"That's my daddy!"

The South Carolina Children's Theatre will always be the Children's Theatre of my heart, but man. Discovering that Asheville Community Theatre has Saturday programming for kids sure will save us some road time on weekends (For the record, I'll still excitedly do the MainStage shows at SCCT)!

Today, we went to watch "The Pirate of Bully Bay." Presented by Asheville's own Bright Star Theatre Company, it was a very age-appropriate approach to bullying, and the boys - especially Jones, naturally - LOVED it. Without a doubt, their favorite part was when Jeremy was picked to go up on stage and play the part of Peg Leg Stu. As soon as Jeremy "found his light" just to the left of center stage, Jones very loudly and VERY proudly exclaimed for all to hear, "That's my daddy!"

That vote of confidence is probably the only way a very nervous Jeremy was able to improvise his few lines without falling completely apart. He did an outstanding job, thrilling his boys. Afterwards, we enjoyed cookies and milk in the theatre lobby, and I am beginning to think I have found my Theatre Buddy in Bobby Jones. Yay!

JEREMY DOES THIS EXACT SAME THING WITH
HIS HAND IN FRONT OF HIS FACE.

 

the Good, the Bad, & the really, frieking Disgusting

We had a busy weekend planned.

Jeremy was going to pick the boys up from school Friday, after which we were all four going to Greenville, where Jeremy and I would drop off the boys at my parents' before heading to a nite away, courtesy of the wonderfully-generous and hospitable Classic Center in Athens.

I was on a treadmill at the gym, dreaming of sleeping past 7 AM when the call came in.

"PRESCHOOL," my Caller ID read.

I answered to hear Mrs. Janet. She was laughing, my signal that all was well, so why was she calling? Well, as it turns out, she and Mrs. Doris had noticed Jones scratching his scalp (which I had NOT noticed). A thorough examination revealed a single bug - a louse, they assumed - so I'd need to come and pick Jones up.

Ew.
Yuck.
Ugh.

My "long day" on the treadmill turned short, as I immediately left and headed to school. When I got there, I learned that they'd still only found that one bug, and Freddie was all clear, so I bundled up my brood, and off we went, Googling "What to do if your kid has lice" on the way.

Our first stop was at the pharmacy. I dropped $47 on lice supplies, recommended by a very helpful Pharm Tech and headed home to shampoo everything that'd stand still long enough.  I also called My Ideal Doctor. Our pal Dr. Markell called back. I'd texted her a picture of some bites I had on my neck, and while she didn't know for sure, she assumed I probably had lice, too.

Is this even happening?

She told me she'd call in a magic prescription. Unlike the kit you buy over the counter - the kind like I had that requires multiple steps and several applications - this one was of the one-shot, kills-lice-and-their-eggs-on-contact variety.

I was sold.

But I was beginning to worry our evening out was in jeopardy.

As soon as we got home, I called Mom to tell her the news. I told her I totally understood if she didn't want the boys there, given the situation. I wasn't a bit surprised, though, when she told me that was stupid and to bring them on.

It became a race against the clock - me, stripping sheets and quarantining clothes, trying to keep Jones from touching anything with his head, all the while knowing that if we didn't leave by 3 p.m. at the LATEST there was NO WAY we could make it.

Ew.
Yuck.
Ugh.

The plan became Jeremy would leave the office around 1 and pick up the prescription on the way home. He called from Ingles to tell me it was going to be $300 EACH. Times two. In other words, $600 of unexpected expenses the week that tuition is due and Christmas is coming.

UUUUggghhhhhhh.

Thankfully, I Googled the RX, while we were on the phone and found a manufacturer's coupon. It made each bottle half price, which helped for sure, but still. COME ON. Before Jeremy even got home, we made the decision to give up on Athens. There was no way we could make it.

When he came in, I doused my hair in the lice-killing lotion. That's what it is, Y'all. It's actual lotion, and you rub a full four ounces on your head and wait ten minutes for it to do its thing. And then you do it to your son, and by then, it's 3:30 p.m., and all of a sudden, a weekend away is another nite at home, all because of a single bug the size of a sesame seed.

Ew.
Yuck.
UGH.

The next morning, things started out as they usually do. We headed to Greenville for a birthday lunch with Lila and to see "Santa Claus: a New Musical" at the Peace Center. We had a great time. Freddie did fantastically at his first play, and Jones was thrilled to hear his name called from the stage (which was a surprise for ALL of us!).

On the drive home, both nap-deprived boys fell asleep. Jones woke up, crying. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Gotta potty!" Jones said. This is HIGHLY unusual for him, so Jeremy pulled over as quickly as he could only to have Jones say he'd wait. Fifteen minutes further down the road, it happened again. Jones made a very panicked face and said, "You better hurry!" Again, we stopped as soon as possible. Jones got out of the car before telling me he'd wait until he got home.

One more time - this has all happened in a span of twenty minutes - Jones panicked, and we stopped. This time, we walked into the Hot Spot and went in to the one-seater Men's Room (because the Women's was occupied). Just before pulling his pants down, Jones decided to wait five more minutes until we got home (I'll remind you, by the way, that this is the kid who loudly announced in the Chick-Fil-A bathroom last week that "I don't go stinky at restaurants; I go stinky at houses." I guess he meant what he said, and he said what he meant).

When we finally got there, he ran up the stairs and got all the way to the bathroom, where he proceeded to empty his bowels all over the floor, his pants, and the sides of the toilet and tub, because he couldn't unbuckle his belt in time.

All I could do was laugh. In 24 hours, I'd gone from killing invisible bugs to cleaning liquid crap off every single porcelain surface in our bathroom. I sprayed copious amounts of Clorox and took yet another load into the laundry room.

A little while later, I decided I needed a bath to wash the icky bits of the weekend off of me. When I got in the tub, the lukewarm water reminded me that I was using all the hot in the washing machine.

Ew.
Yuck.
Ugh.

I slid the shower curtain shut and decided to wait it out. The drive to be alone was clearly strong. Trying to find out via Twitter whether or not Tennessee had FINALLY hired Les Miles helped the 25 minutes to pass, until Jones ran in for Round Two ... in the bowl six inches away from where I lay.

Ew.
Yuck.
I-honestly-can't-stop-laughing-because-at-this-point-what-else-can-I-do?

By the time I got him - and everything else - cleaned up, the water was hot again. How's that for a silver lining? A few minutes later, the rhythmic running of his baby brother rang through the hallway. Freddie sprinted into the bathroom and wiped completely out on the still-wet Clorox I'd just re-sprayed on the bathroom floor.

Having no idea how Clorox can effect the skin of a kid with eczema, I climbed out of the water I'd waited for so long to heat and dipped Freddie in, dousing him with his got-to-get-it-from-Amazon Eucerin soap.

I assumed the misery would end soon. It was almost bedtime!

Boom!
Awesome!
YESSSS!

Turns out, Nooooooo. You know what happens when you assume. A few minutes later, we sent the boys to get ready for bed. I asked Jeremy to go back and monitor the situation, because if we know anything it's that these boys cannot be trusted when left alone together. Jeremy didn't get up (football was on!), and about a minute later, we heard a crazy wail. It was definitely Freddie, but it was less an "I'm in agony" wail and more a "I want to get my brother in trouble" one. There's a difference, and I know it, but Jeremy doesn't, so he finally got up.

He came back in, saying, "Jones sprayed Freddie in the eyes with Clorox."

The bottle, usually under the kitchen in the sink, was still on the basin in the bathroom - for obvious reasons. Seeing Freddie go stinky himself, Jones assumed Freddie needed to be cleaned, too. Either that, or he wanted to blind his brother.

Who the heck knows which?

Regardless of Jones's motivation, the ensuing fall-out resulted in both Jeremy and me COMPLETELY overreacting in a flurry of sending Jones to his bed and Freddie to the shower for rinse after rinse of water.

"Should we call Poison Control? Do we take him to the ER?"

I was PANICKED like I don't think I've ever panicked as a parent before. Jeremy and I yelled at each other - obviously misdirecting our panic and uncertainty of what to do.

For his part, Freddie was fine ... at least until we tried to drown his eyes with tap water.

Cooler heads began to prevail when Jeremy called our resident health resource, Aunt Dolly. She always seems to make everything better with her cool, calm, and collected bedside manner. I may not have made it through pregnancy and/or having infants without her. I'm not even joking about that.

So while Jeremy rinsed, I Googled - and tried to fight the fear that my older son had blinded the younger for life.

Grrrr.
GRRRR.
ARRRGGGHHHHH.

Once Jones was in bed, we "treated" Freddie with a regime of reading books and pointing out the handful of letters that he knows and then rinsing his eyes out again. Then he watched two hours' of cartoons, all snuggled up with me in my bed. I couldn't bring myself to say "no" when he'd say, "Can I please watch one more" after each "Special Agent Oso" episode would end. I was too afraid he'd wake up without the ability to see, though he showed absolutely no signs of trouble.

Finally, I called Dolly again and texted her pictures of his crystal clear eyes. She assured me he was fine, and I put him to bed.

And then I put myself to bed, and I dreamed of a house where this short of stuff never, even happens again.

Nice.
Sweet.
Aaaahhhhhhh.

Freddie's First Show!

This time last year, I took Jones to his first-ever mainstage play. He and I saw "A Charlie Brown Christmas," presented by my beloved former employer, the South Carolina Children's Theatre.

Freddie definitely wasn't ready then, and when I bought the tickets, I wasn't sure if he were ready this year - Jones can watch cartoons all day, every day. Freddie ... can't, so it was a big risk buying for four, but I figured we'd never know if we didn't go, so off we went.

But first, we had lunch with Lila. She turned 11 on Thursday, so we celebrated today at Trio (Freddie INSISTED on cutting his own chicken fingers, inspired, I think, by seeing Fred Flintstone cut his own steak, and no. That's not a joke. BOTH of my boys are perpetually reenacting cartoons).

Then, Jeremy, the boys, and I walked the four or so blocks down Main Street to the Peace Center. It was a beautiful day - perfect weather with lots of folks milling about, as they do in downtown Greenville.

Jones recognized the Peace Center as "where Mama works," and he and Freddie loved running around the plaza, while I went to the box office to collect our tickets. They even got to play in the fake snow created by a machine near the Concert Hall entrance.

Because I had lots of loose change, they also got to make a wish in one of the fountains, as we went into the theatre. They wished for the same things they asked Santa for - Jones wants a trolley with a key to make it go, and Freddie wants a Batman watch.

At least, they're consistent.

Also, notice how Freddie throws his coin and then blows their air as if to blow out candles. Apparently, all he knows about wishes comes from birthday cakes.



We got settled into our seats about ten minutes before showtime. Because of my Board involvement, Jeremy and I gave a (very small) donation to the theatre. I asked that they list it "in honor of Jones & Freddie Pressley," and Jones was 1000% enamored with seeing his name in the playbill. He kept opening it up and saying, "Mama, I wonder if my name is in here?" and then he'd make a big to-do about seeing it.

The show was awesome. I remain amazed at the incredible caliber for performances SCCT continues to do, and I am so, so proud of my affiliation with the theatre - both past and present.

Both boys did really well. There were a handful of times that Freddie'd say, "Is it over yet?" and he got restless for a minute, but for the most part, he behaved perfectly. I definitely won't hesitate to take him back, which is a good thing, because we've already got tickets for both "Flat Stanley" and "Madagascar the Musical."

In what may have been the highlight of the whole day, Jones got included in the musical! At one point in the story, they're trying to decide who's on the naughty or nice list. Several elves come down into the audience and ask kids their names. When they yell the name to Santa on stage, Santa tells them whether they're on the naughty or nice list.  When the elf Tenchie asked Jones his name, he wouldn't speak to her, but I did. "It's Jones," I said. She yelled, "Jones!" to Santa, and he said, "NICE!!!!!" Jones said, "I'm on the Nice list! How 'bout that?" All afternoon, he gloated about that, which was adorable. 

I am so excited that now both of my boys are old enough to be my theatre buddies. I hope it's a habit we keep for many years to come!

I love this picture of Jones with the cousin
he calls his girlfriend. 

The house lighting in the Gunter
makes for HORRIBLE pictures. The color is
AWFUL and, in my feeble, iPhoto attempts,
unfixable, but still. At least, he'll have a few
photo memories of his first show.

Because of their excellent behavior
(and because I had some extra change),
they also made wishes on the way OUT of the theatre. 

Batman watch & Cat Boy shoes.
Something tells me BOTH of these wishes will
come true this Christmas season.

The Post I Do-but-I-Don't Want to Write

Back when I wrote for a newspaper in Atlanta, a book came out. This book was of particular interest to those of us in the Atlanta area, because it featured the "Girlhood Writings of Margaret Mitchell." Before Scarlett it was called, and in preparation for my Gwinnett Daily Post article about the book, I both visited the Margaret Mitchell House in Midtown and read the fascinating trove I was sent by the publisher, all of it like treasures left behind by an Atlanta native whose seminal novel (Gone with the Wind) is, for better or worse, synonymous with both the city and the South.

My thoughts on the experience of reading Gone with the Wind could fill a million blogs; because this isn't a blog about the books I've read, I'll express my opinion more succinctly: Scarlet O'Hara was a despicable, opportunistic narcissist, whose sins in the book are FAR more egregious than even those that made it into the movie. Why in this WORLD the South decided to adopt her as its quintessential heroine is beyond me, for there is NOTHING - read my lips - NOTHING heroic about her. The South, instead, would do well to read more of Flannery O'Connor and Eudora Welty if it's in such desperate need of finding a female to carry the Confederate cloak with all of the grace and charm Dixie darlings are known for.

But I digress.

As usual.

Anyway, for as much as I HATED Gone with the Wind - oh, and Margaret Mitchell could EASILY have cut about 500 pages from her epic tome had her editor been worth a darn (Gone with the Wind, like the musical Rent, always elicits a more passionate response from me than I intend it to) - I LOVED "Before Scarlett." I was COMPLETELY astounded by Mitchell's literary propensity, which was evident at such a very early age. It was clear to anyone who read her sweet little stories or the scripts she penned for those in her Piedmont Park neighborhood plays that she was something special.

I remember that feeling very vividly.

"Wow. Maybe she IS born with it."

I think about that feeling a lot when I see Jones. I'm not saying he's going to grow up and write a book that I'll hate about a pathologically despicable woman (he'd BETTER not), but I DO feel like, maybe, he's got some sort of innate theatrical talent.

I know; I know. Bias and all that. But I've taught a lot of kids a lot of theatre, and I can't really remember seeing one that could come up with the sort of stuff that Jones does. Who knows? In fact, I hesitate to even write this, because I don't want it to come across as bragging or as pigeon-holing him into something that he may not want anything to do with.

But I often wonder what sort of Dionysian gene he may have floating around in that lanky little frame of his.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he's just a weirdo. Maybe he's just more animated than most in demonstrating that bent towards mimesis that Aristotle rightly claims is among the first impulses of all children.

Or maybe they'll someday be a documentary made subtitled "The Childhood Performances of Jones Pressley."

I've thought about this for a LONG time - like since he started coming up with dialogue between his action figures when he was two and could barely string together three distinguishable words. Or every time he watches his shadow as he performs certain movements. But yesterday, I was sitting in my office - on one of my "blog binges" - and heard him reciting entire scenes from "Toy Story," playing every part with perfect timing and inflection.

Like I said, maybe he does or maybe he doesn't, and maybe he will or maybe he won't ever do anything with whatever talent he may or may not have, but in case he does do the big things I think he may be capable of, his Theatre Historian mama promises to be prepared for the documentarian.

Satur-dates

Jones did so well when he and I saw the South Carolina Children's Theatre's production of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" last December that I decided to press our luck with a TWO ACT show! I figured it's a story that's set in a barnyard, so that alone would hold his attention.

And it did.

This is me bribing him with the promise of treats,
if he'd just smile like a normal person. He never did.

He really enjoyed "Charlotte's Web." We'd read a little bit of the book. I bought it thinking he was big enough to sit through chapters at a time, and he did OKAY with that. He picked up several plot points, but he definitely got restless when the readings went long, so then I showed him the 1970s Debbie Reynolds cartoon to be sure he went in familiar with the story.

It worked.

He went in knowing who was who and what to expect. He also went in wearing a "Special Agent Pen" clipped to his sweater vest and a carabiner hooked to his red corduroy belt loop. Whatever floats his special agent boat.

Mom and Daddy met us at the Peace Center for the show. I'd gotten the same front row seats we landed for "Charlie Brown," and that works really well for his age. That way, if he gets a little restless, he's not disturbing anyone on the rows in front of us, because there IS no row in front of us.

For this show, even though it was two acts with an intermission (as opposed to "Charlie Brown," which was only about 40 minutes), he didn't get too restless. There were a handful of times he'd get out of his seat and wander over to my lap, but for the most part, I was VERY proud of his behavior and how he stayed engaged with the show. The only time he got anxious was when there was a storm on the farm. He didn't like the thunder effects.

After the show, he met both Charlotte and Wilbur, and he got a show poster to hang beside the one he got after "Charlie Brown." These things are $1 and make a GREAT momento of the show - Jones LOVES to pin them to his bedroom wall. When I asked him his favorite part of the show, he said, "the farm."

Surprise, surprise.

After that, he and I had a lunch date to Trio. He told the hostess, "Table for two," and was VERY proud when I let him use my credit card to pay for our meal. I was very proud of how well he behaved.

While we were on OUR "Satur-date," Jeremy and Freddie stayed closer to home. They went to E's swim meet and then to "Chuck E. Cheese." It was Freddie's first visit, since he was an infant, and the boys and I tagged along with Mayme and Sissy's kids.

Though Jeremy said it was the worst pizza he'd ever had, Freddie had fun playing the games and even won a prize (a pack of Skittles). All in all, I'd say both boys had a pretty terrific day.

When I was asking Freddie about his outing at bedtime, he said he'd gone to "Chicky Cheese." I said, "What was your favorite part?" He said, "He's got red shoes just like ME does and like Jones does and like Ahjay does. Of course, now that the boys are beginning to outgrow their iconic red Kids, I was THRILLED that he picked up on that - and that he picked up on the fact that his buddy Ahjay wears them, too.

Speaking of, next week, we'll be seeing our buddy Ahjay, which will surely warrant a post all its own!

Jeremy took these "Chicky Cheese"
pics with his phone.

"I wanna talk about ME ... (and Jeremy)!"

So, as I alluded to in my most recent post, Jeremy and I (and my parents and sister) spent the weekend in New York City. We were there, because God was so kind and gave me the opportunity to talk about Dorothy Fields at the Second Annual BroadwayCon.

The trip - and the lecture - went great, and I have to mention here - so I don't forget it in years to come - that I went in to the lecture with complete confidence, knowing FIRST, that it was God Who'd given me the opportunity and that He'd never set me up to fail, and SECONDLY, because I had SO.MANY.PEOPLE praying for me. I cannot even tell you how many encouraging texts and promises of prayer I got on Friday nite and Saturday. So I knew that God was in it and with me, and as a result-and by His help-I could not fail.

He was so, so good. Not only was the session miraculously well attended (I'd honestly joked with my "fan club" that they'd probably be the only four people there; I really thought they would), but it was also attended by one of the Managing Editors of Playbill, which was a total - but welcome - surprise.

Highlights of the trip include seeing my name and bio inside an actual Playbill (seriously, Y'all. I kinda lost it), eating ALL.THREE.SATURDAY.MEALS at Junior's, which was across the street from our hotel, looking out our hotel room window and seeing the most iconic Times Square view I can even imagine, watching UK / Kansas at Jack Demsey's with the UK NYC Alumni Club (if only the Cats had won ...), and realizing that while some kids don't even have the support of their families, I do a lecture four months before 40 and bring my own mini audience. If that's not #blessed, then I don't know what is.

Much fun as it was to get out of town, it was just as wonderful to get back to the boys. They did GREAT while we were away, as I knew that they would. Here are a few of my favorite stories the Pressleys told me about their weekend with Jones and Freddie:

1) When we FaceTime'd the boys after (a delicious) dinner (at Ocean Prime) on Friday, Freddie again said, "Pease come home." He wasn't whining or crying; he just said it, matter of factly. I, of course, cried.

2) On Saturday, the boys were playing hide and seek. The Pressleys found them "hiding" under every article of their Pop's clothing. They'd gone to his closet and pulled everything he owned off the rack, so it was all in a giant pile on the floor, and they were under it all. Nan and Pop were laughing about it - but it took them 45 minutes to clean up their mess (OHHHHHH, Boys ...).

3) "E" spent all of Saturday at the Pressleys', since Evan had a ballgame. When Brian came to pick him up, he said to Jones and Freddie, "You wanna go with me?" Apparently, they immediately jumped at the chance - they even went to get their suitcases to bring along. I think they think they were staying longer than they actually were.

4) We brought the boys die-cast taxi cabs from New York. They LOVED them. Freddie called it a "maxi" and put it up in his "treasures box" before hitting the hay. We showed them "Oliver & Company" (or, as Jones calls it, "All-ih-ber") after giving them the taxis, so they'd get a better idea of where we spent the weekend. It became an instant favorite. I've lost count of how many times they've watched it since.

So that's the story of the time Jeremy and I went to New York City. I imagine the next time we go, it'll be with the boys in tow!

We didn't see "Hamilton," though we DID
all play its Saturday nite lottery,
but I just about passed out from the
contact high of walking by its theatre
as we went to meet my friend Mark
on Friday afternoon.

Daddy and I picked this to see,
remembering how hilarious it was
when we saw it at Marietta's Theatre
in the Square 15 years ago.
THIS production, though, wasn't
hilarious. It was VULGAR.
We left after the first of three acts.

"the room where it happened"

Daddy did this, which was probably
my favorite part of the whole weekend.
Though I hate the Jennifer Garner
Capital One campaign, this TOTALLY
reminded me of the commercial
with her dad, as this is most definitely
"SUCH a 'Dad' thing to do."

FaceTime!

heading in to Jack Demsey's

three floors of Cat fans! GO, BIG BLUE! 

back to Junior's - for the THIRD time that day 

These are the faces of two sports fans
whose teams both lost.