I have been seeking the humor in my current situation.
Well, actually, that's not true. I didn't know there even was humor in my current situation...until my friend, the light/sound guru, told me.
I am currently, on the Denver leg of the tour, living in a 3 bedroom home with an old friend, her 19 year old daughter, my 4 year old daughter, my friend (the light/sound guru), 2 female cats and myself.
That is 7. Count them. 7. Females. Under one roof.
No. Not a dream come true for you male readers out there.
More like a horror movie when we're all on the same cycle.
Not to mention...
Every one in the house, including the cats, is an artist, of some kind.
Two dancers, one painter, one actress, one toddler brilliantly talented in the art of tantrums and the cats who can...well...lick themselves at 90 degree angles.
Estrogen is one thing. But artistic estrogen??
Amazing the military doesn't commission that stuff for bombs.
We are all trying to make the best of the situation.
Trying and Best being the key words.
Women are, by their very estrogenic nature, high maintenance.
There are fishnets to wash, hair to be curled, tears to be shed and episodes of Will and Grace to be seen.
24/7.
My daughter, the estrogen tap not yet fully turned on, has very basic needs.
Food, shelter and ample time with Mommy and Spongebob.
Did I mention there was only one tv in the "House of the 7 Women"?
Yeah.
You can quickly solve the "Tantrum-ic Equasion".
Then there is the fact that my daughter insists on wearing nothing but party dresses everyday, but then absolutely refuses to wash her face or comb her hair.
I try to tell her she looks a bit odd with a pink pouf dress, wacked out hair and a spaghetti mustache....a bit like Carrie (think blood and prom dress)...but the reference misses her completely.
This morning, I am trying to get myself ready for a meeting, my daughter off to school, a grocery list for 7 compiled…basically, all the baggage ready to rock and roll…and, as always, I am about 30 minutes late leaving the station...
When she, once again, refuses to brush her hair.
Between rehearsals, performances, relocating to a new city, living in the fall-out of the estrogen bomb…I have been feeling a little like I have lost complete control over every area of my life.
Just, you know, in general.
And so. Her cowlick becomes my last straw.
That hair will be brushed...or I have the spine of Spongebob…and my parental abilities will be, officially, about 10,000 leagues under the sea.
Not to mention. We are late. We are late. We are really, really late.
I find myself forcing the issue.
“We are not taking one step out that door until you brush that hair.”
Now how does that help?
It does not get her head coiffed. But, instead, banged.
As in, She throws herself down and begins to tantrum.
So. Naturally. I decide to throw one myself.
Literally. I throw myself down. And start to wail.
My sound/light guru shoots me a look from the couch. A look that says, “Are you kidding? I’m missing the best part of Will and Grace”.
This makes me wail louder.
The baggage has once again, flattened me.
I. Am. Ashamed.
Of the fact that I can’t…carry it all.
That night, after the show, the light/sound guru offers some advice over a tense bottle of wine and shared rack of lamb.
“It’s funny, you know", she places like an unwelcome side of mint jelly, in my lap.
“What? That I have no control in my life?”
“Yeah. It’s a hoot”.
“I will choke you with this chop”, I snarl.
“Murphy. There are 5 women and 2 cats under one roof. We are living on air mattresses in hope of a better life. Our schedules are insane as we seek simplicity. You sleep 2 hours a night and bathe when you can no longer stand yourself. And you expect your daughter to BRUSH HER HAIR? THAT is funny”.
“I fail to find the humor”, I say before grabbing the bottle of wine and drinking straight from it.
“Okay. Then. How about this. You snort like a bull when you tantrum”.
"Pshaw! Do NOT!" I gasp, indignant, defensive which, yes, then makes me....snort.
It takes a minute…but then I get it. And I laugh.
I had forgotten the most basic rule of life:
When all else fails.....laugh.
Until you snort.
Or snort...until you laugh.
We clink glasses….
And the baggage rolls on.
Love, M
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