Halloween has turned into the one day I can shine at the Mommy Stuff, as I continue to be sub-par the rest of the year. (Or would you say above-par to be golf correct?) Ava was relieved to have me helping out with her class party yesterday, as she'd recently lamented that I don't do enough kid-centric stuff, meaning I don't feel the slightest bit compelled to organize bi-weekly parties involving a trip on the space shuttle to the last remaining Amazon basin rainforest, with a pony.
But I did cheerfully set-out matching paper plates, cups and even a special table cloth at her school for the important Halloween party. Then plenty of us got dressed-up as a full Harry Potter supporting cast to her Hermoine during trick-or-treating last night. I gave myself a nice big pat on the back for my all-day level of participatory-mommy activities. Good Mommy, Good.
Providing a comforting, nuturing home environment is no longer enough for The Motherhood. No, the modern mom is required to micromanage every detail of a child's life like it was a freakin' career, and that one was going to be getting a fat paycheck every two weeks. WHFO. Whether it's picking a grad school while they're still gestating at 20 wks, or volunteering to raise 50K in two days by selling gift wrap to end world hunger, I'll never be able to compete at the uber-mom level. I just don't have the energy, nor the slightest urge to sacrifice a perfectly compelling adult life on the altar of kiddy activities. Soccer season alone about did me in.
Some clear-thinking Euro once remarked that stupid Americans just stupidly stumbled from one contrived holiday to the next. And this is true, and it's wearing me out -- on the crash from the sugar highs alone. The candy season has begun in earnest, as Ava hauled in about four metric tons with some impressive trick-or-treating last night. The Hideous American Holiday candy phase will last until February, whereby it all comes to a screeching halt since I'm a feminist. (Of course feminists never get any candy on Valentine's Day. See below entry Fear of Feminists.)
I'm so pleased with fulfilling my mommyhood duty-quota for the year, I can now resume normal activity, which today includes googling Neil from The Young Ones. Neil was always my favorite cast member. When I'm feeling blue, I just think of that special way he used to pitifully whine "You guys," and I perk right up.
Turns out the British actor Nigel Planer, who played Neil the Hippy, is also a novelist and playwright, although his latest effort closed after a four-week run in London. Here's a mention:
Nigel Planer's On the Ceiling, starring Ron Cook and Ralf Little, is ending its run at the West End's Garrick Theatre on October 1 after only four weeks.
Set in 1508, On the Ceiling centers on the painting of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. The Pope has put a sculptor with next to no experience of painting in charge of the task. The man didn´t want the job in the first place and has never done anything remotely on this scale. He´s all over the place--when he remembers to turn up for work. Who has to put in the hours, teach him his craft, patch up his mistakes, deal with his tantrums and get the job done? Like any big project, it is the little guys (Cook and Little) who are actually going to have to make it happen.
I'd put good money that it's back to being a soccer dad for the rest of the school year for Mr. Planer. Hmmm.... maybe I'll get around to volunteering for rearranging the "Media Center" furniture (they're not called libraries any more) or touring Harvard this spring -- when I've finish googling Vivien that is.