Tuesday
At morning daycare drop-off, I’m reminded that I’ve forgotten diapers for the second day in a row. It’s awfully hard to keep up with Microsoft Teams, my work and personal email addresses, text messages, all the rapid response signal chats (because of the continued presence of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in our city), and the daycare app, I try to explain. Is it crazy to call my parents and ask if they can drop diapers off? Wait, they’re out of town until Saturday. There’s gotta be a closet full of back-up diapers, right? I promise I’ll bring them tomorrow.
Producing work is busy today, and any moment of free time I get, I spend prepping for the workshop. Early afternoon, I get a MealTrain reminder that I’ve signed up to bring soup to a family affected by ICE. Shoot. I have to be at design run for my producing job later this afternoon. It was rescheduled. I call my husband who has risen from his daytime sleep after a night shift at the emergency room. He graciously agrees to pick up the soup and deliver it to the family that afternoon. Hero. I get home from the design run at 7:00 p.m. Bedtime is 7:30pm, which gives me thirty minutes with the kids before I dive into the workshop for the rest of the week.
Wednesday
Super mom move: I decide to exercise this morning. Take me on, world! Twenty-five minutes into my morning stationary bike ride, my two-year-old patters downstairs in his footie pajamas. He asks to hold my hand. While adorable, this doesn’t quite work… after three minutes, I clip out. Still counts as a win. While I didn’t complete the full session, I did get some exercise! With his little hand in mine, we head upstairs for cereal.
“Pack diapers,” my calendar notification dings at 8:00 a.m. I remember to check the daycare app, and, right, it’s Wednesday. That means it’s our four-year-old’s turn to bring a game to teach the rest of his class. I ask him “Oh, what about Duck Duck Grey Duck?” He replies, “No.” We dig in our game drawer and find a Richard Scarry memory card game. This seems to satisfy his expectations.
At work that morning I receive a message from the Brightwheel Daycare app (yes, I am intentionally checking this more frequently now). Turns out I dropped off our four-year-old with two left boots and forgot his snowpants. “Please bring boots of the left and right variety and snowpants tomorrow, thanks!” the message reads. Excellent.
I leave my producing job midday for the workshop. We read through the musical for the first time ever! It’s thrilling. It’s also three-and-a-half hours long. Whoops, we might’ve overwritten this thing! I text my husband. “Hi so sorry, it’s going to be a late night.” He sends back a video of our kids brandishing brooms while dancing to “It’s A Hard Knock Life” in our kitchen. They’re perfect.
The writers, music director, and I decide to meet after rehearsal to cut the show down. We stay at the theatre until we’re kicked out. We walk to a nearby bar. Script pages are splayed across the table, smeared with parmesan and drops of ketchup from the pile of fries we’ve devoured over joyful laughter, deep discussion, and vigorous slashing of pages. At 12:45 a.m., act one revisions are finally complete!
Thursday
I get the kids to school (left and right boot this time, with snowpants shoved in the bottom of his kid-sized tote bag) and start the workday again at my producing job. I attend a meeting in person, respond to some emails, and join a Zoom. I’m a little sleepy, but I’m lucky: work is good, and I’m energized by the thought of diving back into work on the musical.
I drive fifteen minutes to the other theatre. We’re on a roll. It’s a terrific room of actors, and I am living for this artistic collaboration. Act two progress is steady. It’s clear, though, that it’s going to be another late night. We head to another bar and, this time over waffle fries, chicken fingers, and an excessive amount of ranch dressing, we resume hacking away at the second act. The music director and I both have young kids. We laugh on the way out that we’re getting too old for these late nights!
When I get home, I sneak upstairs to kiss the kids goodnight. My two-year-old drowsily holds my head in his hands. What is on his left hand? He is apparently asleep with one mitten. I try to slide it off his little hand. He mumbles sharply “No! My mitten!!” I relent and struggle to put the tiny knit mitt back on his thumb properly.
He pulls my head to his and nuzzles his perky little nose against mine. He asks, “Snuggle me?” I get a rush of oxytocin and promise I’ll do so for two minutes. The next morning, I realize I must have fallen asleep next to him and spent the night in his little Montessori bed on the floor.
Reflections
Spotlight on artistry:
The workshop was a success! I’m delighted, grateful to the team, and so very proud. On the day of the workshop presentation, my husband oriented the babysitter and took care of the kids for the evening. He arrived to the presentation fully dressed in a cow suit (the musical takes place on a farm). I love him for it entirely.
The artistic director publicly committed to producing the piece. We have much work still to do before a full production, but I make sure to appreciate the present. When my kids are in college and life is a little bit slower, I’ll look back on these days fondly. Balancing this life with kids is, quite frankly, impossible, but every day I’m reminded that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Spotlight on support systems and resources:
When I got pregnant, we moved back to my hometown intentionally, knowing how much we’d rely on family. My parents and siblings happened to be out of town this week, but they are often the ones we ask for help in a pinch. They are an essential part of raising the kids. We are so lucky to be surrounded by their presence and love.
My husband is heroic. He’s known my desire to be in artistic leadership since we started dating in college, and he has been a gentle, steady, and loving thought-partner every step of the way. He valiantly handles bedtimes while I’m in rehearsals, takes on extra shifts when things like our furnace breaks, and has worked his schedule in the emergency room to ensure he’s present for most breakfasts and dinners with our kids.
