Aspiring Schmoo

So, the youngest (aka Schmoo) has decided that she wants to try out for a part in a musical. Not an easy task, even on the local level. She's tried out previously at the community playhouse for a part, to no avail. She has taken dance for five years (and she's pretty good if I do say so myself). But this is a big deal. She is trying out for a part in Annie. Yes, Annie...on Broadway no less. 

She probably won't make it. It's literally like winning the lottery. Her hopes are so high. We've talked about the likelihood of making it. She knows the odds are against her. Yet, she wants to audition. I say, "Good for her." How easy is it for us to sit back and not even try to do the things that are out of reach? Pretty easy. She probably won't even get a second look when auditioning. That's o.k. because at least she is trying.

In our society of 'fifteen minutes of fame-ers' it is hard to want to be an ordinary person. Everyone is famous. And that's the irony, right? When everyone is famous no one is. So, while Schmoo continues to wish to be famous. To wish to be on Broadway. Or, to wish to be star in Hollywood. We'll hold her up as high as we can AND be there to help her get up if she falls. That's all a parent of an aspiring star can do. 

Think of us Sunday afternoon when we're waiting, with the other 800 (let's hope for way less) aspiring stars, and wish us well. Our goal for the day is to have fun and enjoy the experience. That sounds like a good goal for every day.

Wrinkles and Dog Look-Alike

Earlier this week The Boy innocently said I looked like the dog. At the time, I took it to mean that since he is obsessed with how cute and sweet the dog is, that he thought the same of me. I didn't think much about it. Well, I did, but not in an obsessive way. Besides, The Boy adores me...really. 

Then tonight, while tucking said Boy into bed, I laid down beside him and sang him a lullaby. When I asked him what he'd like me to sing he sweetly answered, "Sing anything you want. I just love your voice." What an adorable, loving, and caring boy. He loves me. Oh, what an exceptional child he is.

After singing him a lullaby (All Night, All Day if you care) he sincerely asked me to keep rubbing his head and hair. How could I say no? When it was time for me to leave he very tenderly said, "Mom, you should get rid of your wrinkles." I should have been hurt. I should have been surprised or shocked. I wasn't. I told him that I didn't think that I would be getting rid of the wrinkles. I did not tell him any more than that. Or I would have said that I earned each one by loving and having my heart broken. By living in excess at certain points in my life. By worrying about each of my children for whatever reason that moment. By caring about other people's children because they can't (or worse yet won't). By grieving losses that I wish my children NOT  have to experience, but know they will. The list of badges could go on at length here. I'll stop now. 

So, without telling him that, The Boy says, very sweetly and simply. "They have cream for that."

God, I love that kid. But, I am concerned now that he thinks I look like the dog. I don't care. Not much.