Soliloquies

All four of my children have major roles in this summer’s Shakespeare production of A Winter’s Tale. This is all well and good. However, two problems come to mind. First, costumes. Ariel now makes her own, which is cool because she needs two costumes. In one scene she’s pregnant so she has to bind a pillow around her tummy and a wear Medieval/Renaissance maternity wear. A gown is bad enough but maternity wear—yuck. Luke is wearing a costume I made for him a few years ago. Matt doesn’t get to wear the cool doublet, cape, shirt combination I sewed last year because this year he plays “The Clown.” So, I only have to whip up a ratty looking tunic. Jacob gets the uber-costume this year. He picked out the pattern for a belted doublet with a lined cape. Yep, it’s a lot of work. He got to bear a small amount of the burden when I made him cut out the pattern. But the bulk of it awaits me. I’ll be sewing for several weeks. Still I’ll listen to a book on tape, preferably an Elizabeth Peters’ novel detailing the lives of the Father of Curses, the Brother of Demons (who seems to be the exact representation of Luke, even down to the scowl), Nefret, and Amelia Peabody, who could best Indiana Jones with her umbrella/saber tied behind her back. Now you’re in on my secret—sewing isn’t a burden, though I’ll say it is once I get started.

No. The real burden is all the soliloquies that are going on all over the house. (Thankfully, Matthew doesn’t have a line this year that is equivalent to last year’s “You are an ass!” Yeah, he always “needed” to practice that one.) Instead, my assorted children meander around the house spouting Shakespeare. When one starts, the others begin. The practice session morphs into who-can-be-the-loudest-without-flubbing-their-lines, and I experience cacophony by Shakespeare. I can be heard above the din only if I shout and say, “I’m writing and your noise pierced my bubble.” (The kids call writing mode my “bubble” because they believe that I become so deeply involved in my imaginary world that nothing can penetrate. Writing is referred to as “Mom’s in her bubble.”)

But, now the kids have found a way to penetrate the bubble—Shakespeare. Hmm. If I complain, they’re going to say I brought it on myself. I’ll have to withdraw into my bubble and consider a comeback line.