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Or how to channel your creative energy, (not) learn to sew, amuse your kids, and give back to the community all in one fell swoop.
Okay, maybe “give back to the community” is a bit of a stretch.  Because, hey, I’m in this play, too, and I’m really not an actress (I let my book characters do that, thank you very much).  Perhaps “torturing the community” would be a more accurate description?  (Insert “oh, Julie, surely you’ll be GREAT“ comments here).  But be that as it may, come the beginning of next month, I will be dancing around on stage pulling two roles in The Wizard of Oz: A (very tall) munchkin.  And a flying monkey.

Those of you who know me are probably staring goggle-eyed at the screen.  Or, at least, wondering if this blog was supposed to go up on April 1.  No, I’m serious.  Why the sudden urge to join the Communal Order of Thespians?  Blame it on the kids.

(You know, it’s really quite amazing how much of my life centers around “Blame it on the kids.” For example, my husband and I converted our bedroom into a playroom, moving our kingsize bed into the smallest bedroom in the house.  Why are we in the smallest bedroom, with the small people in the house filling the biggest room with Lego’s, books, 8 bazillion stuffed animals, puzzles, crayons, and every other tiny toy in the world?  That’s right:  Blame it on the kids.  Never let it be said we’re not dedicated parents....) (And because I feel the need to share my efforts at playroom conversion, here’s pictures of the fruits of my labor.  Day One.  It’s never been this clean since.)


Is that a cool playroom or what (not to mention a walking, talking ad for Ikea ...)

But I digress.  My newly inspired dramatic impulses stem not from a sudden need to learn to be one with my characters, but rather with my oh-so-brilliant idea that my Drama Queen Five Year Old, Catherine, would absolutely love being on stage.  So, I found a class, and off we went.  Because it’s a homeschooling class, there’s a variety of ages, with two older kids (about 9th grade), and the others ranging from 5 (the youngest officially enrolled) to ten or so. 

The first day didn’t exactly go as planned.  At the orientation with several classes combined, Catherine was terrified, but Chenchen – our three year old – was completely into it.  She was dancing around during all the warm-up/get-to-know you exercises.  And, because Catherine was nervous, I joined in, too.  Any mom would, right?

So after an hour and a half, we broke into groups.  Now the group was smaller, and Catherine started warming up to the whole thing.  (I knew she would.  It’s so great being justified with regard to all those little maternal moments!) And lest you’re concerned, by the end of the class, she was doing improvs with no prompting from me, and completely basking in the glow of being a theater gal. 

But this tale isn’t about Catherine’s transition from wallflower to accepting her Best Actress Academy Award.  No, it’s about the fact that several other moms had brought little ones, and John, the director, had the brilliant idea of letting them in the play if they wanted in.  Mine did.  In a big way.  Especially when she found out that she would get to be a Flying Monkey. 

The show, as you might guess, is The Wizard of Oz. 

Now, here’s the thing.  We adopted Chenchen about 5 months ago, and when we first came home, she had no interest in television whatsoever. Not that I ever thought I would bemoan a kid not liking television, but I was really, really, really hoping she’d watch Sesame Street.  I figured it would help with language, alphabet, the whole 9 yards.  But no.  No interest.

Not, that is, until Curious George.  Curious George, as you probably know, is a monkey.  And he’s cute.  And Chenchen fell in love with his (new or just new to us??) show on PBS.  I mean, ga-ga fell in love.  Which opened the floodgates.  Now Sesame Street is cool.  And so is Teletubbies.  And, yes, so is “Doggie” – her sister’s Scooby Doo videos.

So when Chenchen heard “flying monkey,” she about went ballistic with excitement.  She stops perfect strangers and tells them she’s a flying monkey (this is more of a hoot in person, as Chenchen uses sign language until she learns to make proper sounds, the result of a cleft palate only recently repaired – so she’ll go up to anyone I happen to be chatting with, point to herself, flap her arms, and make the sign for monkey.  Strangers usually don’t get it.)

I’m thinking the two types of monkeys aren’t exactly the same: 

Here’s Curious George

Here’s a Flying Monkey.  (These dudes SCARED me as a kid!)

A tad different, huh?  But no matter.  Flying monkeys had tickled her fancy, and this kid was insistent!

The only thing is, a three year old can’t really be in the show by herself.  So me and some of the other moms were recruited into the roles as well.  Yikes.

But, I put on my big girl panties.  I can do that.  After all, Chenchen is DYING to be a flying monkey.  So I will make the ultimate sacrifice for my child:  I will be in the play with her.

Honestly, it’s been fun. 

But here’s the hard part.  The part that stopped my heart.  The part that had me having anxiety attacks worse than realizing a book is due in one month and I have 300 pp left to write.  What caused such stress and worry?  Costumes.

That’s right.  Community theatre for the five-year-old set apparently does not come with a costume mistress.  Who knew?  So not only did I suddenly have to deal with a Tinman costume for my eldest, but I had to deal with Flying Monkey and munchkin costumes for my littlest ... AND for me.

The munchkin costumes I managed.  (One trip to Wal-Mart, a bunch of fake flowers, and a needle and thread to sew them onto old shirts.  Voila!  Flower munchkins!)

But while I can sew and glue flowers onto shirts, the OhMyGodIHaveToSew factor was much higher for flying monkeys and Tinmen. 

Realizing I did not have these basic skills, I did what any sane, intelligent, competent woman would do.  I called my mother. 

My mom suggested I pull out my sewing machine and do it myself.  Um, yeah.  Not only is the machine in the back of the storage shed, but as I pointed out to her, every time I use it (for, like, sewing a straight seam to hem curtains) she has to come over to thread it.  Why, I suggested, didn’t she just do it herself and save the trip to Georgetown to teach me how to thread the thing.  Especially since, you know, she’s basically responsible for my complete and utter lack of sewing skill anyway.  Right?  (And, yes, I realize that will hold no water whatsoever twenty years from now when my girls blame me for some lack of domestic skill.)

And, because she is a Goddess, my mom agreed with my faulty, wimpy, whiny logic.  Better, she created the cutest Tinman costume out of silver quilted material.  Chenchen, of course, was more interested in the monkey aspect, and Mom nailed that, too.  It’s not Laura Ashley, but Chenchen and I now have matching brown felt tunics, complete with upholstery cord and tassel tails, and soft fur chests.  (In my own pathetic defense, I did go with to the fabric store and pick all this out, and figure out WHAT we were doing.  I mean, isn’t that what delegating is all about?). 

Here we are, Chenchen looking adorable, and me looking ... well, NOT how I’m going to look for any of the RWA parties this July, that’s for sure.  Monkey tunics are decidedly Unflattering ...

Also in my defense, I did create the hat and the wings (not the green army hat I’m wearing; that’s because I’ve been sanding our floors and you guys SO don’t need a picture of me in my extreme unkemptedness.  You’re getting no make-up as it is.  Be scared.  Be very scared.)

Here’s a pic of the wings.

And, because she doesn’t look too happy in the first picture, one of her grinning in full costume:

From a distance, I think they both look pretty good.  Fortunately plays are not movies; there will be no close-ups, Mr. DeMille… The hat is a wedding centerpiece thingie covered with red felt and black grosgrain ribbon.  The wings are cardboard, painted with the same latex paint I just painted the wall, and covered with feathers.  My basic tools of the trade here were glue and little adhesive Velcro dots.  Amazing what one can do with little Velcro dots ...

Of course, I still have to get the rest together.  Underthings (leotards?  tights?) and I have to be prepared for the inevitable ripped seam.  Which means I probably don’t get to escape sewing after all.  On performance day, I’ll be the lady schlepping our costumes (the excellent ones created by my mom, and the tossed together hats and wings created by yours truly), along with a needle and thread, too.  Just in case.  And stickyback Velcro.  Lots, and lots of stickyback Velcro ....

Now if I can just remember my lines ...