really, deep down, is TRYING to be mysterious and scary, but just, you know, for some reason, can’t pull it off.

Also, yes, there is a ninja with a Nerf gun lurking in the background. But, isn’t there always?

So, after about fourteen of these Oscar winners, I finally decided to get in on the act. (SEE THAT I KNOW THIS IS WHY YOU READ ME, ISN’T IT??) and I, of course, decided to make this a Teachable Moment! Because! I am a Mother!

So, I talked to the director, a budding James Cameron, about his plan.

“I think we will do a play about kids. Kids and Santa. Maybe also a Ninja.”

One actor sidled past and muttered, “No ninjas with Santa. Dats not ok.”

Actors are so temperamental.

Anyhow, with an encouraging, Mom of the Year smile, I offered MY brilliant plan:

“I know! Why don’t you make a play about Compromise!? We have had to really work on that in our house lately.”

The director eyed me. And then said,

“No. I don’t want to.”

And… cut.

Irony. It is wasted on the young.

Right now they are singing “Ding dong the witch is dead!” It’s part of the big showstopper at the end.

It’s fitting.


Postscript: To the teachers, ALL of you, I am one of you. I get it.  You are dearly loved and prayed for. 🙂


One comment

  1. Well, the faculty meeting is tomorrow, so maybe I could . . . you know. But then I have a doctor’s appointment and I’d hate to disappoint him. He’s been so nice.

    The boys aren’t any wilder than Maeterlink or Artaud. They’re sort of Alfred Jarry without the cussing. Or maybe Beckett with hands flapping. Sounds like good stuff and they aren’t going to take directions from no pink mule wearing mamma. I know you weren’t wearing them at the time, but they knew whose shoes they had on.

    Gosh, I wish I had played with my kids like this when they were the age of your two. Congratulations. You get M.O.T.Y. award from across the street.

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