The Mismanaged Stage Mom

Well I did do one thing right. I bought a great handbag, a Juicy couture knock-off outfitted with a multitude of pockets.

But that was about it.

Being a stage mom should have come easily to me. My work for the past fifteen years as a television producer trained me to cater to the best of them: Pouty actors; irritating publicists; and executives angered by the pouty and irritating. But the cobbler’s children’s having no shoes, as my grandmother used to say, rang especially true in my house this summer.

Miss Linda and her Magic Castle School of Dance were holding their annual recital and both of my daughters were to perform. Caterina, my four-year-old, had spent almost half of her life under the auspices of Miss Linda. This would be my three-year-old Sara Jeanne’s first recital. And it was the double duty stage responsibilities that sent me, shall we say, to that familiar place, called “the edge.”

God knows I don’t want to be one of those whining women, but please I was responsible for an elf, a bug, a teddy bear and an Alice in Wonderland. How many bows and bit-bits can one person keep track of? Hair bows, ruffled bows, shoe bows, and bobs for the show bows. I stuffed them all into plastic bags and headed off to Picture Day.

Well I had obviously missed the hand out on the child size garment bag and suitcase monogrammed with the first letter of my child’s name. I emptied out my plastic bags and realized we were missing many a bow and costume piece. I frantically scanned the room. My fellow stage moms were calm, cool and collected. And I was a mess.

Caterina became frustrated, “Mom where are my bug shoe bob bows?” She added in her wiser than thou four year old tone, “And Sara Jeanne can’t be Alice in Wonderland without her bow.”

One mom nicely located extra bows and such for my girls. I felt rescued yet defeated. Was I going to be one of those moms who embarrassed their kids? Was this just another moment for which I needed to donate to the Future Therapy fund?

That evening, I did a little research. In her stage mom guide, Suzanne Schacter, a stage mother of three, claims that “show biz can be a wonderful and rewarding experience for children. It can broaden their minds and develop their self confidence.” At least my parental intentions were on track. And if I played my cards right I might even get nominated for the Annual Stage Mother Awards.

I located all bows and costume paraphernalia. I sorted, organized and loaded up the handbag with safety pins, snacks, extra elastic. I was ready for tomorrow’s test. The Dress Rehearsal.

Except then my car didn’t start. Fifteen minutes before call time at Laguna Beach High School. I phoned the car keeper, my husband Jeff, who informed me the problem was not something a quick stage mom jump would fix. My girlfriend Annie came to the rescue loaning me her PT Cruiser. Stage Mom Suzanne would have approved. I was looking cool and my children were going to be stars.

I blazed through the dress rehearsal. And even gloated a bit over how smoothly I operated the costume changes.

The Big Day arrived. I was bow-ful and confident. Running late—not a good stage mom rule—everyone was dressed and ready. The only thing missing was the quintessential Alice in Wonderland bow for Sara Jeanne’s hair.

I ripped the house apart. No bow. Ran over to Annie’s house to search her car. No bow. She gave me Christmas ribbon with snowflakes on it. The only problem is that I am bow-disabled.

“Those were a special order. There are no MORE bows available,” shared one of Miss Linda’s helpers.

After all that, Alice/Sara Jeanne would be bow-less. And that would have to be okay.

Before the final kiss back stage, I reached into my handbag’s “special place” pocket for a piece of gum. There was that darned Alice bow.

My elf, bug and teddy bear performed beautifully. I was so proud that like any good stage mom, I cried through a Kleenex or two. My grandmother would have been happy to see that, in fact, the cobbler’s kids did have shoes.

When the Alice in Wonderlands took the stage, Sara Jeanne refused to dance. Instead, she smiled and waved to the crowd.

I laughed so hard. I was no dance recital stage mom. Backstage at beauty pageants was where I belonged.

That would be after I fly my mini-van to the moon.