I Built My Son a Secret Lab

My family loves Christmas.  Ridiculously loves Christmas. I’ve blogged many times about our traditions, and all of that fa la la. This year, the kids got a little high tech with their wish lists.

At first I laughed.  That was after telling Dylan that there was no way in hell that we were getting more pets (the kittens hadn’t discovered the Christmas tree at this point), and we really had nowhere to store a go-cart.  But I laughed at the note to Santa about the secret lab, portal, etc.

Then I thought about it.

It might just work.

Then I would be Mom of the year and rule the world.

Our entire house is full of vaulted ceilings.  Except in Dylan’s room where the ceiling is flat.  The attic is above his room, and the entrance to the attic is a trap door in the ceiling of his closet that you access by climbing a bookcase that has been built into the wall, complete with handrails.  The only thing up there is Christmas storage.

Would it work?

The plan started to come together.  However, not a whole lot pops up when you Google “Secret Lab.” So, I started to sketch.

This might actually work. 

I asked Thomas for a budget and started ordering things from Amazon.  I got paint from school, and Thomas and I took a quick trip to IKEA.

We could only work while the kids were at rehearsal, so we had to be efficient.  It also me realize that I am NEVER home alone, but that’s the topic for another blog post.

We swept, painted, taped a border around the area he would have, and put down that interlocking foam flooring stuff.

I bought this cool roll of white board that’s like a giant sticker, and put that up, framing it with the same tape.  On the wall, I put up a light-up remote-controlled moon that shows the  phases of the moon, a periodic table of elements, bolted two IKEA lamps, and put up two pieces of art that I made after the kids went to bed: Dylan’s name spelled out in elements, and a line drawing of “Science.”

On the desk, I taped blue battery-operated string lights, so it looks like the desk is glowing.  I bought a Newton’s cradle, made a pencil cup out of the caution tape and filled it with white board markers, white board eraser, pencils, and test tubes.  Also on the desk are a pair of safety goggles, a light-up magnifying glass with clip things (not sure what it’s for, but it’s freakin’ cool), another lamp, a build your own robot, and a book about Chemistry.  Add a chair, a hook on the wall that holds his lab coat, and the secret lab was ready!

Now, how to get him up there?  I made an ID badge online and had it laminated.  I typed out a note from Santa saying that his lab awaits, and put them into a drawstring bag.  It’s going in the bottom of the stocking.  We’re not good with stockings, so I’m thinking it’ll be pretty freaking cool.

The plan its this: open presents, then take a break to refill coffee, go to the bathroom, etc.  During that time, I will distract the kids downstairs, and Thomas will go up the lab and turn on all of the lights, so it’s bright when he gets up there.  Then, we begin stockings.

I’m so excited about his reaction that I could pee my pants.  You can bet that I’ll be posting the reaction video on Christmas morning, so check back on Facebook for the grand unveiling!

Seriously.  I built my kid a secret lab.

Behave Yourself

My husband and my two children were driving through our town the other day, and came across a peculiar sight.  A car (sedan) with the stickers touting the local high school, a personalized license plate and five teenage girls was driving down a main road.  As they drove down the street, one of them popped up through the sunroof (while the car was moving), at least two were leaning out of the windows, and all of them, including the driver were raising their middle fingers, screaming “Fuck You!” to the people they passed, many of those people being children walking home from school.

Now, my husband and I are both teachers, and believe me when I say that we spend more than a fair share of our day listening to language of teenagers.  I believe that many people would be shocked and appalled by the language and actions that teenagers display on a high-school campus.  For those of you who are now saying, “I can only imagine!”, there must be a fair number of you who are saying, “My child would never talk/do/act/strut/throw themselves at the opposite sex like that!”  I know this because over the course of my career, I have received many a letter from a parent appalled that I would allow students onstage to use the word “asshole” (in the award winning play Proof, by the way, after the duo had placed with that scene at a state festival) or even say the word “gay” or refer to a gay character.  But, I digress.

So, my husband, still with his teacher hat on, and my two children in the car who are watching this display of teenage-girl peacock-like behavior, takes a picture of the little darlings on his phone, and posts it on Facebook, to see if anyone knew who it was.

Friends on Facebook suggested posting it on a page dedicated to the goings-on in our town, so the husband did.  It was approved and posted, and a shitstorm erupted.  Our friends, and many of the people who responded to the post had the same mind-set as we did, “That kid needs to be dealt with.  There are consequences for your actions, I hope they find her.” However, like the letter writers saying that I’m destroying today’s youth by exposing them to curse words, there were people who were incensed that Thomas had put that up.

I guess the picture, and the car (easily identifiable by the vanity plates) was seen by the parents.  Within a few hours, my husband actually had a friend of ours call him and ask him to take the post down.  They knew this kid, this family, and said “it’s a personal matter.” Oh yeah, and then the step-mom or dad’s girlfriend or whoever she was, messaged my husband asking him to take the post down.

It’s a good thing that this happened to my husband and not to me, because when I heard that, I erupted.

When I was a kid, and I got in trouble at school, I was terrified.  I was terrified because I knew that it was going to be 100000000000 worse when I got home.  Today, when I talk about a kid’s behavior or other infraction, it often becomes MY (the teacher’s) fault.  My son would never have cheated, what proof do you have?  My daughter would never talk to anyone that way….blah, blah, blah.

There are no consequences.

Now granted, sources say that this girl is in big trouble and got her car taken away from her, but we don’t know these people.

I DO know that if I had done that, my ass would be walking everywhere, which would be ok, because I’d be bruised and battered and sitting down would probably be uncomfortable anyway.

I was just surprised at how many people were upset about this girl and her friends being called out on her undeniably crappy behavior and choices while on a public street, during the day, in front of children.  I’m sorry if you are having a bad day, but learn your audience.  You choose to act like an ass in public, then don't get mad at the people who call you out on it.

I am also pretty happy about the fact that we seem to know lots of people who share similar ideologies with us, and that maybe our children won’t behave like this.  But…if they do, I would hope that someone would tell me so that I can make sure that they would be lucky to ever see the light of day again. 

Life is Random and Unfair...Life is Pandemonium

Dear Parents who have artistically-inclined kids,

Common core is coming, whether you agree with it or not.  As far as being a teacher in the arts, it's the pendulum swing that arts teachers have been waiting for.  After years of our programs being cut, and being told that our classes "don't matter" (I actually got that one to my face from a psychotic teacher at my previous school--nut-bag that one) people are realizing that the skills acquired from an art-integrated education are going to help get our kids out of an "A," "B," "C," or "D" mind frame.

But, what arts teachers do is more than that.  We piss our students off.

You may be saying...WTH??? You're a teacher!  You're supposed to want every kid to succeed.

You are right, but I have to break something to you.  They can't succeed all the time.  If my students succeed all the time, I would be doing them a disservice...like soccer trophies.

I am in the most stressful part of my school year.  Spring Play Casting.  It sucks.  I was awake from 1:45-2:45 this morning thinking about it.  I've been out of school for the past two days, since the cast list was posted (because of Dylan's broken arm) and I've already dealt with an upset mom and kids texting me to tattle about the snarky crap that other kids have said in my absence.

Let me use all of my overabundance of sports knowledge to give you an analogy about the arts.  Look at a theatre department like
sports teams. Not all kids are going to get a part.  Sorry.  That's the way it happens.  This isn't U-6 soccer.   Not everyone is going to make Varsity.  Some kids might not ever make Varsity, no matter how hard they want it, or how hard they practice.  Some might make it to Jr. Varsity.  Some might make the Varsity team, and only play for a minute at the end of the game.  It's kind of the same thing.  It's not fair, but guess what?  I'm sorry, but that's life.

I haven't cast kids because of their grades, and then argued with their parents about it.  I've had parents pull race cards on me, I've had parents call the principal, I've had kids refuse to ever look me in the eye or talk to me again, I've had kids say nasty things to my face and behind my back.  Hey people, I'm human.  That stuff sucks.  Plus, I'm an arts-y human who takes things personally.  Stop being assholes to directors!

But guess what?  It's only going to get harder for students.  The real world doesn't know your kids the way I do, and the real world doesn't care.  I do care, but I'm telling you now...your kid is going to deserve the part that they get, not get it because you think they should have it because they're upset that they didn't get the part they wanted.

I've been telling students that I want them to fail.  Then, they look at me like I have grown a tail.  Then I elaborate.  I want them to fall down, get up, dust themselves off, figure out why they fell, then do again and again until they fall, and they're stronger than ever.  I'm sending resilient,  self-sufficient, realistic, idealistic, and determined kids into the world.  I am not sending kids out into the world with a trophy because they showed up and didn't trip over their shoelaces.

So, how bout you do what I tell the kids to do.  After a cast list goes up, they have to follow the 24-hour rule: You are allowed to be angry or upset for 24-hours.  Don't lament to people, don't come to me crying, don't bitch.  After 24 hours, you can put on your big boy/big girl panties and talk to me calmly and rationally.  I promise you that the conversation will go better, and I won't always remember you as "that parent."  When I respond to your email, it's always after I've had a huge glass of wine, and stopped being upset at the things that you've flung at me...then, I re-read it.

I like your kids.  Most of the time, I love your kids.  Trust me.
Sincerely,
A Drama Teacher-who-doesn't-want-to-keep-waking-up-worried-in-the-middle-of-the-night.

The American Dream

As we get into the thick of tech week, I have always thought it important to have something for the kids to do backstage to keep them busy on the long days.  When I was young, my mother used to buy me shoe boxes full of beads, and elastic thread to keep me and the other child performers busy making bracelets and necklaces for each other and the adult cast mates.

Sydney came home from a party with rubber band bracelets and I immediately needed to get the stuff to make these.  We traipsed to Michaels and, along with another family looking for the same thing, bought two Rainbow Looms, one for each kid.

They brought them to rehearsal, and actually managed to talk one of the other child cast members into getting HER mother to buy her one.  So, a sweatshop-type assembly line began backstage during the sitzprobe.  As the evening went on, I began to see random cast members come out from the wings with the bracelets snaking up their arms.

At the end of the evening, on our way out the door, people who had never given the children a second glance were calling out their goodbyes to them.  They were all mini rock stars.  I asked them about it in the car, and they both excitedly told me that cast members were putting in their color orders.  Then, this conversation happened:

Me: That’s great that you’re making these for everyone.

Sydney: Yup.  Today they’re free.  Tomorrow, they cost a dollar.  Special ones like holiday colors will cost $1.50.

Me: so, what you mean to say is that you are hooking people on these with free samples, and subsequent ones will cost them?

Sydney: Yup.

Me: So….you’re like a meth dealer?

Sydney: Huh?

Me: Never mind.  GREAT entrepreneurship, Syd!  I’m proud of you.

My kid’s a dealer. 

Then, the next evening, I went backstage to check on their growing sweatshop, only to find an adult cast member working on the Rainbow Loom, patiently weaving bracelets. 

Me (to Sydney): How come she's making a bracelet?

Sydney: Outsourcing.

How do you argue with that?

The Verbiage of Ragtime

There are many times that I forget that I am the mother of young children.  My kids interact with adults more than other kids, and as they spend more and more time in a theater, they are exposed to more and more adult concepts and attitudes.  That doesn't both me, and we've had plenty of conversations about the responsibilities that they have as child performers working with older people. 

For example, when we started working on Ragtime, I explained to them that they’ll be working with college students who aren't used to being around younger children, and often they’ll use colorful language that they might not hear at their regular theater studio.

Sydney’s response, “That’s ok, Mom.  We live with you.”

Hmmmm…….

I also forget that at their ages, they haven’t been exposed to the historical significance of the stories in Ragtime.  We are a very liberal family, and our friend and family base is comprised of people of all socio-economic brackets, religions, races, sexual orientations, and whatever else.  It’s never been an issue, it just is what it is.  So, imagine my surprise at the following conversation in the car on the way home from rehearsal one evening:

Me: How did rehearsal go?

Sydney: Good

Dylan: Good.  I was hanging out with the funny Negro guy.

Me: (trying not to drive off the road): WHAT??!!??

Dylan: you know, the funny Negro guy who always makes the jokes.

Me: Ok, let’s talk about this….

Because of the verbiage in the script, the African-American/black characters are referred to as “Negro” since this takes place in 1906.  Since Dylan had never heard this word, and it is thrown around very nonchalantly, imagine his surprise to learn that we don’t use that word, he can’t use that word outside the walls of the theater for this particular show, and that it’s considered a bad word today.

He was so confused.  Then, he got really upset because he didn't want the “funny Negro guy” to think he was being rude.

I assured him that it would be ok.  I guess I should have pre-taught this one a little better.  I’m just glad we caught this one before I got a call from school, or Dylan got a black eye.

I Wish I Could Go Back to College

After the family saw the musical Matilda this summer in New York, both children were completely fired up about their participation in the theatre world.  They decided that they were ready for Broadway.  I, on the other hand, wanted to take smaller steps.  When the audition notice for the local community college, Fullerton College, came out, the kids were overjoyed that their centennial production would be Ragtime.

They figured that since there was a young boy, and a young girl in the show, that would be the parts for them.

Here was my thought…let’s try auditioning for this, since it’s a bigger production, and could possibly be a different experience for them, but I also tried to explain to them that neither of them were right for the parts: Sydney was too grown up for Little Girl and Dylan was too little for Little Boy.  But, they didn’t care, and off we went to the audition.  I was secretly hoping that they would be told “no,” something that they don’t often hear at their studio.  I also kind of wanted their egos to have a bit of a check, and I felt confident that even though they both had nice, solid auditions, they wouldn’t be cast, since the show usually only casts those two particular child roles.

And….they were cast.  As Italian immigrants.  And they both wanted to do the show.

Then the other shoe dropped.  Since it was a college production, they both had to enroll in the musical theatre course (for insurance purposes) at Fullerton.

My 7-year-old son and 11-year-old daughter were going to be college students.  Now perhaps this is the dream of many parents, but let me just tell you what a gigantic pain in the ass it is to register your young children for college in 28 simple steps:

1. You have to hunt down the appropriate paperwork from the college.
2. You can’t fill in the online application that the college requires because they’re both under 13.
3. You have to have paperwork signed by their school principal.
4. The principal happens to sign on the wrong lines.
5. You have to race to admissions after work one day, park in Guam, and schlep to their office on the hottest day of the past two months.
6. When it’s your turn, you are given two paper applications that you have to fill out while being given the stink eye by other students standing in line behind you.
7. With 30 minutes left before the office closes, you have to go to the college counseling office for their signatures.
8. Then, you cross campus to the Fine Arts Building to get the Dean of Fine Arts signature.
9. The dean is gone for the day at 3:30 on a Thursday and will not be in on Friday afternoon when you can get back (which happens to be the last day to register for this class).
10. You cry. Literally.  Then you get mad at yourself for crying and looking like an idiot.
11. The Theatre chair takes your paperwork and promises to get the signature the next day.
12. You run back to the college the next day, park in Guam, and pick up the now signed paperwork.
13. You stand in line again with all of the other poor fools who are also trying to get all of their paperwork done on the last day.
14. You get it turned in and you receive their student ID numbers and their ADD codes.
15. You run home and register them for the class online.
16. The damn system charges you for Dylan’s registration, but doesn't charge you for Sydney’s registration, causing you to have a heart attack thinking that she’s going to be kicked out of the show.
17. You go back to admissions again on Monday, still parking in Guam, only to argue with the clerk that you DO want to pay, that it’s not letting you….PLEASE take my money. They are CLEARLY not used to this side of the argument.
18. You get this straightened out and ask where to pick up the parking permit that you ordered.
19. You are told to go to campus safety, but they will only give it to Sydney (who’s account the pass was ordered on).
20. You try to explain that Sydney is 11 and will clearly not be driving herself.
21. You confuse the shit out of the clerk.
22. You leave to go to campus safety.
23. You park in a different lot, in a different country from where this office is, and walk over, with 5 minutes to spare before they close.
24. You see a 10-minute spot open right in front of the doors of campus safety.
25. You explain your situation to the 16-year-old working the window.
26. They don’t even look at your ID as they hand you your pass.
27. Your children are now students at Fullerton College, receiving a grade and college credit for being in a show.
28. You need a drink and a Band-Aid for the blisters that you got walking all over kingdom come.

Being in college is hard, but being the parent of an under-age college student is grounds for your own sitcom.

What have I done, sweet Jesus, What have I done?

When it rains it pours.

Everything happens for a reason.

Have my cake and eat it too.

I love a good cliche. I can go on and on, but my life is turning into one giant cliche.  I want to walk around quoting The Sound of Music, "When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window."

My windows are stuck open.

I do this to myself.  It makes Thomas completely nuts.

Four months ago, I was miserable at work.  Long story, but the signs were there telling me it was time to move on (cliche #1). So, I look for a new job.

After a month, and four interviews (a panel, a demo lesson, two one-on-ones with the principal) I get the job at an AMAZING school.  Fantastic!  Awesome!  I'm scared to death!  Starting over in the world of educational theatre isn't like switching classrooms.  After seven years, it really means starting over.  I'm a fish out of water (cliche #2). It means long hours as I try to build my reputation and program.  It means busting my ass to make sure that ALL productions are of the absolute highest quality on the planet.  I got this!

Then, Thomas gets accepted to graduate school.  Albeit distance learning, it means burning the midnight oil (cliche #3) on the computer, listening to lectures, writing papers, taking quizzes.  Ok, well...we're known for doing lots of big things at the same time...changing jobs, moving, going back to school...that's how we roll. (cliche #4)

When I have downtime, I start to get creative.  This either costs us a lot of money at Michaels for craft supplies, or a huge headache for the rest of the family.  I decide to get the kids more involved in performing (as per their request after seeing Matilda in NYC). By using the Breakdown Services, in the last two days, the following has happened:
1. Dylan was cast in a three-episode web series.
2. Dylan got an audition for a non-union short film.
3. Sydney got an audition that has to be filmed and submitted.
4. Tomorrow, both kids are performing at Disneyland with their theatre school.
5. #2 happens tomorrow at 4:30, meaning we have to leave Disney, run to L.A., then go back to Disney.
6. #1 happens in L.A. on Sunday.
7. Both kids have an audition for Ragtime at Fullerton College on Wednesday.

Oh yeah....I start a new job on Monday!

AND...I'm teaching at the kid's theatre studio on Wednesday evenings (I'm actually REALLY excited about this)...AND...I just received a call from Orange Coast College asking about my availability this semester in the chance of classes coming up that may need a teacher.  This is while I'm trying to finalize the rehearsal schedule for the SIX productions that I'm doing at my new school this year.

Did I mention that I start a new job this week?

Busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. (cliche #5)

Although I'm as happy a clam, counting my blessings, and reaping the benefits of my hard work, my intention was good, but I think I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal. (cliches #.....whatever, who the hell cares?)