Choices.
Commitment.
Two words that any actor who has gone through a training program – whether it be at a University program or the Upright Citizens Brigade – is used to embracing. As performers, we must make bold choices based upon a mix of instinct, training and text work, and then we must commit 100% to those choices, often at the risk of looking foolish.
Motherhood, as I’m discovering, is not so different.
Hiding my red-rimmed eyes with my sunglasses, I quickly scurried out of my daughter’s preschool. Head bent to avoid making eye contact, the handles of the Ralph’s bag full of contraband icing digging into my fingers, I just wanted to get out of there. I had spent the morning auditioning for the role of SuperMom. I had failed.
A little background: Every Friday at Curly Girl’s preschool, one family is responsible for bringing in the “Shabbat snack” for all the kids in their child’s class. The child of the family who brings in the snack is anointed the Shabbat “Ima” (mother) or “Abba” (father) for the day, and it’s a pretty big deal amongst the three-year old set. Often, the parent providing the snack for the week will stick around for the celebration, compounding the child’s pride.
Last year, when my daughter started pre-school, I had never been able hang out for snacktime. Instead, I’d just hand over a bag of generic yogurt squeeze tubes and hightail it outta there so I could get to work on time. I would have loved to have stayed. I was quietly envious of the other parents who had flexible schedules and got to be part of another piece of their child’s world. I looked longingly at the pictures they posted on our class Facebook page, and yearned to be more present in Curly Girl’s life. I loved work, but part of my heart was always elsewhere.
But this year was different. I had recently left my full time job so that I would have greater flexibility, both in pursuing my career as a writer and performer, but also so that I could spend more time with Curly Girl. And here, finally, was my chance to be that perfect momma!
I decided to kick off my new role as SuperMom with a bold choice. For Shabbat snack, I was going to make “Stoplight Cupcakes.” The kids were doing a unit on safety, and I thought a fun way to reinforce what they were learning was to bring in cupcakes, aka blueberry muffins, and mix up some red, green and yellow frosting. Then the kids could choose to make a Stop, Go or Slow treat for themselves. No more generic yogurt for me!
It was an adventurous choice, and I have to admit, I felt pretty proud of myself. In my mind, I could already see the pics of the cupcakes on “Tasty & Educational” Pinterest boards. I could already feel the proud looks from the teacher as she saw that I was supporting the work that she was doing in the classroom. And best of all, my kiddo kept telling me how excited she was that I was going to be there at school, by her side, to do the icing project.
My bubble of self-satisfaction was burst just a few moments after arriving. As I began to arrange everything on the snack table, Teacher informed me that I should have brought plain muffins instead of blueberry, “Because some kids might not like blueberry.”
And when I uncovered the tray with the green, red and yellow bowls of icing, instead of an “Oooooh!” what I got was a disapproving “Oh.”
Teacher requested to see the icing container, and began reading off the list of ingredients to me and the two other parents who were present. “The first ingredient is sugar. That means there’s a LOT of it in here. The kids will be bouncing off the walls.”
Ok, I know sugar as the first ingredient isn’t ideal. But this was the special Shabbat treat. Doesn’t the word “treat” imply something sweet? And isn’t actual, real sugar the least evil of sweeteners? The night before, I had spent 30 minutes in the baking aisle at the grocery store reading through the labels on every single icing brand specifically to steer clear of high fructose corn syrup.
“Mono-and DiGlyerides.” Pause. “Those can’t be good.”
“Polysorbate 60.”
“Titanium Dioxide.”
“Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate.”
Teacher gave each parent a probing look. “Do you guys know what these chemicals are? And if not, are you comfortable giving this to your child?”
In an instant, I had gone from SuperMom to HorribleAwfulBadParent.
Teacher asked me to confer with the two other parents present and see if they were comfortable with the snack I’d brought in. It was like asking actors I was auditioning with to give me feedback on what I had done in the casting room.
Red-faced, I turned to the Mom and Dad present, and asked how they’d like to handle the situation. Both of the parents were very kind, and said that although their kids didn’t EVER have stuff like that at home, they were fine with them having it as a treat at school.
I wanted to shout, “We are good parents! My daughter never has that stuff at home, either!! Well, ok, she probably has a cupcake or a popsicle once a week as a special treat. But her regular snacks at home are carrots! And cranberries! And almonds! And she only has PB&J on whole grain & flax seed bread! Her idea of a decadent candy experience is Aunt Annie’s Organic Bunny Fruit Snacks!!
But I stayed quiet and simply thanked them, hoping they could not see the salt water evidence of my embarrassment pooling at the corners of my eyes. They told the teacher to go ahead with the snack I brought. But even though Teacher had left the choice up to us, she was clearly not happy with the consensus we’d come to.
Teacher questioned them one more time. Did they read the whole label themselves? Were they really ok with giving these chemicals to their kids?
The parents glanced back and forth from Teacher to myself. Before the situation could go from considerably awkward to excruciatingly uncomfortable, I made an executive decision. I have been through Safety Week, and know a stop sign when I see it. I declared, “I’m getting rid of the icing.”
I quickly chucked the bowls into the grocery bag. Green. Red. Yellow. Saving our children from the dangerous reggae swirl of sugar and chemicals, I had now insured that they would all grow up to be doctors, lawyers and bringers of world peace. All that remained was a sad little container of whole grain blueberry muffins.
Before I could make my getaway, Curly Girl came over, threw her arms around my leg and sadly asked, “Mommy, where’s the icing? Where did it go?” I looked up, blinked to keep the tears from running down my cheeks, pasted a big smile on my face and then knelt down next to her.
“The icing is too messy for school. We’ll make Stoplight Cupcakes at home.” I gave her a big hug and promised to be there at the end of the day to pick her up, “Just like I always am.” She gave my cheek a kiss, and ran off to play with her buddies. She’s a lot more resilient than I am.
On the way home, I tried to figure out why I had such a big reaction to the snack fiasco. Hell, it was just cupcakes! Yes, I felt stupid in front of the other parents. Yes, my inner overachieving eight year-old was despondent over Teacher’s disapproval. But that’s not what was causing the deep ache in my gut.
I suddenly realized that the feeling I was experiencing had the same vibration as that which I got when I committed to a very specific choice in an audition, and it didn’t work. The rare experience when you wholeheartedly believe the idea that “Auditioning is the work,” and you find inspiration in the prep and are able to walk into the casting room with joy, knowing on a gut level that you have given 100% to the process. And then somehow at the audition, it goes horribly wrong. And you walk out, devastated. Because you have made a choice, and you have been rejected. And there are no excuses.
I had just made the risky choice to move on from a secure job for the wilds of creative freelancing and flexible motherhood. And the first thing I attempted to do differently ended in failure. What if everything else about this new existence followed suit?
I now had two choices – stop putting myself out there or suck it up, learn what I could from the situation and try again next time. Which is the plan I try to adhere to after auditions.
I still want to be that committed mom. The mom who shows up. The mom who doesn’t hold back. The mom who tries to go deeper each time. I want to be fearless in motherhood, just as I try to be in my acting.
I still want to be there for Shabbat snack. But maybe next time I’ll stick with the yogurt tubes.
Organic, of course.