My Real Life

In February 2004, I went on maternity leave, from the district where I taught, with Monkey Boy. While on leave, I saw an opening for a Social Studies teacher in the middle school I had attended, and the district in which I lived. I jumped on the opportunity.

In September of that same year, I started my new position. I missed my people from my old district, but being in that school felt like coming home. Slowly, I started to make some new friends, and as I got to know people, our conversations moved from the superficial to learning more about each other.

On one particular day, there was a meeting in my classroom. After the meeting, people were lingering and during the course of the conversation, I mentioned that I taught piano lessons after school. The heads of two women, Tara and Jean, whipped around and Tara asked, “You play piano?” I answered that I did, and she followed up with, “Do you sing?” When I said yes, my memory tells me that they rubbed their hands together and cackled with glee, but it probably was more like them simply asking the question, “Would you have an interest in being the musical director of the spring musical here?” To which I answered a resounding “Yes!”

That first year, we did The Wizard of Oz and I was absolutely hooked. Always a musician, and always a fan of musical theater, it just felt right. And working with my friends was the icing on the cake. For the next 20 years, I taught hundreds of middle school actors and actresses the words to every song that was sung on that stage, and taught them how to sing those songs. It was exhilarating. It was exhausting. I loved it.

Wizard of Oz. Annie. Peter Pan. Back to the 80’s. High School Musical. Shrek. Guys and Dolls. Willy Wonka. The Little Mermaid. Beauty and the Beast. Every year I got to see children come alive on the stage. Kids who never felt quite comfortable in a classroom became characters and sang and danced their hearts in that auditorium. Kids who didn’t connect with other kids and sat alone in the lunchroom became part of the theater family and were never alone again. Kids who thought they were one dimensional learned that they had so much to offer. And kids who didn’t speak above a whisper grew in confidence and often stole the show. And I got to see the magic.

I will scream it from the rooftops until my dying day. The arts matter.

Monkey Girl was on that stage for three years. Duffy, in Annie. Glinda, in the Wizard of Oz. Belle in Beauty and the Beast. Monkey Boy was a pirate in Peter Pan. Baby Monkey worked his way from backstage crew to Stage Manager. And, for the past two years, Tiny has worked props and backstage crew.

As I write this, tomorrow night will be my last show as musical director at the middle school. After 20 years, it’s time to pass the reins to someone else. I no longer work at the school, having moved to the high school in September 2022. There are so many young, fresh faces at the school, and I’m sure that somewhere in that building, is someone who will be an excellent musical director of that show, and bring a new perspective. And I’m so excited for them; for what lies ahead for their time in that auditorium. For their particular brand of magic.

I’m sad. As much as I know that it’s time to go, I’m sad. As much as I’m excited to see what comes next, I’m sad. I love those kids. I love that theater family. I have made some of my best friends in that room. I have shared laughs and tears and arguments and more outrageous stories than one could imagine with my fellow directors.

I’ll see them all again. I get visits in my high school classroom from former middle school theater kids, now almost grown. I am friends on social media with former middle school theater kids who are definitely grown, with children of their own now. This isn’t the end of my belonging in that theater family. Once a member, always a member.

But as for my time in that particular room, tomorrow night, when the curtain closes for the final time, that’s it. It’s over. I’m done. I am so proud of every kid that has ever graced that stage in any capacity. I am so grateful for the small part that I was allowed to play in their lives. We made magic together. and, in case you didn’t know, magic is always a part of you. No matter where I go, or what I do next, they all come with me, safely tucked away in my heart.

I leave you with my director’s note from the Playbill. And I challenge you to find some of your own magic; be it big or small. Something that makes your heart sing. Because the song may end, but your heart will always remember the tune.

Tonight marks my 20th and last FMS Spring Musical. Over the past 20 years, I have had the privilege of teaching every song that has been sung on our stage, and that is not an experience that I take for granted. Music transforms the human experience. The stories of adults with dementia coming alive when a tune from their childhood is played speaks volumes to the power of music. It is my greatest hope that, at any point in their lives, when our FMS Theater Alumni hear a song that they sang, played, or moved set pieces to, they are filled with the warmth and joy that I have when I remember our time together. We have sung Dorothy home from Oz, let our voices carry us to Neverland, musically transformed ourselves into middle school gamblers, and allowed music to take us to so many other magical places. Every year was my favorite year, including the nine years that each of my four children were involved; either on stage, in the pit, or behind the curtain. The friendships that I have made in this room are among the most meaningful of my life and will last far beyond the final curtain call tonight. The arts matter. Music matters. Children matter. As I turn out the lights on this chapter of my life, I thank you all for sharing your children with me over the years. Belle will ask the question tonight, “Is this home?” For me, this room and this stage was my home, and I am grateful for every moment spent here.

So, let me start by letting you know, I’m not discussing actual mean girls, however, as a middle and high school teacher for the past 30 years, I can tell you PLENTY.

No, I’m discussing the latest iteration of Mean Girls. A movie based on the Broadway show based on the movie based on the book, “Queen Bees and Wannabes.”

Let me also say that there are…spoilers…I guess, if you don’t know the book/movie/show/movie at all.

Full disclosure, I’m an enormous fan of the original movie, and before it left Broadway, I was at 3 viewings. Am I a fan of how the original movie portrays teachers? No, I am not. But, as a teacher, I’m aware that they can’t all be “To Sir, With Love,” or “Dead Poets Society.”

The original movie, starring Lindsay Lohan, was a straight up movie. The Broadway show was a musical from top to bottom, and this movie, based on the Broadway show is also a musical. There are bound to be differences between a Broadway show and a movie, and people seem to be having a tough time with the differences between these two…this writer included.

I’ve listened to the Mean Girls Broadway soundtrack more times than I have, perhaps, ever listened to anything, over the years. Okay, that may be a stretch, because my childhood record collection, and later cassette definitely got workout, (#80skid, #80steen), but you get the point.

I was well aware, going in, that this wasn’t going to be a direct stage to screen translation of the show, however, I think I wasn’t quite as prepared for all of the differences.

Some of my favorite numbers in the show are favorites because of the volume and the pure power and force behind them. They bring chills to your skin as you are bathed in the strength of the voice you are listening to and there is nothing you can do but listen in awe.

In this movie, however, they reworked much of the music, I would assume to accommodate the different voices, but some of these big moments just didn’t work as well. They would use half of a song, instead of the whole song, or just make it more understated. Perhaps a first time Mean Girls initiate would be fine with it because it was all that they knew, this fan didn’t love the choice.

For example, I love a good cafeteria singing montage, (High School Musical, I’m lookin’ at you, kid), and the Broadway version of Mean Girls does NOT disappoint. The movie version pulled out much of the song, turned it into dialogue, and it just felt…underwhelming.

Even the opening number, which is a high energy, fast moving song that brings us from Kenya to North Shore high was different. The movie gives us this slow, pensive piece that just doesn’t give me the opening that I craved.

I think a TikTok that I saw the other day describes another musical choice best. The song “Revenge Party” was fairly well done, but they wrote parts of the song differently, again, most likely because it’s hard to match Erika Henningson’s range. The TikTok shows the person who made the video lip syncing the lines “I can’t even watch when she touches his hair, and I watched a snake eat a cow.” The first time, she mouths the words, it’s to the Broadway version, and the second time, it’s to the movie version. The side by side comparison just hits. One gets you riled up for Cady. The other? Not so much.

Same thing with another TikTok video. This one with “Stupid with Love.” When they play the Broadway version, you can feel the bloom of first love. But, over the movie version are the words “After a lobotomy.” And I’m sorry, but it’s true.

It’s not the fault of the actors. I think they cast it well, and don’t even get me started on Renee Rapp. The last time we saw the show on Broadway, she was Regina George, and I was nervous because I loved Taylor Louderman. My fears were unfounded. And she slayed as Regina, again, in the movie. Absolutely slayed. (And I hear she is killing it on the interview circuit as well.)

And, poor movie Karen. Her one song, “Sexy,” was auto-tuned through the roof, and they made her character almost unlikeable instead of lovable.

There were some changes that I liked, but then they didn’t follow through with, so that was confusing. For example, in the song where we are introduced to our villain, Regina George, she sings a song where she says “…and I never weigh more than 115.” They took that out, and I don’t remember what they used to take its place, but I was like “Okay, I like this…body positivity.” But, then later, they still ran with the storyline where Cady tricks her into eating nutrition bars that make you gain weight and she can only fit into her sweatpants. Sooooo…still focusing on girl’s weight?

I don’t know. It was okay. Would I watch it again? Maybe. But I’d actually opt for the original, non-musical version over this one, and we all know that I’m all about the music. So, I feel like that’s saying something. But, for people who are being introduced to Mean Girls through this movie, I guess this will be their canon and they’ll look at Broadway and the original and cheap imitations.

After all, don’t they all think they discovered Kate Bush through Stranger Things? Sorry kids…weep your way through “This Woman’s Work” in “She’s Having a Baby” and then we can talk.

I’m tired, friends.

And, even in my exhaustion, I feel the need to clarify that this is not a post asking for pity or accolades or any response at all, really.

But I do my best to be transparent here, and that means sharing the good with the bad.

And right now, I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

If it gives you any indication of my current mental state, my Christmas tree is still up, the wreath is still on my front door, and there’s a cute little Santa sitting on the table on my front porch.

Yesterday, I posted on Facebook asking people to eat at our local pizzeria for the March fundraiser for the bell choir I direct.

Until someone wrote “I thought that was next week?”

Which it is.

I haven’t read a book in I don’t remember when.

And that’s saying a lot.

What’s it saying?

I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

I should also mention that I don’t want to hear anyone asking “Where is Real Man?” as I type this post, because he is working and spending a ton of time at his Dad’s house, pulling up carpet, pulling down wallpaper, sanding, painting, etc. And in between, he’s making dinner here and dealing with other things.

We’re tired.

Right now I’m part of the “sandwich generation.”

It sounds more delicious than it is.

The sandwich generation is the ever-changing group of adults who have at least one living parent over the age of 65 and at least one child under the age of 18, or are providing financial support for a child over the age of 18.

That’s me. That’s me. Oh, that’s also me, and me, and me, and me.

I’ve been mulling this blog post over in my head because I don’t want to come off as sounding whiny or “poor me.” But even as I write it, it’s how it reads to me.

And, with a very few exceptions, when people ask how I am, I say “Great, thanks, and you?” because I am mindful of not wanting to be the Eeyore in everyone’s day.

But, I think I’m not alone, and I think that most of us are just sucking it up and getting it done and not really saying anything about it.

And I think we are all tired.

As I mentioned in my “Turkey Driver” post, we lost my beautiful human being of a father-in-law in January.

Two weeks after we lost him, I wound up having to call 911 to take my Dad to the ER because he couldn’t walk, was hallucinating, and it was terrifying.

Turns out, it was a combination of dehydration and a urinary tract infection, which can be deadly in the elderly, because they don’t feel it.

(Take note fellow sandwichers…and keep an eye out for it in your loved ones)

He went from the hospital to rehab and for weeks and weeks, I did the “teach/play rehearsal/piano lesson/hospital/rehab/collapse into bed from exhaustion shuffle.”

And I was happy to do it.

I’m the only child of two only children.

There are no siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins to go see or check in on my parents if I don’t do it.

And I am happy to do it.

I’m not sure my Dad enjoyed my constant badgering about the importance of staying hydrated and exercising, but now that he is home, he is on the bandwagon and is amazed at his own strength and stability and oh my goodness, if only someone had been telling him to hydrate and exercise all these years!!!

Ahem.

However, three days after my Dad was released from rehab, my Mom fell and broke her hip. She had to have a partial hip replacement and is now in…rehab.

So, the shuffle continues.

And I’ve used all my personal days for the year so that I can be there for meetings with doctors, etc.

And I’m happy to do it.

And don’t see my repetition of “And I’m happy to do it” as me trying to convince myself or me trying to convince you.

I truly am happy to do it.

I don’t want anyone to ever feel alone, especially my parents.

But I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

And, let’s be honest…the bad things aren’t happening to me. They are happening to the people around me. It’s not my tragedy.

I’m not going through rehab or laying in a hospital bed. I’m not relying on other people to do for me. I’m not having to relearn how to walk.

I am fortunate.

And I’m tired.

I’m also not the only one.

All of my friends my age are dealing with the same types of things.

And they are tired.

The other things I’m doing are all things that I enjoy.

I love my job. I love teaching.

But teachers are “on” all day long.

There’s no cubicle to retreat to. No office where we can go for a moment.

I’m on stage all day, currently trying to make the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Revolutions relevant and fascinating to high school students.

Love those kids.

We just finished play season.

Rehearsal until 5:00 every day, and all day every Saturday.

The kids KILLED on that stage and it was an amazing show.

Directing the bell choir, planning the summer tour, preparing for our concert in May.

I cannot wait to take these kids overseas.

Teaching piano lessons.

Every one of my piano students is a lovely little human.

It’s all good stuff and I enjoy it and am happy to do it.

Still, I’m tired.

But I’m still going.

I don’t even really know the point of this post, anymore.

I’m not complaining, I’m sharing.

And it’s okay for me to say that I’m tired.

And it’s okay for you to say that you’re tired.

We are all tired.

What I’m doing isn’t more than what you are doing.

Each of us are following our own schedules, battling our own demons, caring for our own families.

Still going.

And doing it tired.

I think the problem is that we all think we are the only ones.

We say “Great, thanks!” when asked how we are because we feel like everyone else has their *&^% together and we are the only ones who are overwhelmed.

We hide it. We smile. We fake it, thinking we just need to fake it until we make it.

So, take this rambling nonsense and know that you aren’t alone.

And, listen…

This year, we might break our record of not taking the tree down until St Patrick’s Day.

Hell, I might just leave it up all year at this point.

So, if you walk or drive by, or even come in…maybe don’t mention it.

But know that if you’re tired, too, I see you and you are not alone.