Concerning Plays and Mothers

Yes – it was a musical.

It was amazing.  The acting was awesome and the songs were sensational.  Not two hours after returning Home, I purchased The Secret Garden Original Broadway music.  (Thank you, Amazon!)  The voices will be different, but the songs are the same.  I recognized the name of one of the actors (Dallyn Vail Bayles, who played Archibald Craven) from Certain Movies I have watched and enjoyed (for those who care, he plays Alma, Joseph, and Ahasuerus).

There are a number of Broadway Cast Recordings I’ve fallen in love with over the last few years.  There’s Wicked (or, as a certain nephew once remembered it, Evil ;-)), Tarzan, The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, The Count of Monte Cristo (naturally) – and now The Secret Garden.  I check them out from the Local Library so often, and it is so disappointing when the time rolls around to return them again, that I am very seriously considering buying my own copy of each.  Well, I took the first step last night.  In a week or two, I will have my own CD of The Secret Garden music!

Why do I like music so much?  I like to think that it comes naturally, but I don’t know about that.  I grew up in a musical home, with someone always playing the piano or listening to fun music.  My Mom has taught piano for years, and my siblings and I grew up with lessons.  I can’t say I loved it while growing up, but I eventually appreciated it.  Of course, by then I no longer had time to practice.  I like to delude myself into believing this is a coincidence.

My Mom taught me more than piano-playing, of course.  I may have mentioned that she also taught me Sewing, Knitting, Embroidery, and Netting (one of my sisters taught me Crocheting), all while making sure my brothers and I had homework done, rooms somewhat clean (I am infamous in my family for dirtying a clean room), laundry washed, and ensuring we all knew the fundamentals of cooking.  What my brothers choose to do with those fundamentals… well, it’s none of my business if any of them choose to live off of Mac and Cheese or Spaghetti after leaving home.  They all know better.

Additionally, my Mom provides much support for my hobbies – particularly my writing obsession.  She tries to keep me stay on-track, so I don’t wear myself too thin trying to keep up with all my ideas at once.  She reads my rough drafts, never said anything discouraging about how awful my first writings were (and yes, they were awful – I can’t read them now without cringing), and helps me work through plot issues that come up.  Part of my obsession-manifestation is non-existent limited sense for delayed-gratification.  When I think of a question and can’t solve it immediately, I call her right then, rather than wait until later and talk over all the questions at one time.  She never lets on just how irritating the whole arrangement is, even on those occasions when I end up calling several times throughout the day.

Of course, just because she’s My Mother, that doesn’t make her the Only Mother I know.  There are many to choose from (Grandmothers, Aunts, Cousins, etc.), but I’m focus on three.  My sisters (and -in-law) are – no question – the hardest working Mothers I know.  Homeschooling is incredibly time-and-energy-consuming.  Thanks to their example, I no longer consider public schooling an option.  I’ve had frightful experiences of my own, and seen more horrifying situations in the news.  No child should endure anything like that, or decide that school (and education) is stupid because a teacher fails to engage the class.  They keep the house (more or less) clean, meals ready (more or less) on time, and care for the education and well-being of several children at a time.  What’s more, they keep their sanity intact while doing it.

Not all of them homeschool, but that doesn’t make a Mother any less a Mother.  Each works hard to raise children well.  Some things come and go (clean house, dinner time, schooling lessons), but the children take priority.

Thank you, all, for the work you do.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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