#100DaysOfRA! 5/9&10 D31&32

Happy Anniversary to me and my Bald One. In getting ready to say something mushy (on Facebook – sigh) about the fact that we’ve married for nine years I realized that in that nine years we have been through quite a bit. I’ve been unemployed, he’s been unemployed twice, we bought a house, had two kids, changed our entire lives around because of said tiny people who now rule everything. We’ve lost a cat and we’ve seen family die – both expected and unfortunate. But we’ve been there together through it all.

We celebrated by being off together for forty-eight hours (woohoo!) and running errands. One of those errands involved getting our cake slice from the restaurant we had our post-wedding dinner. As usual, it was a delicious sugar rush that went very quickly due to two tiny people helping us eat.

Next year we might do something splendid, since it will be a nice solid ten years of married life.

Parents can party like a rockstar too

From Saturday night / early Sunday morning, a text conversation:

me: How is it I ditch you with the kid, I go to work & you ditch me with the kid to drink and party?
The Bald One: Lol. Sorry?
me: Just for that, you’re getting drunk texts from Boston. 😉 loveyou
The Bald One: lol. Figured. Love you too.

This was prompted by me having just spent a very long hour and a half trying to get Gummi Bear to go to sleep. One of our friends, Nikolai, invited the Bald One out for a boys night on Saturday. It started with dinner, was supposed to include a movie and then my husband was going to meet up with some other friends in various locations downtown to see a concert (Lizh was playing again and I’m miffed I haven’t seen her lately) and just socialize. About ten o’clock I started winding the munchkin down so she might sleep. The lights were dimmed, I was watching a show while rocking and swaying her mostly sleepy body and then we went to her room for some quality time in the glider. After two attempts at getting her into her crib and having her little eyes pop open like a demented kewpie doll, I was a little frustrated and sent a text to the Bald One asking where he was and what he was up to. He asked if he was needed and I said I’d let him know. Of course, that was her cue to fall asleep and stay that way allowing me to actually go downstairs to my own bed. Once there, the above conversation occurred.

He did get several folks going “wait, don’t you have a kid? what are you doing out?” and he informed them he was out for good behavior (mostly true). What I don’t get is why does society think that once you have a child – especially a young one – you’re suddenly supposed to become a recluse? How are kids supposed to learn to behave in public if they’re never in public? What kind of message does it send to our kids that you have to choose to have fun or become a parent? I know at some point our concerts out will be replaced with trips to a museum and sleeping in will be replaced with brunches or early afternoon picnics in the park. But until then, why seclude yourself from society? Parents can party like the rockstars they once were – just maybe not as often and a little more in the way of planning.

Working Mom

I’ve been back to work (as of today) for four weeks. This means the Gummi Bear will be twelve weeks old tomorrow.

It’s been a bit of an adjustment, wrapping my head around the working and the mom-ness of it all. I thought, at first, I’d be getting up at a decent hour and get things done and off to work without a hitch. My morning routine, such as it was, suddenly had extra steps in it. The biggest is that I have to pump off a bottle and feed Gummi Bear. The pumping is due to her sleeping through the night, so I get one bottle done then and the other three she needs a day done while at work. Feeding the little miss can take anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour. And if I figure it’ll be a quick day – well, that’s one that won’t be and I’ll end up having to change my clothes despite precautions taken. There are things that I’ve added to my getting out the door list, but many of those I can do the night before – like set the coffee, pack my lunch and my work bag or they’re things I do while I’m pumping – mainly eat breakfast. Then once I get to work, I have the usual attack of things but now I have to carve out three twenty-minute blocks of time to go pump. These breaks used to be a spur of the moment coffee break or a walk around the building, but now they’re scheduled so that I do take them in a timely manner or there will be pain.

Evenings are completely different as well. It wasn’t unusual before – if I didn’t have a show – to come home and find out one of our friends wanted to get together with us for dinner, or we were going to catch a show. Dinner was something we’d get to eventually or go grab a bite out. Now, there’s conversation with the Bald One while he cooks and I play with our little girl. We take turns eating, as inevitably she’s awake and wants to be played with the second the food is done – even if she was asleep seconds prior. Afterwards, if there’s something I need to pitch in on I’ll help out as I can with us tag-teaming baby duty. However, most of the time I get to spend the evening hanging out and playing with her while the television runs in the background. DVR is the best invention the world ever gave parents. Gummi Bear’s usually down for the count for good around the time Daily Show comes on, so I get to set the coffeemaker and prep for work around commercials.

The weekends are gold though. A full day, where I sleep in a bit and we get to do whatever we want. Sit on the couch and play with our daughter? great. Hang out at a friend’s pool all day? works for us. Having a SAH parent means that some of the house stuff can get done over the week, day care expenses don’t exist and we get to enjoy our weekends together instead of what we used to do – spastically clean on Saturday, laundry on Sunday and feel like we never got off the treadmill.

But now my alarm is going off – the one labeled “Day Care Closing!” – reminding me not to abuse my dear, darling husband and leave work at a decent hour. So off to home I go.

Lazy

It’s Sunday, and all I want to do is laze around. The Bald One is home for the weekend and will be off again tomorrow morning to the wilds of Virginia. I’ve already had my ritualistic phone call to the parents and heard about their exciting week of work and travel. The laundry is mostly finished, but I still have that to finish. Not to mention the breakfast dishes from the fantastic waffles (made from farm-fresh eggs!) are sitting in the sink waiting to be cleaned. I just have no desire to do anything but laze.

Maybe its the fact I start a show tomorrow. We’ve already had two production meetings and even had a sketch of the set distributed. I’m probably better prepared than I’ve felt in a while for this one…but I wouldn’t say I was ready, either. I never feel ready for the first day of rehearsal, but I do put up a good front.

Or maybe its the fact that the Bald One will be back home after this week of resets. I’ve gotten into a morning routine that does not involve him, and adding him back in is going to be a bit of a lurch – even if he’s a sleeping body or someone trying to read the paper while I am. I’ve missed him, but I’m apprehensive about changing my routine again.

Maybe it’s the little recovering cat next to me. His fur is coming back in, so it no longer feels weird when he lays next to you and purrs. Granted, I can still see too much of his skin, but the fur is coming in everywhere, so there is hope.

Maybe it’s just that it is Sunday, a day of rest and reflection, and that feeling has sunk into my bones and won’t quit. The thought of cleaning the house, prepping for the show, and otherwise gearing up for the week ahead means that another weekend is over before it had a chance to be enjoyed. And maybe I’m just lazy.

Music moments

The Bald One and I shouldn’t stay up watching television after midnight. He’s still on overnights schedule, so when we’re together we have a demented schedule. Which may explain why at midnight we’re watching television instead of heading for bed. In a fit of silliness I turn on a half hour info-mercial for TimeLife Music. Out of 153 songs, I think he didn’t have ten.

It being an infomercial, the requisite blonde hawking the cds turns to the former REO Speedwagon lead “how did you put together this awesome collection?” and we’re tired enough to talk back to the television. I don’t know who had the better response:

Rae: We ran through our music collection and pulled the songs that got us to cream our leather pants.
Bald One: It’s whatever got us laid for the past thirty years.

Yes, we’re odd.

What bothers be about this entire collection is it is labeled “Rock Ballads” and some…well, they’re not rock. Elton John, Fleetwood Mac….not what I’d call Rock. I’ll give them Kiss, Journey, heck even MeatLoaf. But Cher? no.

Good day for a picnic

Originally uploaded by stubborndev

The Bald One is off playing in Virginia last week and next week, so I’m only seeing him on the weekend. And when I say “playing,” I really mean sleeping all day and moving shelving all night for work. The upside is he’s in decent hotels and not getting up at 4am to feed the cats. The downside is he’s sharing the room and sleeping all day.

While he did get to come home for the weekend, he didn’t bother to switch his sleep schedule much. He and I would spend the afternoons and evening together until I crashed around midnight and he’d do things until he wore himself out around four in the morning. Rinse and repeat.

One of the fun things we did with our waking hours together was see StubbornDev and her husband. The adorable munchkin sidekick was a given, but it’s always nice to see their daughter. We packed up one of our picnic backpacks with chicken fingers, green pepper slices, watermelon and iced tea and met them at West Point of the Eno park.

The day was not only hotter than it had any right to be for the last day of Spring, but it had the humidity soaring. The park however had a river running through it, which was providing a great way to cool down for anyone ignoring the “no swimming!” signs. We had a great time getting caught up over food and wandering around the park, without the thousands of people that will be there in two weeks for the festival. I got to see parts of the park I usually can’t make it to during sets.

The Bald One did get to do his usual “kid whisperer” trick – little S got him to toss black walnut pods onto the roof of the photography museum and go wading with her. Dev, being herself, captured it all with her camera. So I get to see moments like this stuck forever, showing my husband is a sucker for blondes.

Stumbling the Bourbon trail

Unlike a wine or beer tasting, a tour of a distillery and tasting that follows will not get you mildly buzzed. That is, unless, you skip eating all day and have a ridiculously low tolerance for alcohol. Then again, who’d want to get drunk on bourbon?

Things learned this weekend:

1. Bourbon is pretty much whisky (whiskey!) with a different water source
2. Kentucky is ridiculously proud of this fact
3. White Dog is something I really don’t need to ever experience again
4. My expensive taste goes over to the liquor side as well – the most enjoyed item from this weekend was a bourbon old enough to vote.
5. Bardstown has some strange connection to Stephen Foster.
6. Central KY is almost equivalent in drive time to driving to my parents…yet the scenery is better. (Not to slam Ohio, but flatlands get boring after a while.)
7. I’m not allowed to set time tables for departure – the distance to travel to fudge factor of departure ratio is over way to high. (10 mintue drive? departure window of fifteen minutes. 10 hour drive? departure window of three hours…and aim for the end of it.)

As you can guess, we left a lot later than expected. Before we left: the house got picked up, I finished a book and two days worth of newspapers, bills were paid, we packed, the Bald One cleaned and played on the computer. This meant instead of leaving around midmorning, we left in early afternoon. We also got in about the time only Wendy’s was open in town. The Bald One has been given permission to push, shove and cajole on all future road trips. This is in direct opposition to any time I have to get on the plane – when I get so anxious before we depart and worried that I don’t realx until I’m at the gate. Oh – and this from a stage manager who can run a show on time.

Of course, pictures were taken. As the sun went down the first day of travel I enjoyed shooting some sunset shots as we drove west. The majority of the shots are from the four distilleries we saw – either open or closed – on Saturday. The Maker’s Mark was the highlight for the Bald One, as he was treated as semi-royalty. He has a special badge, pin and certificate celebrating his presence on the tour. We also got to take some pictures of him dipping bottles with his name on it. The last distillery on our stops was Four Roses – which we didn’t even tour, just saw a sign for on our way back. We weren’t familiar with them, so I checked the internet to see who they might be. Once we discovered they were the mint julep winner of the year and not distributed to North Carolina, he pulled a quick right into the shopping center he just spotted had a liquor store. Funny little man.

Overall, the vacation was a nice departure from the normal for us. We also got to spend time together before he’s gone for the next two weeks (home for the weekend though) for work.

RIP: Siggy

Last night, after the Bald One and I finished signing the papers to refinance our mortgage, we had a discussion about which way to leave the parking lot. We were at a major intersection, and it was quarter to five on a Wednesday, so a little busy. We were also going two different directions – him home & me to the theater for the start of performance week three. He swore he wasn’t turning left. I looked and figured, well…I could go any number of ways. I’ll decide once I get there.

Amazingly, when I was ready to pull out of the side street that went across the major artery, a nice commuter gave a huge opening in case I wanted to turn left. I debated, saw the light up the road was still very red and stopping the traffic I’d have to merge in. There was also no traffic in the other two lanes coming my way. I figured “well, why not” and started to inch out. I got to the point I could try to look down the suicide lanes and that’s the last thing I remember for a minute.

Next image I have is of my spidered windshield and a deflating air bag. I’m looking around and feeling that pain in my shoulder that can only mean my seatbelt worked. And I see the little white car that destroyed me. The woman in the mini-SUV that blocked traffic had the very concerned look on her face as she looked us over and kept saying “are you okay.” Nodding, followed by everyone getting their phones out. He called Papa Johns to order up another pizza and another driver, I called the Bald One to come rescue me. Then, 911. I eventually get out of my car to stand shakily against it and see what damage was done.  I eventually remembered I had a camera and started snapping a few shots. The damage is pretty … graphic for a simple collision.

The Bald One did rescue me. We unloaded all my earthly possessions into his car – including the stereo. While he drove to the theater (the show must go on!) I called my dad and my insurance agent to regale them with the story. The insurance guy talked me through getting a car (if needed) and that he’d call it in. I said I’d send him the photos once I got home. I also talked to my assistant and the house manager at the theater to check on progress, as I was going to be about forty-five minutes late.

Once at the theater, the actors took their clothing and let me be for a bit while I talked to my ASM about needs at that moment. The house manager, bless her, gave me a hug. I showed photos to the cast and apologized all around. Then, I curled up in the booth and went on with the show. Ran photo call and had a great time, then got a ride home again from the Bald One while I talked to my brother the paramedic about my injuries and he recommended burn cream and sleep.

Today, I’m sore and sad. I loved my car. She was fabulous. Her first road trip was to Columbus where we piled people in for ice cream – including tossing my best friend’s then-boyfriend in the trunk. She got me all over the place, moved me down here and saw me through a lot of crazy stuff. I was hoping to drive her until she fell apart…not drive her into falling apart. So while I hate to admit it, I might need a new-to-me car.

RIP: Siggy – July 1, 2000 – May 13, 2009

Overbooked

Tonight, I finally feel like I may have overbooked myself.

When I first looked at accepting the second show, I knew I was going to be in a bit of a jam with the timing of tech being the same weekend as closing the first. When I saw that a big conference for work fell in the middle of it all and the same week as a wedding in my family, I knew it would be interesting. I didn’t think for a minute it would actually be hard.

It’s hard.

Saturday

I believe that Saturday is the best day of the week. Really, it is. I can’t think of another day that is so fantastic and full of life that can top this day of the week.

This morning, after having a bit of trouble falling asleep with my beloved, prone to snoring husband, I woke without an alarm after eight glorious hours of sleep. I snuggled deeper into his arms and relished the fact that I have nowhere to be today and he’s got a show he’s working the doors for late tonight. The day stretched out before us.

We got to cuddle a little before waking up the rest of the way and finding breakfast. The Bald One made scrambled eggs while I cooked the chicken and pasta for tonight’s dinner. We read the paper, drank coffee and I checked email while he solved the puzzles in the paper. This is how weekends are supposed to be.

Usually, he runs off to work on these days…either early and I get the bed all to myself for another hour or so or late, which means we have a very quick breakfast together and he runs off before I work in the yard or around the house. If I’m working a show, I try to do all that home type stuff today so I can relax after phone call-get ready-rehearsal/performance that is usually Sundays.

But Saturdays like this one are the absolute best. I got a full night’s sleep and cuddling in bed with my husband. We read the paper. The French doors are open to the screened in porch so the cats can lounge in the breeze while I enjoy the birdsong. In a minute, I’ll get up and pull on real clothes and we’ll be off to buy mulch and yard supplies so we can (finally) finish the front yard, together.

Saturdays like this one are why I work all week without (too much) complaint. For this precious, idyllic moment, I’d endure much.