About This Blog

Rated P is a sketch comedy musical about parenthood celebrating the wonders & lunacy of raising kids from conception to college. This blog, written by Rated P's author & lyricist, Sandy Rustin, offers up a humorous and heartfelt look at the nitty gritty business of parenting.



Sunday, May 12, 2013

Lounge Chair Lady




Last year on Mother's Day, I wrote a post about my Mother's Day gift: a lounge chair. This year, I was honored that a version of that post (see below) was selected to be read in the Listen To Your Mother show in NYC at Symphony Space. Tonight, while my own mom sat in the audience, I shared the stage with 15 other women (and 1 man) all reading their own humorous and heartfelt pieces on motherhood. It was an extraordinary experience. 

And then I came home, took off my plastic multi-colored beaded lanyard bracelets given to me this morning and kissed my snuggly boys goodnight. A perfect Mother's Day. 

Lounge Chair Lady
 
I got a lounge chair for Mother's Day.

I love it. Those wooden slats represent the promise of a Lounge Chair Lady's life.

Women who have lounge chairs read the latest issue of Elle Magazine while letting their toenail polish dry. They sip pink lemonade out of plastic cups that look like they're glass cups. Mosquitoes don't pester them and the sun never overheats their iPhones. Women in lounge chairs don't have children. Or, they do have children, but they're wildly independent. Women in lounge chairs have something in the oven; it smells so good, you can smell it from their lounge chair.  

I bought mine a fluffy white cushion. While the saleslady was ringing it up I pretended that I am a person who can keep cushions white. I dismissed my knowledge of impending drippy ice pops. "Not on my chair," I thought with bravado while she swiped my debit card. 

I went home and sat on my white cushioned lounge chair and dreamt of what mother's day would be, now that I Am A Lounge Chair Lady. 

...  

I wake up leisurely. Anna, from Downton Abbey, stands at the foot of my bed. "Morning M'Lady," she curtseys. Sunlight streams into my bedroom as Anna hands me a Cinnabon. It's just an appetizer though; Michelle Obama is awaiting my company for breakfast. She's spending Mother's Day visiting Moms across the land, just to say "thanks." She's already been to my girlfriends' houses - she's invited us all to the White House later for a party where Vera Wang will greet us with fancy dresses.  

Julie Andrews brings my children up to see me. They're wearing matching outfits made out of curtains. They sing a precious song and call me Mother. They give me necklaces made out of Macaroni & Diamonds.

Meanwhile, downstairs my husband is dashing in a tuxedo. A limo waits outside. Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights is our chauffeur. He hands me a glass of chilled champagne. We drive to the beach and windsurf without pulling a single muscle. My hair is not frizzy and I'm not a bit self conscious in my bathing suit.

All my relatives show up for a picnic. Everyone is healthy and in a great mood. They're all wearing white with sassy, vibrant accent pieces. Sand gets in nothing as we spread out to eat perfectly portioned sandwiches and salt & pepper potato chips. My Granny has brought banana cream pie from Chicago for dessert. It has no nuts so everyone just puts their epi-pens away.  

My dad, my kids and I build the world's biggest sand castle and the record keeper from the Guinness Book of World Records is there to give us an award. Julie Andrews keeps it in her pocket so it won't get lost.

Oprah stops by with Gayle to say hi. We all agree to meet up later at the White House party.

I cross my arms and blink and suddenly everyone is home.  My kids are thrilled it's bed time.  I sing to them, and Julie Andrews compliments my voice.

"Happy Mother's Day, Darling," my husband says, and whisks me off in Airforce One. I dance with the president until it's time for Tina Fey's speech. She winks at me. She's read my blog. "Call me," she mouths. And just as Barbara Streisand gets up to sing... 


...

I am hit in the head with a soccer ball. Turns out my lounge chair has been declared "goal!" And moments later ... a pirate ship. 

And so on this Mother's Day, I set my imagined chilled champagne aside and accept the fact that my "Lounge Chair Lady" status will simply have to wait. Instead, today, I raise a sippy cup of organic, no-sugar-added apple juice, to tiny pirates, short soccer players and white cushions already spotted with fruit punch.

4 comments:

  1. Such an amazing piece and your delivery was superb.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Great piece. Great performance. It was lovely to share the stage with you Lounge Chair Lady.

    ReplyDelete