Connor's Initiation and Mommy's Return To the Stage

I haven't been the most faithful blogger of late. It seems I'd rather fall into bed, exhausted.

I had to post this evening, though. Tonight, Connor came to see his mommy perform in a play. This was the first time he's seen me acting. Oh, sure, he's seen me do this and that for VBS at church, and he's more than aware of my capacity for silly antics. But I had to wonder how he'd respond to a fully-fleshed theatrical performance, complete with lights and sound. To add spice to our scenario, I was to play a rather nasty villain this evening: the White Witch of Narnia. I have to commit murder onstage. Now, Connor adores the Narnia story. But. He has a bit of a love/hate relationship with villains these days. He hides in his bedroom until the beginning scene in Finding Nemo (where the barracuda eats Nemo's mom) is over with. He outright refuses to watch Snow White. Even the scene in Ratatouille where the little old lady chases Remy with a shotgun unnerves him. I wondered if he'd forget himself entirely and burst out upon my entrance--"HI MOMMY! DON'T DO THE WITCH PART." Steve was poised to take hold of him, just in case.

I could hear him in the house, talking to Steve before curtain, and I was worried he'd talk out loud during the play. He was silent thru the whole thing, though. I approached him after the house lights came up, and asked him what his favorite part was. "Oh, the WITCH, Mommy!" he said. I was surprised--and relieved I hadn't scared the pants off him. "Wow," I said. "Really?" "Yes! It was AWESOME!" he said. Used those words. Then he got a tour of the set and backstage, got so excited about it he had to call his Neeni and tell her everything, and finally he decided he just had to act out his own play right there on the stage. So he did. For about fifteen minutes! He hooked Mommy into playing opposite him as he pantomimed the wardrobe, the mountain-climbing scene, and Edmund and Lucy wandering thru Narnia. It was hilarious. My co-star, our stage manager, the lighting designer and Steve were a very patient audience...he was reluctant to end his performance. Only the promise of going to visit his grandmother lured him away. We took a great big bow together. He's out of town with his daddy until Sunday evening but I think I'm going to buy him tickets to see both shows next weekend...

And on a side note, I am absolutely giddy with being a part of this sweet little show. I can't decide if it's the delightful allure of playing an evil character like the Witch, or the joy of acting like an eight-year-old and subsequently leading audience members to the marvelous conclusion that I couldn't be any older than 22. Two shows so far, and that's been the question on the table: What's your actual age? When I tell them "thirty-one," their jaws hit the floor. God bless 'em.

Bitten by the theatre bug.

I remember the very first time I went to see a live play. I was five. It was The Wizard of Oz. From the magical moment the house lights dimmed and the overture began, it was as if something inside me awakened and wanted to burst out. My eyes never left the stage, my ears drank every word uttered by those green little community theatre players, and my heart danced whenever they did. "Hooked" doesn't begin to describe my state of mind. After the play, the cast assembled in the lobby and endulged the audience with autographs and small talk. When the cute little fourteen-year-old girl playing Dorothy shook my hand, I thought I'd pass out. This shy little wallflower had suddenly found her muse. I wanted to be just like her.

Wednesday I was perusing the Chattanooga Theatre Center's website, intending to scan for audition notices, to check and see if they'd announced next year's season, etc. Instead I found myself examining the performance schedule for the youth theatre's current production of Go Dog, Go. In my head, I weighed the possible scenarios for my three-year-old's behavior, which ran the gamut from "polite young man" to "Ma'am, please follow us to the exit." Finally, I decided to risk it. After all, the book upon which the play is based has been one of his favorites since infancy. It was one of the first he was able to read by himself. He loves every silly illustration, and knows the whole book by heart.

Friday night Connor and I piled into the family van and drove downtown, just the two of us, for a bona fide date. He was fairly trembling with anticipation. For two days we had reviewed the rules of theatre etiquette and read and re-read the dog book, all in preparation. He had been so excited that afternoon, he hadn't been able to nap (this alone could have counted as a strike against a decent evening...). Inside the little black box performance space, the first four or five rows of seats weren't seats at all. They were carpet squares. Connor wasn't quite confident enough to nab a ringside rug, but chose a spot about five feet from the action. I settled down next to him and waited to gauge his reaction.

The house lights faded and the pianist began plinking out a tune reminiscent of the silent film era. Onto the stage strode a boy of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a clownish ensemble that included a waggly tail and a painter's hat adorned with floppy brown ears. He launched into a slapstick routine, juggling unsuccessfully and wobbling around on roller skates. I looked over at my son. He was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. From that moment on, I barely glanced at the actors (sorry, guys.). My eyes were trained on my son, who I could tell was fairly falling in love. Connor hardly gave me a glance in return, although he occasionally scooted up close to my side, cupped his hand around my ear and whispered "this is just like in my book!" When it was all over, he begged to be allowed to go onto the stage and look around it. The cast hung around in the lobby to greet the audience, and Connor had his picture made with a few of them. He didn't want to leave. All the way home, he chattered about the play, detailing his favorite parts, favorite dogs, and insisting that I make him a hat with ears. He had already determined which color he wanted and which color his sister was going to wear. He planned to teach her her part before bed that night. We're already making plans to attend the next children's production.

The joy that filled my heart that night when I was five has swelled a hundred-fold.

Performing Arts, or Self-Torture?

Perhaps I'm writing this so I won't chicken out.

It's been *insert embarrassingly lengthy time span here* since my last confession--er--audition. And I'm thinking of doing one. Oh Lord. Why?

Most days I'm perfectly content doing what I do with my evenings, tucking in wee ones and parking my rear on the couch beside the Hubby to watch DiscoveryHD in my slipper socks. Quiet time in our household is cherished. Relished. Anticipated. During the week, my daylight hours are filled with appointments, trips to the gym, to preschool and play dates, housecleaning, sibling mediation, meal preps...and then, blissfully...nothing after ten PM. Steve and I--we just quietly allow ourselves to zone out (I know, most of you thought our night life was spicier...) until our eyelids won't stay parted. Why would I want to disrupt such a beautiful system and commit myself to a possible three months of obligation from 7-11 pm? I'm not sure. Also, I think maybe there's a little demon inside me whose sole pleasure is watching me turn white with terror.

CTC's doing Company in March (Ah, Sondheim!), and auditions are in a week. I just...I think...oh, criminy. I'm picturing something along the lines of that scene in The Little Mermaid, when Scuttle picks up the snarfblatt and blows into it, expecting beautiful music. Instead, a load of sea sludge and kelp bubbles out. Me? I'm the snarfblatt. It's been a while.





LEFT PHOTO: In my youth and channeling Carol Burnett.











RIGHT PHOTO: Taken this morning, before I'd had my coffee and OsteoBiFlex.











I'll borrow a line from my son when he first saw me acting, in a skit for Vacation Bible School:
"Mommy, don't get up on that stage again."