Open Letter to The Children

Dear my children,

I cannot let you read this blog today because one of you can’t read and the other would be embarrassed by the 100% true kid stories I blab to the entire world, (“world” here meaning all 25 of my regular readers.) But one of these days when we’re talking about The Time Mom and Dad Did a Musical Together, there are some things I want to make sure I say to you.

The Musical Mom and Dad Did Together closed this past weekend, but we auditioned almost 5 months ago. You kids were with us every step of the way. Your dad and I did a play together one other time, so you probably had some inkling that this experience would mean exhausted parents, lots of babysitters, and general household topsyturviness, but neither of you said a word that wasn’t excited or supportive. I felt humbled by your pure hearts and boundless enthusiasm. In fact, you schooled me with your unselfish ways.

You learned every one of your dad’s songs note for note, (faster than he did!) You know all of my lines, and can imitate my delivery with uncanny skill. You never once, in the whole run of 12 shows, failed to ask how a performance went for us. You wrote us notes and drew us pictures and bought us flowers and came to see the show FOUR times. Your interest in our interests and pleasure in our successes made me feel like we’re on our way to creating the kind of family I have dreamed of for myself, with members who geek out on each other and truly enjoy time together.

Daughter, you said something to me in the car on opening weekend that perfectly illustrates this point: “I have a pretty great life. For one thing, no one at school has parents who are in a PLAY this weekend. It’s so INTERESTING.” I promise to always find your big moments interesting, too.

I had a long stage freeze in the first act of the play that allowed me the opportunity to snoop on the audience a little. Watching your faces when you came to see us was my great delight. The stage lights bounced back from your wide, bright eyes. You would take it in turn to elbow whichever grown-ups escorted you to the performance to make sure they were getting the jokes. You lip-synced along with the familiar songs. Daughter, you always searched out my eyes as I stood frozen onstage, and we’d exchange a small wink or secret smile. Son, I won’t forget the sight of your small hand waving to me as I sang a line to the audience, or hearing your infectious giggle from backstage.

Daughter, as you so neatly phrased it to your dad, the main message of the musical was, “Sometimes what you wish for isn’t really what you want.” When I was your age, I wished for–well, lots of things, including wings and a phone I could use to call God. But two big things I have wanted for as long as I can remember were to be an actress, and to be a mom. To have those two wishes colliding for me in a sweet little playhouse in rural Virginia every Sunday for the last month… Well, I’m surprised the force of my emotions didn’t create a rift in the fabric of space/time. Thanks for making my wishes a reality, kids–you’ve turned out to be just what I wanted, and more. I’m your biggest fan, too.

Feeling lucky you’d consent to be seen in public with these 2 characters.