Sometimes on Sunday evenings when I sit down to write a blog post I have high aspirations of coming out strong and delivering some meaningful words.

But by the time I finish tucking the kids in and telling each child what we will be eating for every single meal the next day (the members of my household are very food-centric currently) and getting our house ready for the week ahead and then finally sit down, I’m all out of clever and meaningful.

Tonight I popped myself a bowl of popcorn, prepared myself a cup of vanilla tea and pretended like my evening plans of school prep and meal prep actually equaled an exciting night life.

And you know what, the popcorn and tea helped.  As did the diffuser with the good smells and the dog for company and the phone call to a brother celebrating his birthday.  (The baby of our family is over forty.  It all feels wrong somehow.)

So I decided instead of waxing poetic, I’d just do a little recap, a catch up.  A rambling meandering sort of post.  (Sort of what my life needs on a Sunday night or a Monday morning.  Maybe yours does too.  You can catch us all up on your weekend in the comments.  No, really – please do.)

The week of theatre camp is over and although it was legitimately a good week and a great experience for my young thespians, we’re all glad for it to come to an end.

“Can we just celebrate all being together tomorrow afternoon and play upstairs?” one of them requested.  That’s sweet.  Can I bottle that emotion?  Can I remind them of those feelings when they forget?  (Like when they forget at three o’clock tomorrow?)

Bergen and Mosely had costumes that made it feel impossible to figure out who they were on stage.  I stared at my own children for many many minutes onstage, unable to recognize them.  (Yeah, my eyesight is not that impressive and our seats weren’t first row, but I’m telling you, I barely recognized my own children.)  Bergen had black hair and a goatee!  And chains of “gold” around his neck.  “At first I loved the necklace, Mom,” he told me.  “The jingling sound made me feel rich.”

I think the reason Mosely was unrecognizable was because her make up and her lovely head scarf made her look like a twenty year old model.  She was beautiful up there and I already think she is beautiful, but she was a glimpse of a grown up kind of beautiful and it was breathtaking.

(Although in this picture they both refused to smile – saying that their characters really looked like this instead.  Actors – what are you going to do with them?)

Bergen remembered his line and delivered it loudly.  This boy – what a long way he has come.  Once upon a time he was a second grader who wept crocodile tears at the thought of standing in front of his small homeschool co-op class and delivering a speech about Australia.

Mosely surprised me by how much she loved participating in all aspects of theatre, especially the prep work.  She loved moving sets and learning about make up and being onstage.

Piper adores an audience.  Her costume was a surprise to me until the night of the performance.  It was all feathers and bold and I loved it for her.  Flouncy and fun – just like that little girl herself.  She played a goose and decided that her goose should sound a touch southern.  I think it worked.  She received a hearty laugh when she delivered her line and that’s all any feathery goose can hope for.

Neither play was particularly emotional in the traditional sense, but at the curtain’s call I found myself sitting there with tears in my eyes.  What on earth?  Later, over tacos or chimichangas or something, my friend and I analyzed why there were tears.  (After she shared she had the same reaction, oddly making me feel better.)  And I’m stealing her insight.  There’s the teamwork – the effort these groups of kids had put into a week long series of rehearsals.  The coming together with many to pull off something big.  And there’s this undercurrent of hope.  I think that’s what is the loveliest – the holiest – really.  The picture of hope – that you can start with an unorganized group of humans and give them a purpose and a plan – and something worthwhile can happen in the end.  Kind of a hope for all humanity.  For a future.

Plus, there’s the emotional factor of having your own heart just walking around on a stage, dressed as a Persian man or a servant girl or a goose.  My heart shaped like a goose.

This weekend we had a handful of various children pass through our home for different lengths of time.  Friends’ children who attended the plays with us or had sleepovers or who needed a few hours of hang out time while their own parents attended to their own responsibilities.  It was a full house.  A happy sort of chaos.  I like these kids.  I love my friends and I love being able to provide a place for their children just as they have provided a place for my children.  It feels like an honor.  I’m happy to be “Piper’s mom” as her friend addressed me this weekend.  And I’m thrilled to have this opportunity to know and be known by the friends of my children.

As I was trekking it back and forth on one of my bazillion trips to the theatre this week (thank goodness for friends to share that transportation burden with) I listened to the load of laughter and story telling happening in the back seat of the car.  I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw the shining eyes of one of our little buddies.  There was just a carload of happy and innocent and satisfied humans being toted from Place A to Place B.

I grinned to myself and audibly praised God for the good good gift of sitting in that front seat escorting that crowd at that little exact moment in time.  Right now & Forever.  Some moments it’s easy to be present.  (And for those moments I am grateful because they help me through all the other moments when it’s so easy to forget.)

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