Saturday, February 2, 2008

Methinks that Something Indeed Be Rotten In the State of Denmark...

From my perspective, the most important part of this story is that I did not get to sleep until 5:00 this morning. But I get ahead of myself...

Yesterday was drama class with the home school kids--we're re-interpreting the myth of Perseus and Medusa. Many important life lessons to be learned via a trot across the boards: the supporting cast member can oft be a rewarding role...when individuals come together to create, the whole is often greater than the sum of its parts...if your mom has just married your uncle two brief months after your dad's untimely death, maybe cut the crazy schtick long enough to send your girl friend a card and a bouquet of violets...

Scene: car ride to drama class. Mother explaining to son the younger that he needs to stick to the script and not spend quite so much time ad-libbing because it disrupts the rhythm of his scenes, and, in certain circles, is known as "hogging the stage."

Quit the ad-libbing. Stick to the script. Nobody likes a stage hog. Yadda yadda.

But I want to make people LAUGH! [eyes tear up]

I get that! But you're best bet is still to STICK TO THE SCRIPT. Use a funny voice! Do something funny with your body. Look, the Oracle of Delphi is a GREAT PART. You're spooky! You tell the FUTURE because you sit in a cloud of hypnotizing gas all day long! People think the GODS talk through YOU! This is really. good. stuff!

[to himself] I SHOULD be able to do something with hypnotizing gas...[looks at his older brother, waits a beat, mutters] hmmmph, you'd think HE'D be able to tell the future...

In keeping with this foray into the dramatic, as a family, we watched The Reduced Shakespeare Company's The Complete Works of William Shakespeare last evening--because, really, what better way to instruct on the magic of dramatic theatre (pronounced: THEE-uh-tah) than via the Bard, himself?

The upshot being that Ben laughed so much...and with such...tectonic force...that I think he made himself nauseous. (Now in theatrical release: You'll LAUGH! You'll CRY! You'll...BLOOOOUH! BLOUUOOGH-BLUH-BLUHHHHHHH!). Later that night, (BLUHHH!) the husband and I heard him moaning volubly (stoicism apparently being THE ONE RECESSIVE GENE NOT DANGLING PRODIGIOUSLY FROM OUR COLLECTIVE FAMILY TREE).

So I'm gonna 'workshop' this next scene with you. I, a mere mortal woman, am with my children ALL DAY. And then, because they by the grace of God actually seem to require LESS SLEEP than I, am also with them ALL NIGHT. I love and adore my children. But sometimes? At the end of the day? I just. don't. have. words. left. Any. I like to think of this not so much as complete mental and physical exhaustion, or, as it might justifiably be called in some lesser social circles, sheer much as SATISFACTION IN A JOB WELL DONE.

Energy and for that matter, compassion, were apparently at ebb tide. Because I greeted the sound of moaning misery emanating at 2:30 in the morning from the boys' room with an incredibly dismissive, "Gohd! He'll be fine!" This aimed at the husband, who was fussing about as if SOMEBODY should get up and check on the child. I mean: what can you do? You can't vomit FOR the kid, right? And I was just finding out how Fermina Daza and Florentino Ariza first meet, after looking longingly at Love in the Time of Cholera on my nightstand for the last three months...

Anyway--OF COURSE--these words, in a just world to be inscribed on my headstone once I pass on, were of course immediately followed by the distinctive peripatetic patter of the eldest son dashing to the bathroom before erupting with what I now like to think of as "THE SPLOOSH HEARD ROUND THE WORLD."

"Wow!" I told him, honestly impressed. "Not only did you make it to the toilet--you threw your retainers in the sink first before you got sick. You're awesome!"

And thus, another day ends. Adieu! Adieu!

Curtain close.