and birds sit brooding in the snow ~ love's labour's lost

Today is a beautifully picturesque day.
The snow is falling like powdered sugar being sifted; it's as though the heavens are dusting gingerbread houses with sweetened snow.
My hands are freezing and my fingers are skipping quickly across the keyboard, trying to keep warm with the tapping out of new words.
A winter's day.
No sunshine.
No rain.
Just white.
And silence.
(Except for the occasional train, crossing the tracks, announcing its passage with whistles and the crossing bells. And of course, except for the pitter-patter of the keys as I type.)
I watched a squirrel run across the road, leaving behind tiny tracks in the snow. And as he sat, alert and unaware of anything else but the acorn he had stolen away from the tree, I watched as his fluffy tail went from brown to white, as he was decorated with snowy fur.
There are three crows causing a scene across the way. They look out of place in this whitened world. I think they are playing some sort of game. They take turns running across the snow covered streets, and then perch on a nearby branch. Then the other two, fly down as if they are looking at the patterns of the other crow's footprints in the snowfall. I wonder if they're playing a silent pictionary game. Perhaps they're making pictures with their footprints, in the snow, and then taking turns guessing what the other drew.
I should like to play too.
I'll bet I'd win.
Though I think it might be difficult to make interesting pictures with my big feet. It might prove to be quite a clumsy attempt.

that may be, must be, love, on thursday ~ romeo and juliet

How many times is too many to tell someone you love them?

Does it start losing its meaning if it's said too often, or does it deepen each time you say it because you've grown to love someone so much that you can't imagine not telling them you love them when you get the chance?

George Sand once said:
"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved."

Is that true? What if the amount of love you have to give causes pain to another, because they can't return the love equally? Then is that the paved road to unhappiness for both parties? Or is it an obstacle to be overcome?

"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
~Henry Louis Mencken

Indeed. To love creatively and to find joy in the shadows of pain and sorrows, to seek peace when everything else is at war, is to have put your left brain to sleep for a while and to caress the imagination from within. You can win a battle of right and wrong with facts and proven theories, but to win a battle of wits, you must lead with the proclamations of your heart. To win a battle of the heart, you have to be able to hear the rythm of the heartbeats from the one you love and decipher the code into a lanuage you understand. I believe it's a battle that's won and lost many times over throughout every relationship.

"They do not love that do not show their love.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil.
There is no evil angel but Love."
~William Shakespeare

Tis true.
The perception of love comes through the language of love, and as it's been said, there are many love languages. But to not show love at all, proves to be believed that one has no love to give.

Love brings us together, and tears us apart.

There is nothing that makes me grieve more than love, and nothing that makes me happier than being loved.

I sometimes wish I was the Tin Man. Wouldn't life be easier if we were hollow?

the web of our life is of a mingled yarn ~ all's well that ends well

Have you ever had a connection with someone you've never even met?

I've been following a blog of someone who somehow, manages to inspire me, causes me to think about things that I might otherwise cluster in the dusty and shadowed corners of my thoughts, provokes me to face things that typically I might turn away from, and yet, we've never even spoken.

Something within me was stirred this morning.

I was reading his blog, and he was telling his story of finally being able to "take the next step", to move on, or, rather, cycle on, I suppose. (he's a multi-talented athlete who views cycling as an escape, as well as a tool for bettering his mental and physical journeys though life.)

Like me, his relationship of many years ended in 2009, and he's been transitioning into a new life. I've always thought of myself as strong: strong of heart, strong of will, strong with determination, strong with character, and I have never really let my guard down long enough to see that it's not always about strength. Sometimes, it's about your ability to put your faith within the strength of others, who are right there, by your side, waiting for you to reach out to them, so that they may share the weight of your burdens.

A quote from his blog: But this has been a year of growth as well as pain. In tearing down my facade of strength and contentment, emotions were released that I had previously pushed down, and I found real strength in letting them see the light of day. It was overwhelming at first, but in dealing with emotional baggage I have been carrying around for far too long, I feel like I have grown beyond simple recovery, and may be coming out the other side a stronger person.

My marriage of 9 years was ended after a battle of love and life was defeated by the darkened shadows of smoke and mirrors. I thought I was so strong because I didn't even shed a tear over the loss of my relationship, when in fact, I think, perhaps, I didn't allow my friends to help me through it. I just pushed everything as far back in my brain as I could, so as not to have to deal with it. And now, I can't cry. My life has changed so much, and there are so many things I've seen again, for the first time. Not everyone gets that chance. The chance to start over, the chance for a new life. I suppose I'm trying to see the brightness through the murky chasms of failure. I felt like I had failed at something that I always knew I'd be able to succeed. And yet, I feel as though, slowly, that failure has turned into an unexpected opportunity to thrive; an opportunity to rekindle life that had become stilted within myself.

It feels so wonderful to be starting fresh. I'm finding my solace within the place that always seems like a second home: in the arms of the theatrical world, fulfilling my heart's desire with my perpetual life on stage. I've always used performing as a way to escape - a way to become someone else and get away for a while - find a new walk, a new way to talk, a new personality, new mannerisms for a person that I would never truly become, yet now, I'm using these characters as a way to discover new things about myself and as a release for my well-being. It's no longer an escape. It feels so strange. When I look back at my tumultuous marriage, I see a beautiful life, a hard life, a wonderfully happy marriage, a marriage of stone lives, a home filled with laughter, a home filled with silence, truthful hearts, a heart of lies and deception, two people bound with love, two people broken by mistrust. For ten years, I was with someone, and we had proclaimed that our together would last forever. Neither of us knew that forever would arrive so soon. Sometimes I regret my decision from 9 years ago to commit my life to him, to join our lives as one. Sometimes I wish that I would be able to say that I had married the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. But wishing only wounds the heart and my wounds have healed. I have a new love for so many things I felt I wasn't allowed to fully love before. I know what makes me happy, and I can now reach for that happiness without being stopped by the boundaries of my previous life. I have found new love within a heart of someone who has shown me a kind of love that I thought only existed in Jane Austen novels or within the Iambic Pentameter of Shakespeare's sonnets. If I had stayed in the life I once had, I never would have discovered that love could be this good.

I have moved across a world of disillusionment into a land of understanding, and you know what, it feels pretty damn good.

with eggs, sir? ~ merry wives of windsor

I bought a small fry.
A rather tiny frying pan.
And I also bought a mini spatula.
It makes a perfect egg over easy and holds two well-beaten eggs that can be served up scrambled or in the style of my famous "egg pizza".

It was either that, or continue using a massive frying pan that could scramble a dozen eggs at once.

I just eat two.

No use in dirtying up a huge pan for nothin'.

In fact, for those of you who only make eggs for yourself in the morning, I highly recommend the small fry.

clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ~ titus andronicus

After a daunting four days, I can finally see the silver lining and it is resplendent.

It was brought to my attention that it seems as if I am the every-always-optimist and that it's alright to have worldly days of disappointment; days when life just sucks and your brows stay furrowed.

How much brighter life seems with arched brows and rosy cheeks though!

Friday.

• mood starting lifting around 7:12pm.
• Candance, Brooke and I went wedding dress shopping with Jess. Fourth dress was THE ONE. Gorgeous.
• smuggled champagne into the bridal shop.
• then realized all we had to conceal the liquid contraband were red, plastic, SOLO cups. could we be any more obvious?
• drinks, dinner & a little bit of girl time afterwards.

Saturday.

• didn't sleep well Friday night, went to bed at 2am.
• woke up at 8am due to a restless night of sleep.
• dragged myself to the noon o'clock auditions for Fat Pig with Groundworks Theatre.
• 12:33pm - have to leave auditions early because of 1:00 rehearsal for SWING! (the auditions went till 5:00pm) I only got to read twice for the role of Jeannie because I had to leave early.
• frustration sets in.
• outlook not so great for getting the role, due to lack of audition time and the fact that by 12:33pm, there were 10 other amazingly beautiful and talented girls waiting with scripts in hand for their audition slot and a shot at the same role.
• 1:00pm - rehearsal, and my quads about to give out on me.
• 7:08pm - completely exhausted and passed out after a 5 and a half hour rehearsal, draped across Billy's lap after two sips of chardonnay.
• 9:44pm - muster up enough energy to go to Drifters for drinks and dinner with Billy and Dave, which turned into a party for 12.

Sunday.

• 10:36am - I awoke well rested and smiling.
• lazy morning in bed, snuggling and chatting with a simple pattern of stream of consciousness banter.
• 11:49am - scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. (according to Billy, the best cinnamon toast ever)
• 1:33pm - off to rehearsal.
• quads = still hurting, but allowing me to mark through the numbers without too much pain
• rehearsal = extremely taxing as we were all exhausted after a long week of work and evening rehearsals. the heat was on so that we wouldn't encourage pulled muscles and other injuries upon our tired bodies.
• all of our brains felt like the 80's commercial with the eggs and the frying pan. "This is your brain; this is your brain on drugs" - yes indeed. Our brains were the burnt eggs that didn't look appetizing.
• 5:29pm - missed a call from the director of Fat Pig.
• 6:39pm -return missed call.
• 6:43pm - screaming in the car due to the excitement of being offered the role of Jeannie"!
• 8:04 -Margarita's at Rosepepper with Mel & Dave.
• 12:44 - turn out the light and attempt to drift off with promises of the start of a new week.

I guess sometimes those crappy days, that leave lingering pessimism on not-so-dreary days yet to come, taking away the brightness of sunshine, allow you to enjoy the freshened color palate of a brand new day, when you've been staring at a world of white for days on end.

accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! ~ romeo and juliet

I'm in a funk.
I just want to go home and pour myself a drink, curl up with a book and zone out.
Pity Party of one.
I feel like nothing is going right for me these days.
I don't know.
I'm in a show that I've been wanting to do for a year. I should be happy about that right?
Wrong.
I've injured both my quads and the healing process is really keeping me from learning the dance numbers. I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to do the show.
I just got my hair cut and colored. It looks amazing. Do I feel glamorous?
No.
I feel fat and out of shape, even though I'm dancing 5 days a week and have lost 10 pounds and everyone else thinks I'm crazy for wanting to be thinner.
Then I read a script for an upcoming audition this weekend. "Fat Pig."
Four characters. Two guys, one rather large woman and a skinny girl.
I'm obviously not auditioning for the large woman. But when reading the script, I felt this compassion for this character, Helen. She's living in a world where being fat means being unacceptable and judged.
I feel judged all the time.
But not like this.
Part of me wondered if I would take her by the hand and love her unconditionally, and part of me wondered if I'd talk about her behind her back.
Am I really that shallow?
Another pity party.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm not judgemental, I really genuinely love people, and I have unique passions for everyone who comes into my life, on different levels.
Perhaps I need to do this show.
I hope I get cast.
I usually love my job. I love kids. I love being around them.
This week I hate it.
I want to put the baby in her crib, walk out the door and not come back.
Horrible, right?
Obviously I would never do that, but my brain provoked me with the fleeting thought of it.
I have a boyfriend who loves me.
I have never been happier and in love with anyone like I am with him.
But I can't stop wondering if he's really in this relationship.
You know, I asked him wanted he wanted to do for Valentine's Day, implying that I can't wait to do something special. He said he wasn't really into it.
Wow, really?
I like to be swept off my feet and feel like the man I'm in love with couldn't do enough to woo me.
I thought he was like that.
I need that.
I am such a hopeless romantic, and I need those little in between times between holidays and birthdays to feel an indescribable love from the man in my life. I mean, it might be cliche to have a romantic evening on Valentine's Day, but so what. I'm entitled to enjoy that day if I want to.
I have friends coming over tonight because they want to "hang out" and spend "quality time" with me.
I can't help but roll my eyes at the thought.
I don't want to be around anyone.
I don't want to chit chat, I don't want to hear about their day and listen to hapless banter, I want to be alone.
Is it too late to call it off since it's been planned?
Billy wants me to move in with him.
I want to live with him, but I don't want to live 45 minutes away from Nashville.
J is completely happy with everything in her life and I hear about it all the time.
Why shouldn't I?
I'm her maid of honor and best friend.
She is booking lots of commercial gigs and whatnot.
I'm probably upset that I'm not.
But you know what, how am I supposed to book anything when I don't have an agent?
Part of my fortitude for 0-10 get an agent and start auditioning for commercials and film gigs.
I need to do that.
Period.
I'm exhausted and need a break.
A break from life and a break within life's crazy, winding labyrinth.
I need a vacation.
I need for someone else to hold me up instead of me trying to hold up everyone else.
My legs are getting tired and my arms are about to give out.

she's fraught from candy ~ twelfth night

I am really craving some chocolate covered popcorn.
I'll settle for some Cadbury Mini Eggs.

to seek new friends and stranger companies ~ a midsummer night's dream

I had rehearsals both Saturday and Sunday which kicked my a**. Toward the end of rehearsal, I pulled a muscle in my quad. I've been trying to nurse my leg back to health with no avail. I should be staying off of it, and keeping the heating pad on it in 20 minute rotations, but instead, I'm chasing kids during the day and dancing on it all night. I have no clue when my leg will get better. Hopefully by tomorrow night, as I have an entire evening of Lindy Hopping.

I have a new and amazing friend who seems to really fulfill me in a different way from the way I feel with most of my other friends. I just love being around her and I can't wait to get to know her even better. Our personalities click in a way that I haven't had in a while, and I genuinely like being around her. (We snuck away and had secret martinis at the bar when we were supposed to be in rehearsal on Sunday)

Sunday night, a few of us went to Dave & Busters and acted like big kids, playing games, running around showing off how many tickets we won, trying to outsmart each other with trivia, shooting whores and gangsters from the wild west saloons. It was a damn good time.

Quote of the evening:
Billy: (after wandering off and discovering a new game that we had yet to play, and then gleefully returning to tell us of this new and interesting game)
"So, I think I found my new favorite game! You see, I was a polar bear and I had this club and I had to beat the fish over the head with the club! It's the best game EVER."

Yes, that's my boyfriend.

And then later on that night, after feeling a little tipsy from our earlier cocktails and beer swilling, we snuggled in with glasses of wine and watched an episode of The Secret Lives of Women: I'm a Husband Beater. Simply romantic, isn't it? There is something so absolutely intriguing about that show. Sometimes you learn that these secret lives of women encompass weird fetishes like wearing diapers and sleeping in adult sized cribs, and drinking from baby bottles, and sometimes you learn that your next door neighbor soccer mom, is really a glorified prostitute who works at a brothel, and sometimes, you learn that there are women who are so controlling that they actually abuse their spouses. It makes my life seem so completely normal.

Since neither of us had to work yesterday, Billy and I went to the Adventure Science Center and were once again, big kids. We walked through the solar system, took pictures in front of dinosaurs and journeyed through the human brain.

I ended the night with a four hour dance rehearsal, and a comical ride home with one of my best friends. We talked of personality match-ups, relationships, how we think the rehearsal went and our sex lives.

I'd say, overall, I had a very eventful weekend.

i am weary; yea, my memory is tired ~ coriolanus

I am exhausted.

As of yesterday at 3:30pm, I had already worked a 40 hour week and then continued to work until 5:30pm, and was back at work this morning for yet another day of work from 7:30-5:30pm.

Last night we had a ridiculously high impact rehearsal that required a lot of energy and stamina. From 6:45-10:45pm, we rehearsed swing numbers, jive, lindy hop -- we basically put the entire first act together with a very short 4 minute break to shove granola bars down our throats and guzzle water - a break just long enough to give us an energy boost that would enable us to keep dancing.

Drenched in sweat, I left the studio exhuasted, body ready to sign out of life for a little while.

With a shower, a glass of wine, an ice pack on the ankle, and an hour of winding down in the arms of my boyfriend, watching Sports Center (okay, so I wasn't really watching, I was in a complete daze) - I was in bed by 1:30am, and ready to be taken away with slumber.

I'm now on my third cup of coffee this morning and have a RedBull waiting for me in the fridge for my afternoon pick-me-up.

Photo/Publicity shoot for the show tomorrow at noon.

Rehearsal from 2:00-7:00pm.

Sunday's rehearsal is from 2:00-6:00pm.

I'm taking the day off on Monday. I think it's necessary.

but now to task the tasker ~ love's labour's lost

Updates on my 1-9.

1. finish writing my children's book. ~ So far I have been making small changes, but nothing huge. Hopefully my inspiration will magically appear in my brain and translate to paper.

2. hire an agent for commercials and film. ~ I need to get new headshots first. Since I'm really getting into even better shape with SWING!, I'm gonna wait until that's over and then get headshots and hire an agent.

3. voice lessons. ~ Nope.

4. find a way to appear on "Ellen". ~ No clue yet how I'm going to accomplish this one.

5. watch every Cate Blanchett movie ever made. ~ There are 29 movies available to watch at the moment, and 2 more are being released in theaters this year. I watched "Paradise Road" this morning which makes a total of 20 films of hers that I have watched.

6. pour myself into 2 of The Bard's plays. ~ I need to pick 2. I haven't done that yet.

7. start a new and interesting reading project. ~ As I have decided to read a biography on each of the U.S. Presidents, this is the new project I have started. Mr. Washington arrived last night, so it looks like we'll be spending the next 401 pages of his life together.

8. discover new wines. ~ This is something I should do tonight.

9. read 1 play by Christopher Marlowe. ~ I have chosen to read "Edward II".

she dances featly ~ the winter's tale

After two days of intense rehearsals this weekend, my mind wasn't synchronizing with my body in the slightest.

In the middle of rehearsal, after learning an extremely fast swing number without the addition of music, I felt confident in my abilities and felt as though I had grasped the steps in their entirety.
Then the choreographer said: "Alright, from the top, with music."

I stood in the middle of the dance floor with my hands in the air, knowing that at some point, I was supposed to end up in that position, my eyes wide with the confusion of realizing I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. So I just stood there in what I knew was supposed to be the ending pose.

When the music stopped I blurted out:

"You think you get the choreography, and then you realize...there's music..."

Life lesson #4,298:
"Just when you seem to learn that 2+2 = 4, you realize that 1 + 3 = 4 and that 20 - 16 = 4 and then you realize that there are so many more numbers you have to understand before you can get the simplest of equations."

one might read the book of fate ~ sonnet 59

I have decided what my reading project is for 0-ten.

I realize that I have always been consumed with European history and find everything about the British monarchy and the traditions of their lifestyles completely fascinating. Every king and queen, every playwright and poet, every folklore and every tidbit of information I can gather on this dusty lives, I will.

This year, I am trading in the Tudors for the Johns, Georges and Jameses.

It's America's turn.

This year I am going to read the biographies of every United States president that has ever been in office. I have already ordered the biographies of the first five. Each book averages about 600 pages. With 43 presidents, including the president incumbent, that is a total of 25,800 pages of the lives of America's leaders.

I'm pretty excited about this reading project. I love biographies. I love history. I can't wait for Mr. Washington to arrive at my house. I'm sure our first date will involve wine, a cozy setup by the fireplace, with my arms wrapped around his spine...very enticing indeed...

if music be the food of love, play on ~ twelfth night

Yesterday was the last day of Christmas.
Twelfth Night.
One of Shakespeare's greatest plays indeed.

It's rather strange. Each year I look forward to Christmas, but it's Twelfth Night that really brings forth an unusual gleam from within me. Nothing even has to happen on that particular day. It's the simple fact that the Twelve Drummers Drumming conclude a sixteenth century celebration each year, even to this day, as they close the beloved Christmas carol, sung by holiday enthusiasts or by festively decorated family members singing tunes around the piano on Christmas Eve.

I know that most people sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" as gleefully as one might sing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" or "If You're Happy and You Know It", but for me, it's a representation of the progression of the Christmas season beyond the Hallmark tradition and St. Nicholas celebrations. For me, knowing that a tradition of daily preparation for a feast so large that it took twelve days to prepare for it, really brings a fresh sense of parallel life to a century I desire so much to understand.

Perhaps I'm a nerdy history buff. Perhaps I search too often to understand the detail of forgotten lore and noble ordinances of a time gone by. Perhaps I'm a hopeless romantic who doesn't believe in reality checks and thinks she's going to wake up with a chamber pot beneath her bed and a room full of ladies-in-waiting.

I don't suppose it really matters. Through poetry and history books, stolen love letters and painted portraits of those once living, yet continuing to haunt my existence, I am discovering a silhouetted life of those before me, yet so akin to me.

This year, Twelfth Night came and went, unnoticed by so many. I think perhaps, next year, I'll bring a light to a seemingly forgotten celebration, prepare a Twelfth Night feast of my own, and attempt to share my hopeless passions with those who passionately (and hopelessly) love me.

better foot before ~ (merchant of venice)

After another ten hour work day yesterday ~ this time with Annaliese (the 5 month old I take care of Tuesday through Friday) ~ I was downing my third cup of coffee in an attempt to rejuvenate my soul and to drum up an excitement for a "date night" with my best friend. Now, usually, "date nights" are fun and I look forward to them. However, Jess was eager to start out our date night with a Hip-Hop class at the Y, which is exactly the question I kept asking myself the entire car ride to the class: "WHY am I putting myself through this?"

Being that I have had two intense days of rehearsal for the musical "SWING!", and thus spending hours of dance rehearsals mastering the art of Lindy Hop and Jive, and knowing that I have rehearsals 6 days a week for the next 5 weeks, I was looking forward to a night off from dancing. Jess insisted that we take this class, and I, knowing that she was due to pick me up at 6:00pm, was still keeping my fingers crossed that she would somehow change her mind and retract her decision to drag me to class.

My quads are still sore; my inner thighs pulsating with the rhythm of the "G.I. Jive" and my a** was begging for a night off. Eight hours of non-stop dancing within a 24 hour time period after being out of the studio for over a year, seemed exhausting enough.

At 5:59pm, I saw the headlights shining through the frosted air, lingering over our driveway, as Jess pulled in to steal me away to our 6:15pm Hip-Hop class.

Here's the thing. I'm a good dancer. I can groove, I can jive, and I am still a ballerina at heart; but when it comes to "gettin' down and dirty" with styles such as Krumping and Pop-and-Lock, my white girl genes tend to send me back to the land of tutus and ballet shoes, leaving the beat droppin' and booty shakin' behind.

By 7:30pm, I was drenched in sweat and my choreography filled thoughts were racing from move to move, trying to remember all the "hits" and "isolations" and "body rolls". I have merely only admired this style of dance from the comfort of my own living room while watching "So You Think You Can Dance", and never had I really attempted this style before. My eyes were bulging as I tried to imitate the dance teacher's instruction, attempting to take the moves from her body and make my body recreate them. Ha. I kept hearing the teacher say: "Don't make it pretty, just thrust your body and hit the moves hard!"

Yeah...

After leaving the gym, we decided to conclude our "date night" at our favorite wine bar -Rumours- in which I indulged my taste buds with a delightfully oakey, yet somewhat pear infused Savignon Blanc, a bowl of steamed mussels and a hummus plate. The bartender seemed less than thrilled to be catering to our vino requisitions, and I could swear I caught him rolling his eyes as we passed friendly conversation his way, or when we requested a second glass of wine. Even after attempting to converse with him on a common ground of shared interests such as stage and film, he simply tossed the congruences aside and flippantly whisked away our empty wine glasses.

The wine, food, and atmosphere of Rumours? positively delightful.
The not-so-sommelier behind the bar in the tacky plaid shirt? positively dreadful.

Our night concluded with an array of antique hats, mink stoles, and old newspaper clippings. Jess' future-mother-in-law had given her a box filled with her fiance's grandmother's things, and we stood in front of the mirror taking turns modeling them for our reflections.

It's always a much needed rejuvenation to take a few moments out of your busy life and spend it with someone who makes all those other moments matter the most.

And the beat goes on...

*the picture at the top reflects the shirt worn by my dance instructor. it makes me happy.

as merry as the day is long ~ (much ado about nothing)

Yesterday I learned a great many things.

1) A light flurry of snowflakes, drifting through the algid breezes of ten degree weather at 6:30am can be a demitasse smile on an otherwise weary and unawakened world.

2) A familiar food can push tears to the farthest corner of a stubbed toe or misplaced toy.

3) An unknown place can provide laughter though the shadows seem daunting.

4) Rubber bracelets never go out of style.

5) Cleaning out drawers and bagging things up for Goodwill actually provide a common ground for adolescents and the adolescents at heart.

6) No matter what, a 3 year old girl will always find a way to relate everything back to her Barbies.

All of this knowledge came to fruition through the adventures of toddlers, conversations with an 11 year old, and a ten and a half hour day with children who only belong to me on Mondays.

When I arrived at the Romero house yesterday morning at 7:15am, everything was quite indistinguishable from every other Monday for the past three years. Clara (3) and Benjamin (18 months) were both still running amuck in their pajamas, Aaron (11) was already on his way to school, and Raul and Phoebe were stumbling through the kitchen attempting to down their first cup of coffee before showering and heading off to work.

Half eaten bowls of Life drowning helplessly in a sea of soy milk, and a table dolloped with pineapple yogurt set the stage for yet another Monday with the little ones. Little did I know, Ben had received an Imaginarium Train Set COMPLETE with a train table for Christmas, and that I was going to be taking the Imagination Express through tunnels and train stations for the next two hours...

Something you don't know about me, or rather, one of many things you don't know about me, is that I am indeed, beyond comprehension, obsessed with trains. I have been performing Murder Mystery Comedies on trains for the past 5 years. I squeal with delight every time I hear a train in the distance. One of the reasons I moved to my house in East Nashville is that it was near a train track and the sounds of the trains resonate beautifully within the 1930's stone walls. My eyes bulge with pure joy when I am stopped in traffic due to the flashing red lights, and clamoring of the train passing through a railroad crossing. I fall asleep to a Cd of of train sounds every night. I have taken a nap in the master bedroom of the train car that used to belong to Jackie Gleason, and gotten naked in his train car living room. (okay, so maybe my nakedness was due to a costume change "back stage" during a performance on the train ride, and maybe that old train car is the one designated for the actors during the Murder Mysteries, but still.) I love trains. This particular morning, I was more entertained by this new train set than the children were.

By about 9:15am, the babies had grown tired of the wooden tracks and metal cars and turned to my extremities for a Jungle Gym. Clara kept asking for "tatoes" and Ben wanted "eggs", so as per routine throughout the past year, with a toddler on each hip, blue and pink blankets in tow, we made a game of trotting downstairs, and I made a second breakfast for the hungry little monsters.

Clara's Breakfast (as well as lunch and dinner for every Monday during the past year and half): One potato, coated with olive oil, skin seasoned with paprika, garlic salt, ground black pepper -- inside, butter, garlic and cheese.
(she refuses to east potatoes unless they are "Yah-yern's" tatoes) - (side note: Clara has a difficult time pronouncing L words, so Lauren has become "Yah-yern")
Ben's Breakfast: An "egg pizza". 2-4 eggs mixed in a bowl, poured into a small round pan, seasoned with paprika, salt & pepper, topped with cheese.
(basically a round omelet that isn't folded but that can be cut into wedges so that an 18 month old can easily pick up the pieces and eat them)

For some reason, this is always their requested food. Clara tells her mom she doesn't like potatoes, and Ben won't touch his father's omelets, but when I'm there, I get smothered with smiles and slobber when I make them their secret Turkish Delight.

By 1:00pm, Clara had locked herself in the bathroom after insisting she could go potty by herself. I scooped up Benjamin and fled to the cries of his frightened sister and sat helplessly outside the bathroom door. I tried explaining that there was a little "button" in the middle of the door knob that she needed to turn in order to unlock the door and open it. I explained this to no avail. I could feel the anxiety seeping underneath the bathroom door from this mini Alice in Wonderland; Clara was attempting to thrive in a world she wasn't yet ready for, tears streaming down her apricot cheeks, eyes brimming with fear, not understanding how to escape this unexpected rabbit hole.

After calming her down, I retrieved a stray bobby pin from my back pocket and attempted to pick the lock. I made jokes about the silly bobby pin and how it wasn't minding me, and how it was trying to dance inside the door knob instead. The sniffles turned to quieted giggles. I then asked her if she was just tired of playing with Ben and me, and if she locked us OUT of the bathroom. She squealed with laughter and told me "nooooooo Yah-yern!" I distracted her with questions about a bathroom tea party, inquiring whether or not she was drinking the shampoo and eating the toothpaste for lunch, and she could hardly respond for the silliness of the question. The bobby pin wasn't working, so I told her I was going to the garage to get a screwdriver since the bobby pin wasn't minding me. I slid the pin under the door for her to discipline and ran downstairs to retrieve my hero: Mr. Phillips H. Screwdriver.

Thirty minutes after the initial lockdown, the door was unlocked and my little Alice, smiles and all, was safely back in my arms. She then proceeded to tell me about her bathroom adventure, asked for more "tatoes" and all was good in her world.

By 3:10pm, Aaron was off the bus and bursting through the front door. I hadn't been there in three weeks due to the holidays and he was anxious to tell me all about Christmas, his trip to Disneyland, and the new craze: Silly Bandz. Now, the last bracelet craze I remember consisted of jelly bracelets, pop-beads, slap bracelets. Silly Bandz are the "jelly bracelets" of the new millennium, apparently. Each pack of these bracelets has a theme with twenty different shapes varying from "Sea Creatures" to "Automobiles". Aaron started pulling out pack after pack of the bracelets he got for Christmas and wanted me to pick out my favorites. I may be 28 years of age, but I am not ashamed to say that I am now sporting a kangaroo, sea horse, and penguin Silly Bandz. Are you really ever too old to wear rubber bracelets or too old for the satisfaction it brings to an eleven years old face when you embrace a fad that they think is cool? You know, I hope I never outgrow the latest fad...

Since Aaron had orders from his dad that he wasn't allowed to play until his room was clean and his old clothes were bagged up for Goodwill, I decided to round up the little ones and make a game of helping their older brother. Ben was in charge of bringing the clothes from Aaron to me, Clara's job was to help fold the items that were being bagged for Goodwill, and I provided the nonchalant refolding of the clothes after Clara's first meager attempts. As Aaron started making piles of what-to-keep and what-not-to-keep, I decided to pilfer through his shirts and old football jerseys to see if I could find anything I might be able to fit into. The three of them thought this was funny, and demanded a fashion show (which was well received with belly laughs and several rounds of applause).

Several abercrombie kids shirts, Aeropostale tees and miscellaneous boy's football jerseys later, I had a separate bag filled with loot to take home, and Aaron couldn't wait to tell his friends that his nanny was wearing his clothes. It was then that I made sure he bundled up, sent him out to play, and finished cleaning his room and making his bed for him. A kid is only a kid for so long, and he made my day. The least I could do was make his bed.

By 5:04pm, the little ones were splashing about their evening bubble bath, taking turns with the rubber duckies, zoo animals, and Malibu Barbies. After the treacherous event of toddler-hair-washing, I was leaning over the bathtub to scrub their little bodies, when Clara looked at me with a sort of unexpected awe and bewilderment, as though she was noticing something for the first time.

"What's wrong, Clara?" I asked, expecting there to be a spider dangling above my head, instead she exclaimed: "Oh Yah-yern, yer hair is sooo long, like my Barbie!", her pruny hands reaching for the locks dipping carelessly above the water's surface. And as I thought my day couldn't get any better, I said smiling, "OoooOOoohhh, so Miss Lauren has hair like your Barbie?" Her eyebrows furrowed, she splashed her hands deliberately at her waist, through the soapy water, and said "My Yah-yern Barbie has bootiful hair. She's under my pink bwanket in my bed. I don't let her get wet!"

When I went to their room to retrieve their pajamas before drying them off and putting the two of them in their PJ's, I curiously peeked under the pink blanket in her bed, and sure enough, there was a Barbie dressed in a pink and purple ballerina dress, with blue eyes and dark hair -- different from the blonde haired Barbies with soapy, matted tresses that accompanied her during her evening baths. It seems silly, but there was some sort of validation in the fact that this beautiful little girl had chosen to keep me by her side through the night, in the comfort of her bed.

What grown girl, attempting to be a role model for little ones, wouldn't want to have a Barbie doll named after her, with a little girl clutching that doll closely as she drifts off to sleep as the early evening turns into a darkened midnight? To be remembered in an afternoon afterthought, or evening prayer by the little ones you love so much, becomes an overwhelming sensation.

And so it continues...

all our yeseterdays ~ (macbeth)

This is my first attempt at blogging...ever.

As I tend to be somewhat of a journalist, my old-fashioned ink to leatherbound journals tend to win over the battle with keystrokes and mousepads. So, here we go.

I've been told recently by a dear friend of mine, that his wish for me this year of 2010 (or as I prefer to say "0-ten"), is this:

"I am hoping for you, in 2010, that you find your voice and experience your talent on a larger level than just the isolated community production here and there or the occasional note-posting on FaceBook with your writing. Nothing wrong with either thing...but...you got it girl...now believe and just go and do it."

Well, this blog site isn't Broadway, and it isn't Variety magazine, but it's a start. It's a documented accountability of my daily life and a visual encouragement for myself, to pursue my dreams, and keep notes of just exactly what my life consists of and how to make that consistency even better.

Though my life as a nanny by day, actress by night and writer by every other time inbetween is some of the most rewarding work I have ever done, I might be ready to turn off the night-light and switch on the spotlight for good.

But for now, the kids have awakened from their afternoon nap, and I have a whole world of fairy princesses, and far away lands filled with trains and pirate kings awaiting me...that is, until rehearsal at 7:00 tonight, in which I will trade in my sneakers for character shoes, and step into a world of dancing and singing...

And so it continues...