Tuesday, March 12, 2013
I had one of those awful memories yesterday. You know the ones...something happens and all of a sudden you remember something from your drinking days that makes you feel like shit. Yeah...those.
The oldest-at-home and I went to get the hubs a new phone after work yesterday and then stopped by the school to drop it off. Everyone is in full out crazy mode because the musical opens on Thursday. One twin is the lead and the other has built the set (along with help from the hubs). Once again I was struck by how blessed I am to not only have the best six kids on the planet but also to be married to the best husband/father on the planet. These drama productions have brought us even closer as a family and I'm grateful that we've been sucked into the vortex.
We stopped by the store on the way home to pick up a few things and began chatting about all of the school's productions since they started attending there. That's when the memory hit. It came and punched me in the gut and almost brought tears to my eyes.
See...I've been to most of the school productions...but not all. The first few I didn't get to because I was too busy with my ass in the chair sucking down a couple of bottles of wine a night. Go to a high school play? Puh-lease. That kind of stuff just doesn't interest me. Oh...my kids want to go? Well then I'll go and see it one night but that's it. By the way, how long does it last?
In other words...don't bother me, I'm drinking.
Then I got sober. And about the same time, the kids began to get really involved. And so that's when we started to get really involved. Then last year's musical is when I started the "I-want-to-see-every-rehearsal-and-performance" syndrome of which I now gladly suffer. I even sit in a different place in the auditorium every night so I get a different view of the performance. It gives me such joy to see how hard these kids work and then watch them as they grow and succeed. I cry a lot at these things...they are tears of joy and gratitude. My hands are bruised and sore by the end of the season from clapping so long and so loud. I've usually lost my voice because I've been hooting and yelling "Bravo!" And my hamstrings and quads are a little stronger from all the standing ovations I've given them.
I am so grateful for these sucker punch memories. They keep me sober. I wouldn't trade my life now for all the Chardonnay in California.