Kicking a pile of unfolded laundry to the other side of the sofa, Shep said, "You're not a bad mommy. You're a great mommy. You're just a bad housekeeper."
I didn't even mind him saying it. Before, it would have made my lips press together into a small grim line, even though there was no rancor in it. He was smiling when he said it. I think he knew this time I would laugh. "I may be a bad housekeeper, but I'm a great mom, a great actress, and a great person."
"And a great %#@!," he said.
My strength is in adventures, though. Madelyn and Sophie each took a turn going with me to the theatre. It was Madelyn, though, who ended up being completely enamored of it. I made her a cubby in the bottom of the dressing room closet with Robin's yoga mat, a spare pillow that was in the cabinet, and my bathrobe for a blanket. She had her backpack filled with stuff. She is a stuff girl, like her mommy. (I've been called "bag lady" in my day.) She watched me while I put on my makeup, helped me organize my bobby pins, ate her lunch at the greenroom table, sassed the other actors, and sat on my lap on the couch for me to read her a story. Whenever I had to go onstage, she cozied herself down in her cubby and waited for me to come back. At the end of the day, I asked, as I do, what her favorite thing that day was. "Being in my cubby," she said. She was fascinated with all things theatrical. I walked her all around the set backstage and onstage, took her through the crossover hallway, where we peered down the steps to the trap room. I showed her the prop cabinet and let her handle my parasol, handbag, lorgnette. Everything to her was a magical little world. When she saw my jewelry, she said, "I want to be an actress! I want to have jewelry and beautiful dresses and makeup."
That's the kind of mother I am.
(2011)
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