“All the World’s a Stage”

Yesterday, when our son came from backstage after the 5thgrade performance of Hello Shakespeare, he beamed. A look of joyful pride I’d never seen in him before. Not ever.

And grinning ear-to-ear, he hugged me as if his emotion was too great not to share.

It’s been a tough school year. Academically. Mostly socially. Many days, he comes home quiet. Goes to his room to draw maps or write in his journal. 

I keep thinking that he just needs to feel good at something. Some positive feedback coming from the universe.

Then yesterday, he was a natural Will Shakespeare. A fun-loving ham. As the curtain closed, and the other kids headed off stage, he remained, tossing his bowler hat in the air, smiling at the audience, soaking it in, drawing the moment out a few more seconds.

The happiest, I think, he has ever been.

At least for a day, he found his world’s the stage.

The Madonna Concert: A Letter to the Rockstar from a Mom

Dear Madonna,

I am not a concert-goer. It is too loud, and crowds make me tense. Apparently, I have major sensory issues that no one ever told me about. I only learned about them when my son had the same.

But I REALLY wanted to go to your concert. You just performed in Denver, and the tickets were outrageously expensive. As a result, I may be the only woman between 40-50 in the city who was not there.

I was envious. I admit it. I have always wanted to see you perform. You are a master.

So when every mom at preschool drop-off, and my son’s teacher, and my friends all complained today that you did not come on stage until 10:45 p.m., I did a little mean happy dance.

I am so sorry!

And when they said that some of your new songs were really dark — even offensively violent — I practically twirled. I am not nice. Apparently, if I am not having fun, I want my friends to suffer.

Yet it made me sad. You are a tremendously talented woman with kids who apparently has no idea how the average mom lives. You are a mom. But you are not one of us. And we would welcome you with open arms. Maybe that is why your music is lost. Why you sing songs about killing all your boyfriends and have blood splattering across the big screen on stage. Really?

Madonna, honey, first of all, we don’t stay up past 10 o’clock for anything! These girls were tired when you showed up! The only chance you had was to play all of your old songs that we loved and danced to, those songs that we listened to when we were the 20-something chick we miss desperately in our current state of 40s motherhood. Don’t you have anyone telling you what it is like to be your fan? Who we are? What we need from you on the one night in 365 that we get out — and everyone I know did that for you!

Madonna, come back to Denver and do a concert for motherhood. Come on stage at 8:00. That gives us a chance to have our two glasses of wine before you come on, but we won’t be too tired to stand up stand for you, to dance, to cheer, to scream your name. We will go crazy for you at 8:00. Then sing your old songs, even if you think they are not as musically impressive as your new ones. We have babysitters, or have bribed our husbands into giving us a night on the town, so that we can feel young again, free again, wild again, sexy again. That is your gift if you choose to give it.

Your fans are moms. They are 40-something. You inspire them when you recognize that they are the ones filling the seats. Come back to Denver and do it again… for us this time.

Much admiration,