Snow Day

It doesn't get much better than a snow day with your Valentine! Although I'd like to paint the idyllic picture of us all sitting around the fireplace with hot cocoa, in reality, I'm blogging in the office, Chris is snow-blowing the driveway, Sam is down with a 102 degree fever, Gus is playing X-Box, and "the littles" (Mary Claire and George) are making a grand mess of the basement that I just organized yesterday. I woke up to the sounds of The All-American Rejects and my 4-year-old singing "Dirty Little Secret" at the top of his lungs. When Sam was 4, he sang Barney songs. Somehow, from the oldest to the youngest, I've lost some of my parenting prowess.

I had the Grand Idea last week to move everyone's toys from their bedrooms to the basement. I was tired of messes in the bedrooms, messes in the family room, and messes in the basement, so I decided to contain the mess on one floor. It took me an entire day to move everything from the third floor to the basement. (Can you say, "overindulged"?) I mean, really, we could rival a Matchbox factory with the number of toy cars that we own. So, yesterday, I spent the entire day organizing, purging, and dividing things into various and sundry toy bins and Rubbermaid containers. My best friend, Stacy, reminded me that I do this on an annual basis (at least). She assures me that by fall of 2007, I'll be moving everything back up into their bedrooms. It's that bit of OCD in me--I can't help it.

I received an e-mail yesterday about an open audition for a production of "Nunsense" at a local dinner theatre. I was up most of the night thinking about how I could make it work. I want so badly to audition, but how in the world can I be gone from my kids every night for a month? And then the production runs every weekend in April. I'd give my right arm to do the show, but at what cost to my family? I think we female products of the 80's were sold a bill of goods when we were told that we could "have it all." Eventually, something has to give. It could be a career, a family, a dream, an ambition, but there aren't enough hours in the day to "have it all." I'm trying to determine at this point in my life how I map out my future years to be able to experience some of the things that I've dreamed about doing. The problem is, by the time I'm able to do a dinner theatre show, I won't be able to dance because of arthritis, and my boobs will be hanging down to my knees. Who wants to cast a geriatric wanna-be as Maria? I won't be very convincing singing "Climb Every Mountain" from my wheelchair. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade my life for anything in the world--I just want to be able to add to it. Too many dreams, too little time.

I'd love to write more, but I just heard a little voice from upstairs yelling, "Mom, will you please wipe my butt?" Broadway, here I come!