Husband and I both used to work in theatre. Yes, that’s theat-re as in the artform, though Husband currently works in the theat-er with an “er” to mean the building. When you tell people you work in the theatre field, several things happen. Here are really common responses to that vocation revelation:

1. “How fun! I would love to go play make-believe every day!” These folks have no idea how much work being in theatre takes, nor the amount of time. We work at nights and on the weekends a lot, and most theatre artist-types have a day job, too. It’s fun, but it’s work.
2. “My son/ niece/ cousin/ high school best friend is an actor/ playwright/ movie extra.” Usually a silence follows after I say “Oh, good!” My face, however, is telling a different story. It’s usually saying something like “I hope they have a trust fund, have a lucrative OnlyFans or married rich!”
3. “Why on earth would you do that?” These people hate theater.

Managing a theater, like Husband does, takes up a lot of time. Last weekend, I was what I call a “theatre/ er widow” which is when I am left alone because Husband is working. I like to imagine myself dressed in a black lace dress in the lighting booth overlooking at the vast expanse of the stage saying something like, “Twas the fickle fate of the theatre director what took him from me. Curse you, Guys and Dolls!” There are real theatre widows out there, and I hope I never join your ranks from an errant sandbag or misplaced sword. ugh. All this preamble to say that I, with my bum foot and knee scooter, had to care for Boychild by myself.

Boychild has moved out of the “I like to hit you and kick you” stage, so that’s amazing. Very appreciative about that. He has been an amazing helper since the bunion removal surgery. However, he is four, and he is in the midst of a why-splosion. Everything is why, which I kind of love, because it’s neat to learn new things.

We had a very long talk about dumplings. I had wrapped him in a blanket and called him my little dumpling and he required a little explanation. I told him dumplings are wrappings with delicious food inside. Hey- is a calzone technically a dumpling? Anyhow, that lead to a discussion about Thailand, and now he wants to go. When I told him we couldn’t go, the whys exploded. Why? We don’t have money to go to Thailand. Why? We work in non-profits. Why? I have no idea? Why? Well, I guess because we’re bad Capitalists. Why? Because we don’t value money as much as we should? I don’t know.

When you can’t get up and about, you tend to rely on other means to amuse yourself and your child. Our outlet was looking up answers to very important questions like:

Does the moon spin on its own axis? Yes. Yes it does.
When did Bob Ross die? In the 90’s. He was a dedicated smoker. Don’t smoke, kids.
What is nuclear fusion? It’s where two sticky bits of atoms get stuck together (not sure I got this right). Then he asked about thermonuclear weapons and I said, “look over there!” and I scooted away on my knee scooter.
Side note- I named the scooter Valerie. Does anyone else have a compulsion to name everything? What am I, Adam?

Our curiosity sated, I crutched with Boychild outside where I was promptly stung by a bee on my good foot. yay. We hung out and shot the breeze about birds and stuff. Once inside, I spilled an entire container of black peppercorns all over the floor. Boychild swept them up. Good helper. He was singing “Get Lucky” as he swept and I was like, “What are you singing?” and he sang a good portion of the song for me. I had no idea he was a Daft Punk fan. Then we watched The Secret Life of Arietty and went to bed. It were a lovely time. He is an extraordinary kid.

Right now, he and Husband are at the beach, frolicking. Looking at ducks. Meeting all the kids. I’m looking forward to having Boychild all to myself again, temporarily.