have been rather busy and stressful. Performance Night for our co-op was Saturday night. One daughter was in the performance of Alice in Wonderland. Two daughters were in the performance of Fiddler on the Roof. In addition to all the stuff they needed (and the house, husband, and other children needed), I was working on costumes for Tweedledum (Abby) and the three Alice dresses (for when Alice grows and shrinks). Of course, I was asked to do the dresses waaaay back in September or October. I knew they were coming. Did I work on them ahead of time? Not so much. I was still hemming late Friday night, at the dress rehearsal. Oi!
Despite some decidedly awful dress rehearsals, the children really pulled it out and did a great job during the performances. Yes, I know that dress rehearsals are supposed to be awful but...Anyway, it was glorious to just be able to sit in the audience and watch everyone perform, which I finally got to do during Fiddler. (During Alice, I had to wait through the first couple of numbers for Tweedledum and Tweedledee to come backstage for their costume change and draw red circles on their cheeks.)
And I did not get many pictures. My teens (and even Abby) are getting to the point where they don't want Mom pointing a camera at them and their friends and saying, "Smile!" They apparently don't mind if my friend, the amazing and talented Denise Owens does, however, so I hope to have some pictures from her before much longer.
Fiddler was such a bittersweet performance for me. For one, we're losing the drama teacher we've had for the last few years. She does such an amazing job with the children and with the performances. And her daughter does the choreography as well. So Becca won't be back again. But the most poignant part of all was watching all of those children (teenagers, I mean) working so hard at their roles. And what roles! I don't think many people who have seen Fiddler on the Roof are not moved by its portrayal of Jewish village life in czarist Russia. Knowing that my husband's family escaped that situation put an extra layer of emotion into it. And then there were the teens themselves.
My daughters were playing Hodel (the daughter who goes to Siberia to marry the Communist radical) and ensemble roles. Of course, the exchanges between my own daughter and her onstage parents brought tears. When she sang "Far From the Home I Love", I felt it, very deep down. When I saw her sister onstage, with her hair wrapped up according to the Jewish tradition of the time, blessing the Sabbath candles, and generally doing what she was doing, I was struck at how beautiful this daughter is, and how close she is to leaving our home for good.
What surprised me though, was the emotion I felt for the teens who do not live in my house. I just love those kids! Getting to interact with them on Wednesdays at co-op is always an experience. Watching them work at their roles (over and over and over again) was amazing. But to see them in the roles, onstage, was another thing altogether. It almost felt like those kids were my own, all of them. It made me teary to see the boys, acting like men, knowing that only a few years ago, they were little boys. And in only a few more years, they will in fact be men. And feeling the same about the beautiful girls, including my own. So close to adulthood, still close to childhood. That was what really hit me more than the play.
So enough babbling...I hope that Xanga will allow me to upload some pictures here. I guess we'll see. I'm including a picture of "the dress" that caused me such stress. If you aren't a Facebook friend, be glad. I've done nothing but freak out about those dresses for the past week. I feel strange today without a needle in my hand.
The Tweedle Twins, during the dress rehearsal (no red circles on their cheeks). The one on the left is mine.
My daughter Rachel entitled this one "Tevye's girls". The one in the green shirt is mine. The ones standing in the back row are the ones with speaking roles.
THE dress. You cannot tell from this picture how voluminous those sleeves and skirt are. Trust me, they were. I can gather like a professional now.
My daughter Rachel and her Communist paramour.