Mommy Nani Booboo Guest Post!

I am pleased to introduce you to Mommy Nani Booboo (not her real name... seriously) a blogger whose work I have admired since entering the scene...

Not only do I like her because she is a fine writer with an excellent sense of humour - but she is a genuine gal!

I had a little 'bitch' the other day about some of the big guns of blogging who are too cool to answer me... but Mommy Jenn (yes note - I call them Mommy because she is from LA and Mums are Moms over there...) has answered my every request including "How do I change fonts?" or something equally as ridiculous!

Instant respect!

She even forgave me when I made her post - post of the week and then cut and paste it on here instead of linking it to hers (and then left it on here because I couldn't figure out how to delete it) hahaha - I live and learn...

It is my honour to present to you the guest post that I assigned : How is parenting like acting

Do me a favour and drop by her blog and if you love it as much as I do & become her disciple.

Without further ado.....

Here it is....

The Show Must Go On

Sharni asked me to write a guest post on her blog.

I blushed and said okay.

She said I could pick a subject, or she could give me one.

I figured with the way my life has been going lately, I would probably write about poop or vomit… so I wisely suggested she give me a topic.

Do you know what the crazy Aussie gave me? “How is acting like parenting?”

My first response was- uh… it’s not.

As I started thinking about this post, my brain was bombarded by examples of how my present life and past life are on opposite ends of the spectrum, really.

So, I decided to roll with that.

My present job is being a full time mommy.

My previous job was as an actor, both on screen and on stage.

Soooooo not similar!

Allow me to elaborate:

There is no hair and makeup team!

When I wake up in the morning, I do not enjoy a cup of coffee as a talkative gay man puts my hair in rollers, while regaling me with tales of his love life.

If I get a little “shiny” from working too hard, there is no lady with a big powder poof to blot my T-zone.

There is no one to hide my blemishes, enhance my lashes, conceal the bags under my eyes, and dust on a naturally rosy/sun kissed glow.

I don’t even wear makeup nowadays.

My hair lives bunched up in a clip at the back of my head, and I don’t shower unless I have to. Sometimes, I can’t even remember if I’ve brushed my teeth- my toddler doesn’t care, and my dogs actually prefer things that stink.

There is no Craft Service

“Craft Service “ is a term that loosely translates to: oasis of food, and people who are present simply to serve you food, warm your food, or keep it chilled, and make sure you never, ever go hungry.

There are meals at mealtime, snacks all day- ALL DAY, coffee, tea, and pretty much whatever you please.

I am actually getting a little weepy writing this, because I am a mother who loves food, but was cursed with a great aversion to cooking.

Oh, I do it- because I’m responsible for keeping my family healthy. Yup… that’s pretty much the only reason I do it.

There are no stand-ins

This doesn’t so much exist in the Theatre, but when doing TV or film, you get what is called a stand-in.

Focusing of lights and camera angles, etc, can take a long time, and instead of standing there for hours while they focus lights on you- they bring in your stand-in.

This lovely person is generally your height/weight, skin coloring, and hair coloring.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, with a toddler who’s missed his nap, and really wants to dump the potted plant out onto the floor, or eat some lady’s purse sitting next to us, because we’ve been waiting for over an hour … I can’t tell you, how many times… in those moments… in the back of my head… I’m screaming for my stand-in. The stand in that never comes! Never freakin’ comes.

She doesn’t exist

There is no stand-in for mommy.

There is no script.

I don’t know how everything is going to play out. I am not guaranteed a happy ending.

No one has given me the right things to say.

I was always very good at learning my lines… where are my lines?

On the other hand…

There is no script.

I don’t know how everything is going to play out.

It’s all a big surprise!

I can make up and say whatever I want.

I walk around the house talking to inanimate objects all the time (like you don’t).

And I’m MOM, so what I say goes.

Even if I just pulled it out of my ass!

Who cares?

It’s called improvisation- it’s an art form.

You most definitely will “grow a sandbox in your tummy if you eat any more sand!”

I’m not memorizing it, I’m living it.

Now that I’ve had a chance to vent a little, there’s some breathing room in my head to see the brilliance of Sharni’s question.

Maybe acting and motherhood are not alike in the superficial ways.

But there are some fundamental things about acting, not the glitz and glamour, the real things, the things I love about it, the things that make it noble- these are the things that have followed me into parenthood.

Applause

Every actor is addicted to the applause.

It means you’ve moved people into clapping for you.

You’ve made them laugh, cry, think, something- you’ve done something to make them respond in a way so primal, as to take two parts of their body and slap them together to make a joyous noise.

That’s cool.

Every parent is also addicted to this applause.

Hot Nerd (my husband) would stand on his head, wiggling his toes, while meowing like a cat, if it would make my son clap with glee.

I puff my cheeks and cross my eyes a million times a day because it makes him squeal with delight. I am his dancing monkey, and I don’t mind one bit.

I gotta tell ya- I never thought any sound would make me feel as good, as several hundred pairs of hands clapping for me as I take my bow, until I heard the sound of just one… one pair of itty bitty hands…

Perhaps the biggest and most real way that acting is like parenting for me, can be summed up in a phrase I’m sure you’ve heard before:

“The show must go on.”

I remember once, years ago, as I was walking down a dirty Chicago street, I somehow got a thin metal rod stuck in my big toe.

I KNOW! How does something like that happen?

Anyway, it looked like some sort of unraveled, wire coat hanger, and it attacked my foot by completely bypassing my sandal, and firmly lodging itself in my big toe.

It was seriously in there- sticking way out the other side and everything.

Now, I had a theatre performance of A Mid Summer Night’s Dream in about 2 ½ hours that I wasn’t about to miss.

I was a main character, with no understudy, and well, you just don’t leave your cast, and a theatre full of people, hangin the breeze.

It’s just not done.

It’s the same with TV and Film.

Time is money- literally thousands and thousands of dollars.

And for the most part, actors subscribe to an unspoken, sense of duty.

The show must always go on.

So, back to the story: I couldn’t walk, what with 6 inches of metal sticking out of the bottom of my toe and 12 inches out the top.

So, I parked my butt on the sidewalk, and slowly started wiggling that metal rod.

I then started tugging at it a bit, took a deep breath… and slowly pulled it all the way through, and out, of my toe.

I walked my bloody self home, had a friend take me to the ER, got some x-rays, told the doc I had a show to do, got a tetanus shot, and made it to the theatre 20 minutes before show time.

I gobbled some painkillers, changed my bandage between scenes, and had a great show. There was never a question of not being able to perform.

Actors will perform with broken bones, and broken hearts. It has to be done-it’s for the greater good.

Parents subscribe to this same philosophy: the show must go on.

In fact, the show never stops.

Doesn’t matter if you sprain your ankle, have a fever, or are just plain exhausted- you are the star of the show and it’s your job to entertain!

I have thoroughly surprised myself with my ability to carry on, no matter the circumstances. You could have a fever of 105, or be feeling crushed by stress, or tending to your own very broken heart- but when you’re needed, you put on a brave front, you smile to let your little one know everything’s okay, and you dance a little jig to elicit a squeal from him or her.

It’s only backstage, in the “wings”, or in your dressing room, that you allow yourself to feel crippled by life.

Because you’re the parent- you have no understudy, no stand-in. That’s the hard part… and also… the best part… because you’re the star… you’re… IRREPLACEABLE.

So, I tip my old, slightly withered hat to you, my fellow parents. Because whether you took Drama class in school, starred in your high school play, been paid the big bucks on a movie set, or never took an acting class a day in your life- if you’re a mom or dad, you know the real meaning of “The show must go on.”

I applaud you.

Take a bow.

I am bowing as I type this - thanks for an enlightening and impressive list of similarities - knew you'd come up with the goods!

Love the bit about the applauding from one set of hands.

Love your work.

Seriously !

Blog Post of the Week: The Smoke Detector that broke the camel's back

This weeks Blog Post of the Week comes from Mommy Nanni Boo Boo!! .....who by the way will be my guest blogger next week some time - so this warms you up to her style.

I like it a lot.

Why did I choose this post?

She writes so well, I feel it was me... standing there... freaking out....

Hope you enjoy it too

The Smoke Detector that Broke the Camels Back

There is only so much a person can take.

Human beings (yes, mommies too) are fragile, as much as we don’t like to admit it. We disregard this fact. We push it deep down and pretend to be super heroes. We call it “necessity”, because after all, someone needs to take care of the house, feed the family, change the diapers, walk the dogs, keep the doctor appointments, buy the groceries, enforce nap times, wipe the noses, do the laundry, do the ironing, schedule the play dates, and generally keep the world spinning.

If you follow my blog, then you know that I have had ONE HECK OF A MONTH. With our new apartment falling apart around us, not having heat, Bam Bam getting sick, myself getting sick, and Hot Nerd struck down by the h1n1 virus , my mettle has been tested.

A couple weeks ago, I shattered into a million pieces. My fortitude was reduced to the equivalent of a soft, albeit tasty, cinnamon crumb cake. One touch= an avalanche of crumbly crumbles scattered all over your plate.

What was the culprit you ask? What evil superpower led to my eventual undoing? Two words for you:

SMOKE DETECTOR

Please imagine, if you will:

Hot Nerd is out for the evening with a friend. They are spending a late night at the roller derby (No, you did not misread. I really did say ROLLER DERBY.) At a little after midnight, I am jarred awake by a very high pitched, disturbingly loud, BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I jump out of bed with my heart in my throat and blindly throw my pillow at the… I don’t know… whatever I thought was attacking us at the moment!

Silence.

I feel around in the dark, breathing very heavily, and switch on the light. I scan the room briefly, and then, three very loud BEEP BEEP BEEPS!

I realize that it is the smoke detector in our bedroom, and become very afraid that it will wake Bam Bam and scare the living crap out of him, like it did me. It is not making a constant string of beeps. Just three piercing beeps, followed by about 20 seconds of silence. You know, just enough time to catch your breath, and remember what silence sounds like, before another round of earth shattering BEEP BEEP BEEPS.

This lack of a continuous string of beeps, leads me to believe that it has something to do with the battery. I thank the powers that be for putting a 9volt battery in our junk drawer, and quickly hop on top of our son’s step stool to change the battery.

I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO CHANGE THE BATTERY. I see no button, or hatch, or twisty- pully thing. I know there’s a battery in there somewhere because BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I begin simply swatting at the thing. As if to clear the imaginary smoke from around the device. I must point out, that the thirty days leading up to this point has already left me ill, sleep deprived, and the biggest walking ball of stress you’ve ever seen. So please forgive me when I tell you all that I begin to pry the thing off of the wall. I gotta say, nowadays, they really stick those things to the walls. It would not budge- okay it budged a little. But being on top of my son’s tiny step stool, balancing on my tippy tippy toes just didn’t give me the leverage I needed. BEEP BEEP BEEP. So I start to beat it. First with my flat hand, then with my fist. Magic fist, apparently. Magic fist that makes the battery pop out of a weird, hidden, battery slot. YAY. I change the battery.

I praise the Gods that Bam Bam is still asleep in the next room and begin to climb down from my post.

BEEP. Silence.

Huh, that must be the beep that tells you you’ve successfully changed the battery.

BEEP. Silence.

Okay… that must be the beep that reminds you to perhaps check the batteries in the other smoke detectors...

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I scramble back up the step stool and start slapping the thing. I’m also whispering vehemently, right up into what I imagine to be it’s face, “What do you want from me, you mother fucking piece of crap? I will kill you. Do you hear me? I … will… KILL YOU.”

I can not fathom how any of this is possible. How does a nice, new shiny battery produce MORE beeping. It was teasing me. The fucking thing was teasing me.

While I’m up in it’s imaginary face, whisper/yelling at it, I notice a teeny button that says press to silence.

Oh my God, I press it.

I soooooo press it.

It is silent.

Then it is not.

BEEP.

It’s a softer beep. Not a silent beep. The button should say press to get a softer, only slightly less annoying beep.

I, at this point, am wondering what kind of futuristic, indestructible, alien smoke detector this is.

I have also worked up a sweat.

And I’m crying.

I can not think of anything else to do, but to stand there on my toes and keep my finger on the stupid button. I am amazed that my son has not woken up, and if the loud beeps start again, my brain will most definitely explode.

I stand there.

My arm goes a little numb.

I stand there.

On my toes.

On my son’s step stool.

In the corner of my bedroom.

Feeling completely trapped.

Then I jump off, run to the nightstand, grab my phone, run back, and press the button again.

I decide there is nothing else left in me. I call my husband. I tell Hot Nerd that I need him to come home. It’s an emergency. I’m at my wit’s end. My fingers are numb. I’ve got a cramp in my calf. And I’m very, very, very tired.

I give him the low down on the phone. He’s at a bar, they just ordered food…blah blah blah. I don’t care. I tell him I’m about to go crazy and he needs to come home. His friend, jokingly suggests that maybe our place is haunted, and this all being done by a ghost.

I instantly believe that this is true.

There is no other explanation. It is an evil spirit trying to terrorize me.

I begin to sob, uncontrollably.

Hot Nerd says he will be home as soon as possible.

I must add, here, that this whole ordeal has completely fried my two little doggies. They are shaking, and skittering around, and this only confirms my belief that the evil spirits are out to get us.

Hot Nerd takes about twenty minutes to get home.

I spend that time sobbing, stuck in a corner, with my numb finger on that stupid button, tirelessly scanning the room for ghosts, and praying that I don’t become possessed by demons. Our closet doors begin to rattle. Our apartment is so shoddily made, that they rattle when anyone enters the building, but at that moment, I’m pretty sure they are rattling because of pure evil. I truly don’t remember the last time I was so terrified.

Hot Nerd, when he arrived, let me cry on his shoulder for a few seconds, then went through a series of similar tasks with the battery. Every time we thought he had fixed it, a random beep would occur.

Finally, we figured out it was the stand up AC unit that was in our room. We keep the fan on for noise, and the vent was pointed straight up at the smoke detector. At least we think that’s it. We moved it. It didn’t beep. Beep or no beep, I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

The next morning, Hot Nerd suggested in a very gentle way that I might be a little over stressed. He suggested I schedule a massage for the following weekend to relax. This is why he is a genius. And also why he is hot.

I still glare at that smoke detector when I’m in bed. That little, round thing was the last straw for me.

I broke.

I could take no more.

Sometimes the mountains we carry on our backs just keep piling higher and higher. We’re too busy pointing out how high the mountain is on our spouse’s back, or making sure a mountain never gets to start on our children’s backs.

So let this be a reminder to those reading:

Unless you wanna go bat shit crazy on a battery operated device, that is supposed to save lives, and swat at imaginary demons in your bedroom- take some time every now and then to lighten your load.

It’s not hard. A warm bath. A massage. A yoga class. An exorcism.

Something.

Because you never know what the last straw will be.

What do you think? Hope you enjoy her style as I do...

I was trying to quit my sugar addiction when...

I was awarded a fabulous Sugar Doll Blogger Award!

wish I had of at least brushed my hair to accept it.

What a start to the day!

Woo-hoo!

Quix from Quixotic Life (ha ha sorry don't know her name!) has awarded me a most prestigous award for my blog.

I would award it back to her but then this would never end.

Thank-you!

So in return I am to pass it on.

Now just yesterday I gave a big shout-out to all my favourites - so looks like I have to go there again.

There are some I plug all the time who I think deserve this so heregoes:

Mommy Nanni Boo Boo this woman is funny. Seriously. (upcoming guest blogger for me..)

Woah Mama - great humour, inspiring fitness regime!

Consumption Rebellion - inspires me to be a better human being in general

Maisie and More - like her style

Girl Gone Child - this blogger is big-time, but hopefully not too big-time to accept award from Sharnia! Her blog is the epitome of cooool mama blogs.

Check out these if you haven't already - I sing their praises almost daily.

I am meant to write 10 things about me here aswell but feel I have done this already (times ten) 100 random facts about me here if you missed them.