No Business Like Show Business

Teaching my children at home has its benefits...and its challenges, some that are getting more complicated as my daughters grow older. Extra-curricular activities have their place outside most households as they do ours. This year when I thought I couldn't possibly stretch another inch, I chose, yes, I willingly chose to sabotage the sacred hour of down time I've creatively scrounged up for myself at the end of the day by conceding to do something extremely unnerving like give them permission to audition for a play two cities away...the WRONG way in rush hour traffic.

And they all four make it.

I've lost count of the weeks since we took on this endeavor. It is a pitiful realization to know I have only survived it, barely. When I tell them somewhat harshly that I never want to do another play again, EVER, all those newly created theater memories flash brightly across four somber faces with four very earnest frowns; I know that tomorrow and the days after that, there will be private confessions...mine, as I recall recent meals after evening rehearsals all served up with extra spoonfuls of drama, adrenaline and tender conversation.

Mommy, I made a new friend."

"Mommy, I have lines."

"Mom, I'm getting one of the microphones."

Of course, it wouldn't be a real theater experience unless the director announced forty-eight hours before the first stage performance that baby pigs and ducklings must have pink and orange canvas shoes and leotards, those of which would be simple enough to dye if a shopping excursion proved disastrous. I knew immediately that I had stepped right into disastrous. This was just about the time I began to invent a long and very unpleasant definition for "theater director."

Leaving the rehearsal at 6:00p.m., Dad gets involved in the crises. The craft store sets aside the last two boxes of pink and orange dye which get picked up on our way to Payless shoes, then Target, and Mervyns after that, for which we depart with two pairs of leotards and no canvas shoes. I've never dyed anything in my life. The drive to Walmart at 8:30p.m. takes us further away from home with four tummies grumbling loudly and two little ones eager to forfeit their dinner in exchange for sleep in the back seat of the car. What if the dye doesn't come out right? We find one pair of size 12 white canvas shoes. I head to the customer service desk to begin making frantic phone calls to every Walmart store within a 60 mile radius.















Seven phone calls, six shopping centers, one pizza dinner at 10:00p.m., seven hours of sleep, and twenty-one dollars and fifty-two cents later...

I'm learning how to dye (DIE).