Stage Moms and Supermoms — The Shoperones

May 21

May 21 Stage Moms and Supermoms

The Shoperone Way, if we could brand our ethos, is all about wellbeing through a balance of exercise, clean food and managing the stress of mile-long chore lists through sensible prioritizing. Sometimes, however, that plan gets shot straight to shit. It’s hard to be gentle on yourself when you’re riding off the rails, which is why regular check-ins with a Shoperone is super critical.

Commitment takes, well, commitment.

Aside from commemorating the release of this year’s batch of young grads into the workforce, this weekend was all about my one child and his achievements. Having joined a local basketball team this past week and after three practices, Saturday was his first round of games. So, starting at 8 a.m., he was on the court until after lunch time for three games, two of which they won. I was beyond proud.

Out of my mind or just out of my element?

On Sunday, my boy’s youth theater troupe participated in regional competitions, something they’ve been working toward for months. New to competitions like this, I was surprised by the 6 a.m. ‘call time’ where we were to arrive for makeup, costumes and a start time of 7 a.m. I need to reiterate, this was Sunday, the day that’s supposed to be for rest, but never is for moms. That meant, the normal weekly chores were eschewed in favor of this circus for which I was not constitutionally prepared so early in the morning.

I’d had a total of four hours of sleep the night before, so I woke with a startle, queasy and wired from lack of sleep, which set the pace for the day. For those who have been to a competition of this sort, you might be used to all the glitter and sequins, the extreme stage makeup and very young women with red lacquered lips and bare midriffs. And that’s before they start gyrating on an immense stage in a theater, dark as midnight at 8 a.m. But as a newbie, I had no idea what I’d be in for. To add to the disorientation, multi-colored oscillating disco lights ran tracers along the chairs, walls and ceiling of the audience. They also ran across my body as I wandered in and out of the theater, quite aimlessly. I realized I’d felt this way before, mostly in college.

Dance Mom Dance-Off

Our troupe of kids were competing in a comparatively small musical theater category, amongst a sea of lyrical dancers, tap and hip-hop numbers with neither singing nor acting. While our groups did perform choreographed routines, it was more about the ‘triple threat'—the craft rather than the somersault, so to speak. I found it hard not to feel like an antibody among the dance moms who seemed to have the program down to a science. I was convinced of this when, before announcing the awards, they asked the moms to join the stage for a dance-off in front of their children and the entire theater. The display that came next could only be described as a barbarous mom ritual that appeared to be equal parts hubris, vicarious longing, and total abandon of decorum for women their age.

Don't get me wrong, I'm first in line to shake it when the time is right, but usually that time comes after at least one cocktail. Granted, it was noon. And as disclaimed ad nauseam, the Shoperones never judge when it comes to day drinking, so I pray the stage moms were hip-flasking it for the show they gave.

Attempting to describe my nervous discombobulation in response to this whole scene would read like a random page from a Hunter S. Thompson novel. As I sunk lower into my theater chair, I was dazed and terrified at the same time. Good for all of them, I guess. I texted Laura a video of the Dance Mom Dance-Off, pleading, “Help! Where’s my Shoperone?” to which she replied, “The one on meth definitely won!” along with emojis of both a hypodermic needle and a trophy.

In the end, my son got a total of fifteen minutes of stage time during the seven hours we spent there. He won awards for each of his performances, and our entire troupe cleaned up in all of their categories. His pride was boundless, which of course, is all that matters. Now, I wasn’t what you’d call a ‘joiner’ as a young person, so the thought of committing to something in the way he did is not only foreign, it seems exhausting. It wouldn’t be where I’d choose to tap my adrenaline, but I give him major props for working hard, showing up and making an impression. My pride was boundless, too.

But what about Laura?

With all this in my own lap, Laura and I didn’t have much time for our weekly routine of hijinks, shopping and fitness reviews. In fact, the times I’d text her for little stuff, she was slow in responding, which is unlike her, unless she’s up to her neck in it, so to speak.

I realized she needed the kind of TLC she’d give me in a time of need, whether she knew it or not. How was she doing? I gently nudged the discussion via text, and I got the redux.

“Sorry, I’m too busy,” she wrote. Then she explained how this week she’d be handling the following:

A trip to the post office to mail her son’s latest Ebay sale, and hours on tech issues related to this account
Management of a fraudulent charge on her Kohl’s charge by someone in Georgia who tried to order an X Box
More hours on the phone with healthcare incompetents to understand why her dental insurance won’t cover a cleaning
The finalization of her youngest daughter’s 10th grade class schedule (which, she said, was the most confusing thing she’d ever done)
Online shopping for dresses for three school events and a bar mitzvah because said daughter is too busy with essays and finals to shop for herself
Filling out paperwork and booking flights for another child’s service trip to Peru
Planning college tours in New England the weekend they’ll be in Boston

Of course, there was still the list of outside and inside chores. Laura further enumerated:

An amended school schedule which includes a field day, half days and hockey practice
A week of sports banquets, a kid’s haircut, and a doctor’s appointment
Two people didn’t have clean socks this morning
There is nothing to cook for 6 people, two who have dietary restrictions and the remaining four who are just picky
A day-long shopping excursion to buy food and supplies for the 50-person party she is planning in her backyard for her father-in-law this Saturday

Dang. Take a breath, sister.

My weekend with the stage moms seemed silly by comparison. Dumbstruck and parentally humbled as usual, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help. Maybe assist with the school planning or something manual, if needed.

Knowing it’s her remedy for managing stress, I also reminded her, as a Shoperone ought to, that of all people, she needs to try to make time for exercise to keep it together with all this going on. Though it’s not likely she’ll have the time for exercise, I’m sure she will have a complete recovery when the week is through. By the party Saturday, the yard will be pristine, chores finished and the food and drink will be abundant for the guests who don’t understand how her backyard magically becomes a resort in summer. Without a doubt, she will be the perfect hostess, all smiles and wit, with cocktail in hand. And no one will be any the wiser.

Because a good Shoperone pulls it together in the clutch. I don't know about me, but Laura makes it look easy, when we all know it most certainly isn't. Respect.