Out to dinner with my loves at Cafe Wortner

Audrey's Marathon Birthday

Audrey has been planning her birthday for months...six months to be exact.  Because, while The Bear was enjoying her special day, Audrey was bemoaning the fact that her birthday would never be here and alternately letting us know exactly what she expected from her own special day...which certainly would never come because six months might as well mean 'infinity' to a four-year-old. Shockingly enough, we proved her wrong.

The 24th, for John and I, was a little bittersweet.  We spent the day thinking about all the things Audrey was doing that would never be done as a four-year-old again--so much awareness that we will never get this time back.  Meanwhile, Audrey was fairly bursting out of her skin to let us know: one day.   One. More. Day. and she'd be five.  The kid who usually insists on moderation was ready to bubble over with excitement.  So, John and I reluctantly got the girls ready for bed and gave them their last goodnight kisses before the morning brought a new age (Remember, B has also now graduated to the official title of three-and-a-half) and,  as I left their room for the night, I took one last look at my little Dragon, tucked up in her blankets like a burrito, wiggling her feet in anticipation.  That wiggly burrito fell asleep giggling, which felt like a perfect metaphor for our past year together.

You've heard the term "Christmas in July"? Narcissism and parental pride aside--this is what Audrey's birthday is. (I mean, seriously...she was born on the 25th...I rest my case.) The girls woke up eeeaaaarly.  It's summer...in Vienna...and they got up before the sun.  This is a feat in itself.  I was going to suggest we all join in a birthday snugglefest, but Audrey had already seen her new bicycle and nearly refused to even sit on the edge of my bed.  So, like a shot, we were off!

Audrey took a good look at her sweet new ride, gave the bell a few rings and then realized that she had a stack of presents waiting for her...and that a saber tooth tiger was waiting for her on top of it all.  Even Bailey had a little half-stack of half-birthday surprises at her place.  Manic.  They were just over the moon.  In seconds, the order of the day became to attack these presents with bouncy, frantic joy. Audrey encouraged her sister to help rip paper...and Bailey joyfully announced every gift, eventually bouncing with them, each in turn, around the dining room.  There were cards and happy presents from so many people back home; even though our families weren't here, the girls managed to wrap them all in the celebration.  Magic.  Just magic. In the end, there were gorgeous dresses and exciting new movies, a real magic wand and a beloved saber tooth tiger--but really, just a tidal wave of joy to start the day.

And we hadn't even gotten to breakfast yet.

This year, we've started a tradition of making birthday cake pancakes...which really just means we make pancakes and dump an entire bottle of sprinkles in the batter.  More magic.  Not to mention excessive amounts of bacon and, because Audrey is a Summer baby, in-season Austrian strawberries that are just to-die for.  Epic start to the day.  By 9am, Five is confirmed as the best age yet.

Then we moved on to getting dressed, which, with so many new clothes is no easy decision.  In the end, I was flabbergasted that Audrey chose the snowy tiger t-shirt I bought her from the zoo.  I knew she had been jealous of the boys who get to wear cool shirts, but this was a genuine surprise.  Perhaps we're moving into a new age of Audrey fashion?  Meanwhile, Bailey donned a dress her Emma had sent which turned out to be just gorgeous--absolutely darling.  Once her father and I were done exclaiming at her cuteness, The Bear demanded that she and her sister be allowed to eat their rainbow lollies...for second breakfast.

More birthday dreams come true.

Audrey's original plan had been to hit the pool, but the day dawned kind of cool and overcast.  Of her own accord, the kid suggested the alternate idea of going to Monki Park, an insane indoor playground complete with a giant bouncy slide.  So, we were off. The rest of our morning was filled with slides, ball pits, trampolines and troops of other crazy kids buzzing around us all.  We only stopped to inhale french fries and chicken nuggets before heading back into the storm.  On her last trip down the giant slide before leaving, though, Audrey had a bit of an accident.  She tried to avoid sliding into a boy who was climbing up the slide, planted her feet and did a really odd barrel roll while holding my hand, eventually landing awkwardly on her neck and shoulder.  It was one of the strangest tumbles John or I have ever seen a kid make.  Needless to say, she was whisked away by her mama to make sure all her parts were in working order and everything seemed to be ok...come to find out five minutes later that her elbow must have been hyperextended and was hurting something awful.

We were en-route to take our beat-up birthday girl straight home when she perked up a bit and actually seemed interested in stopping for ice cream.  This was something we had been hearing about for months; the declaration that Audrey would get to have a cone with three scoops of ice cream on her birthday.  Elbow injuries aside, one would think this would be a momentous occasion....One would be wrong...in part.  The kid ate that ice cream like it was her duty--determined to push through to check the task off her list as part of her birthday marathon.  In the end it was a little comical...at least for me.  I wanted so badly to document this as one of her 'firsts', but the only looks she would give me on camera were grim determination.  If Audrey proved nothing else, it was that being the birthday girl ain't easy.

After that hectic morning, early wake-up time, and buzz-kill injury, the girls were worn down.  So, they were both tucked into Mama and Papa's bed when we got home, Audrey with her elbow propped on a bag of frozen okra, and both girls given strict instructions to relax and watch Puss in Boots on their Papa's iPad. (Side note: these are the times when I begin to understand that scene in Gone With the Wind where all the ladies are ordered to pass out for naptime between the barbecue and the dance.)

So, the girls relaxed and John and I set the stage for the coming party.  I had so much fun decorating Audrey's cake this year.  It was so hot outside that I had to keep everything in the fridge and decorate it at the last minute so it wouldn't melt into a puddle by party time.  In the end, we wound up with chocolate cake, separated by a layer of cherry filling, bordered with whole strawberries.  It was topped with rainbow chip frosting, a border of fresh cherries and blueberries, two kinds of sprinkles and a fairy riding a baby unicorn, holding a candy cane.  All by Audrey's design.  The kid might be a genius, is what I'm saying.

Anyway, movie time eventually ended and friends started coming over.  The girls proudly distributed kid-sized fruit-flavored mineral waters to their friends (I mean, seriously, could we be more European?!...But equally as serious: dehydration is your worst enemy.) and soon every toy was on the floor and there was a steady stream of screaming, balloon-wielding children running around the apartment like we had planned a marathon.  Then there was pizza and spilled drinks and sticky fingers...and eventually more running and screaming.  Now, I'm not really a party planner--I just make sure no one will starve to death and let the rest fall into place--but I was really excited when one of Audrey's friends discovered her stash of stickers and instigated some impromptu craft time.  I just stood back like it had all been planned.  *Mom of the Year*

Through the screaming and running and eating and coloring, Audrey had been having a lot of fun and was showing a remarkable amount of patience, but I knew she was really anticipating her birthday cake.  It is no small feat to get that many cats children to stay in one place to sing happy birthday, but in the end, I led the stray wanderers to Audrey like the pied piper; fabulous unicorn cake also has that affect on children, it turns out.

Our Audrey girl was understandably shy, being serenaded and set at the center of attention; she sat on her Papa's lap and asked him to help her blow out her candles first before she gained the courage to blow out the rest.  She got to take her baby unicorn off her cake, licked the frosting off his feet and then asked me about ten times if she could eat her cake before actually digging in. When I finally sat down next to her to eat my own slice, she gave me her signature arm squeeze and quietly exclaimed in wonder that her cake had been exactly like she wanted.  At this point it was getting really hard for me to pick what my favorite part of the day had been, because the kid just kept pulling my heartstrings.

To say the party started to wind down after this would be a confusing statement for anyone who isn't a parent.  It was more the sense that children were starting to hit the manic state that immediately precedes either a complete emotional meltdown or falling asleep on the floor...sometimes both.  Marathon birthday parties will do that to a person.  So, party clean-up went into full swing and people started searching for the shoes that Bailey had hidden around the apartment.  We said goodbye to our friends and I drew up a relaxing bubble bath for the birthday girl.  She stayed in the water until the bubbles were gone and her fingers were pruny.  Then it was time for a bedtime snack and a review of the day in pictures.  When I asked her what her favorite part of the day had been, Audrey answered that it had been her cake.  She even set her unicorn-riding, candy cane-wielding fairy at the foot of my bed and told us that her fairy would protect John and I while we were sleeping.


Did I mention the heart-string pulling?

It was a BIRTHDAY--all caps--no doubt--BIRTHDAY, man.  We were all exhausted and glowing from the residual fun lingering about the apartment.  Just, wow.  Audrey knows how to plan a marathon day of partying.  Let me know if you'd like to hire her for your next event...just make sure you start training in advance.








           

To Audrey on Her Fifth Birthday

Dear Audrey,

For some reason this year, I haven't been able to keep myself from holding onto your final days of being four, kiddo.  I've been overwhelmed with the feeling that this year has sped past us and the knowledge that you'll never be four again has been staring me in the face.  Five years ago, I was laying awake at night, impatient to meet you, wearing tracks up and down our street during the days, convinced I could somehow walk you into existence.  In the end, you waited until the heat became overbearing and jets started zooming over the house to celebrate boat race weekend.  You also waited until I could eat two jelly donuts before heading to the hospital, proving, my dear, that you are such a good child.

And, you are such an incredibly wonderful girl.  You fill our lives with light with your sweet, imaginative personality.  You love nothing more than to casually while away the day playing make believe, splashing about like a fish in the water, screaming and running with your sister or, really, anything that involves a playground. While you're not busy gadding about living the childhood of dreams, you are being so absolutely, unbelievably clever and thoughtful.  You blow my mind about ten times a day with the things you create, imagine, and do for others.  It frightens me, to tell the truth, what you'll be capable of five years from now.

But for now, I'm looking forward to this year.  Five.  Five is going to be a honeymoon for us, kiddo.  Sure, we'll needle each other and disagree over silly ticky-tacky things, but right now, life with you is nothing but lovely.  And this is where I want to spend every day--with you while you'll still have me.  I love you madly, my girl.

Mama Gigi    
     

Tis the Season...for Naked Babies

Fa la la la la la la la laaaaa!  I've decided to touch a bit here and there on some of the cultural differences that we've observed over the past year or so.  And since it's our second Summer here, I'm going to dive head-first into the most glaringly obvious cultural difference (for anyone in the US not living in a nudist colony) for this time of year: Nudity.  It's everywhere. And it's actually not shocking or offensive.

To start with the basics, people in Vienna, for the most part, live outside their homes.  They work, they eat out and when there's free time--they go out...to the park, the pub, a performance or a club...doesn't matter.  They're out there, living their lives in public.  (I realize I'm leaving out the portion of society that sits at home with their cats, smoking cigarettes and complaining about the neighbors, but they're probably naked too.) Understandably, when the weather turns warm, people flock to the park and the beach--bodies dotting every bit of green in the city.  And a lot of them are naked--or at least close enough for the casual observer.

Now, there are specified areas in parts of the city (usually along the river) that are designated as nude/FKK (Freikörperkultur or basically 'free body culture').  I understand this concept is something that is cause for a lot of giggles from us Yanks, but from what I've seen (and, believe me--it was enough) nude beaches here are mostly a lot of old, wrinkled, leathery-tanned people standing around casually talking to each other like they're not totally naked.  If that didn't pour ice water on any assumptions that nude beaches are sexy, I don't know what will.  But, honestly, there are no strict rules for keeping the nudity in it's place here.

For starters, a lot of beaches don't have public changing rooms--you either have to change in a cramped bathroom stall or rent a cabinet for yourself.  And from what I can tell, most people just chose to change in public.  This is not a big deal; one either strategically covers themselves with a towel or goes Full Monty without a care in the world.  Such is life.  So, it becomes quite commonplace to walk amongst people in various stages of dress at the beach.  And that is just a small hop, skip and a jump from not really minding the grandma who couldn't bring herself to go bathing suit shopping, the mama who wants easy access to nurse her kids or really anyone who just wants to avoid tan lines.  In the end, it doesn't matter why--once you've seen enough (I cannot stress enough the importance of the word) *normal* naked bodies, that giggly immature adolescent part of one's brain seems to just give up and accept that this is what normal people look like naked and it's actually not a big deal.

Maybe it's because kids here start out this way--naked--and not just the natural way they entered the world, but it extends well into kid-dom.  Nudity is totally acceptable. These kids are raised in a city boasting beautiful nude figures on nearly every building.  There is nudity around the corner at the neighborhood fountain, plastered about town on advertisements, and kids, themselves, frolic around naked as the day they were born as long as the weather calls for it.  When there are mud and sand pits at every playground in the city and a bevy of water-filled activities to boot, it becomes commonplace for a mom to forgo schlepping around a spare set of clothes and a wet bag in favor of letting the kids gad about as nature intended.  It has actually taken me a full year to realize this and it makes an incredible amount of sense when basically every day is spent letting your kids get good and dirty.

And that's really all there is to it.  The nude form, culturally, is considered normal.  Children are raised by parents who consider it normal.  They play with children who also consider it normal, and grow into adults who are able to walk past a topless woman without batting an eye.  In the end it nearly makes me weep that nursing women in the US are subject to so much scrutiny when just across the ocean there is a culture that quite simply has made a non-issue of bare skin.

But there you have it:  culture.

And this is one aspect you'll certainly hear me telling jokes about, but never actually complaining.  The world, in my mind, could do with a bit more Freikörperkultur. 

Praising the Day(s)

"One shouldn't praise the day before coffee."

You guys, this year has been weird.  Mostly weather-wise.   It's a lot for this sun-loving gal to take in and certainly overwhelming thinking about writing anything.  By now, everyone and their brother knows that our Winter lasted forever.  Spring kept trying to peek it's lovely face around the corner only to be smacked down by days that were more deserving of heavy sweaters and leggings.  And then came the rain.  Oh, Lord! The rain!  The Danube flooded like crazy and I suddenly became very grateful that this city has spent years diverting water into a gazillion different branches that all get some version of the name "Danube" stuck to them.  So, after the rain and flooding came SUMMER.  All caps.  Two weeks of sweltering holy-dear-God-where-did-this-come-from heat.  And we were in the swimming pool every day of it, soaking in the sun and glorifying the comfort of shade only to be deflated by yet another cool spell--this one punctuated by girls quietly asking why we suddenly weren't allowed to behave like fish anymore.  Now, finally, at the tail end of July, it seems we've finally settled into days that are just perfection; clear skies, warm sun, cool shade, just right for swimming.

Sweet snuggly babies in the sun

And that's where we've been--every day--out in the sun, the shade, the water, letting the wind blow in our hair and only coming home when exhaustion has consumed us.

We're getting ready for Audrey's birthday and trying to wrap our minds around a trip to the States this Fall.  But, mostly, we're on some kind of family Honeymoon, where the order of the day is to spend as much time together as we can, doing the things we enjoy most.  Every day is not easy, but it's good-- just lovely. This is the time of year when it's impossible not to love Vienna, and so, it's what we do.

Papa love

Headfirst into Summer!

shlip, shlop, flip, flop...we broke in the girls new flip flops today.  You know what that means?  It's Summer, baby!  I am shaking off this Winter (and, yes, I consider the time period between November 2012 until last week to be Winter--we skipped right over Spring) and we are leaping--diving--headfirst into Summer.  Days spent outside soaking up the sun, sticking our heads under the water spigot at the park, splashing, digging and bare toe-ing our way through life.

I've been so quiet for months, it seems. These past months have not been easy.  But, when life feels hard, I focus on my little world; my girls, my best friend and doing life together. (Even if it just means asking them repeatedly to tell me not to turn the heat on in June and for their forgiveness at the sight of yet another straight-from-the-freezer-section meal at dinner time.)

It hasn't all been hard, though.  Loving my girls is easy.  Audrey is sprouting up like a bean; she grew an entire shoe size in two months and her leggings and long sleeves are suddenly ridiculously short. For homeschooling, we've been digging into a new curriculum to get our big girl started with reading.  She's getting it and she's jazzed.  This learning things at home thing--teaching kids their numbers and letters and how to read--it has always been a part of motherhood that has intimidated me (along with realizing I'd have to style someone else's hair or try not to scar them enough to merit a relationship with pharmaceuticals), but I'm finding this involves a lot less stress than I had anticipated.  I love watching Audrey learn--letting her know that the whole process will be hard and frustrating and ultimately rewarding.  Watching her struggle and stretch her brain and then having the privilege of witnessing the excitement and joy as she pushes through a barrier and comes to a new understanding.  Wow.  It's one of the cooler things I've done as a mom.

Bailey is in the throes of being a three-year-old.  A phase, which I'm coming to understand Audrey didn't really go though.  Little A kind of had to deal with the whole not-being-the-center-of-the-universe thing at the age of 18 months when her kid sister badda-boomed her way into our lives.  So, John and I mostly just find it confusing why Bailey feels the need to talk back or flail, screaming on her bed while demanding completely opposing desires. (I WANT BARE FEET DON'T TAKE OFF MY SOOOOCCCCKKKKS!!!)  It's amazing how these little people can make you feel like a jerk just for following their orders.  It's a good thing the Bear is cute and that when she's not busy being a three-year-old, she's basically the sweetest kid around.  Bailey is a lovie dovie, if not somewhat violent, (watch those elbows!) snuggle bug.  She genuinely loves EVERYONE and she'll tell you.  She's big into her movie plots and pretty much sings her way through the day. Overall, she's full of joy and light...with a tendency towards the bi-polar.  We're working on mindfulness, but some day I'll try to catch on video the crazy-eyed hysterical laughter she emits while she's trying to figure out how to control her feelings.  Growing up ain't easy.  

Together, the girls are doing really well--thriving, really.  We've had an incredibly close eye on Audrey since we pulled her from Preschool and from what we can tell, she's actually becoming much more confident and engaging with her little group of local friends and she's even going out of her way to befriend kids at the park.  In the end, though, our girls are each other's best friends and while I'm sure there will be all manner of squabbles in their future, they love playing with each other--living in each other's pockets. One of the greatest treats in the world for them is to have time to stop for a game of pretend together.  With schoolwork clogging our morning hours, these games seem to be becoming more and more precious to them.

Outside of our little day trip to Laxenburg, we've been sticking close to home.  There's still enough of Vienna for us to enjoy fourteen months later.  We're anxiously awaiting the day we'll be able to buy tickets for our grand trip back home, though.  As it is, we've got enough destinations and people we want to see to last us three months in the US.  But, we'll keep being patient, keep enjoying Vienna, the sun, and each other...and we look forward to the tidal wave of joy that will accompany getting to see so many faces that are close to our hearts when the day comes.

Leaving a Legacy...The Willian Way

I think deep down most people have at least some kind of desire to make a name for themselves--to leave a legacy, however small-reaching it may be.  From the pharaohs of Egypt to the everyday Joe just trying live life in the best way he can imagine--we're all hoping we'll be remembered for something.

Even though I haven't been writing much lately, I've been meditating on why I write--who I'm writing for.  And the answer invariably comes down to my children.  I write so they can look back and see what their life was like before their little brains were capable of forming coherent memories. This is really the only legacy I'm consciously leaving behind; our story.  So, I'm writing and I'll be back-dating a lot of events from this early Spring because I don't want to lose them. I've had a bit of writer's block these past months...most of which I attribute to a rude Viennese waiter who threw me completely off balance, but to be honest, my lack of writing has had a lot to do with the weather--first the unforgivable snow and then the glorious weather that soon followed.

My bi-polar emotions have not boded well for my writing.  But, now I'm back...because I realized in all my brainstorming that something has been missing from this space.  My real legacy has yet to be documented.  And by this, I mean, the legacy of The Willian.  I want my kids to know what life was like when they were little, but I also want them to know where I've come from.  The real me is not pulled-together and soulful.  I am messy and unhinged and more than a little uncoordinated. So, without further ado, I introduce you to The Willian's top three clumsy moments in reverse chronological order:

Incident #1: The scene?  The illustrious (for Springfield, MO) University Plaza Hotel circa 2006, where I am a (really super important) PM supervisor at the front desk.  Sometimes they let me wear a radio and carry an enormous set of keys...mostly the perks are getting the night chefs to cook me whatever I want for dinner.  (these guys loved me so much they made me a funnel cake and a root beer float for my "last supper")  So, you get the picture.  Narcissistic Willian is kind of a big deal at the old University Plaza.

A lot of days at this job are nightmares--it's a convention hotel where there is commonly a complete turnover of the hotel in one day--meaning over two hundred people checking out and the same number checking in that same evening.  The sales team routinely oversells the hotel, leaving the front desk to MacGyver their way through most evenings, fitting square pegs into round holes.  For the most part, the front desk staff feels like a fleet of bad-asses, getting the harried job done and doing it with flair. On the flip side, there are rare periods of time when people just aren't booking conventions and events...nights when the only sound in the hotel is the rushing waterfall in the atrium.  Absolute bliss.  It was on one of these nights when I was manning the desk solo that I stumbled (quite literally) into a classic Willian flub.

Because playing solitare and repeatedly changing the genre of music playing in the atrium just weren't doing it for me any more, I was in the midst another of the Willian's favorite pastimes, namely: staring into space vacantly...likely thinking about bunnies or something else furry and adorable.  Subconsciously I had angled one of my feet over the other and was flipping my slip-on shoe on and off my heel.  I could have been holding this particular attitude for an hour...God only knows. But, suddenly the revolving front door was moving and it appeared that one of my eleven check-ins for the night had arrived.  Rapture!  No sooner had the man rounded the bend to the front desk than I attempted to saunter down the long desk to meet him at the nearest console.  I plastered a smile on my face, shifted to the left, and realized much too late that my shoe had caught on the corner of the slightly-open bottom drawer near my feet. I proceeded to fall to the floor in a motion that can only be described as felling a tree--stiff as a board, uttering only a muffled, unintelligible grunting cry as I disappeared from view.

From the perspective of the guest, one moment I was there and the next I was gone.  I'd imagine the loud *whump* and grunting/dying animal sounds that accompanied my fall (if not the sight of my fingers clawing back up the desk) clued him in.  But, ever the professional, I bounded back to my feet and pretended nothing had happened.  I am nothing, if not fleet of mind...but certainly not fleet of foot.

Which brings me to incident #2: In my freshman year of college I was prevailed upon to take one last Math class before moving on to the rank of people who have no practical use for the pythagorean theorem. This class was the bane of my existence--something that had to be endured three hours a week.  So, imagine the giddy joy I felt when our professor dismissed class fifteen minutes early one lovely Spring day.  As I attempted to reconcile what was usually a mind-numbingly depressed exit from that building in the Quad with my suddenly joyous countenance, I turned the wrong way out of class and left through the grand front facade of the math building instead of the side exit.  As I walked outside, my spirits lifted even higher; I discovered the sun was shining with nary a cloud in the sky.  I drank in the blinding sunlight and was planning which patch of grass on campus would soon be graced with my presence during those precious extra fifteen minutes, as I skipped down the shallow steps...and then the world fell out from under my feet.

Or rather, I misjudged where the last step before a plateau in the staircase had been.  Yet again, like a great falling oak, uttering a surprised; "Aaaaccckkk!", I was propelled forward, arms flailing, flat onto my face.  I imagine the momentum of my incredibly heavy backback only aided both the speed and certainty of my decent...and that same hefty weight, pinned to my back, left me feeling like I was trapped under a boulder.  I have no idea how long I flailed about, displaying my general lack of upper body strength, muttering obscenities, until my brain engaged and informed my body that I could roll over on my side and slip out of the behemoth lump that had me pinned to the ground.

Like a turtle, I flopped over onto my back, pulled my arms free and as I rose from the ground, dusting myself off, I realized that the Quad had not been entirely deserted as I observed from the top of the stairs.  There, at the foot of the math building, stood a solitary bystander, his face frozen in confused horror.  In hindsight I probably should have just introduced myself as "Willian", but I'm pretty sure I just plucked my backpack from the ground and acted as cool as someone with dirt on her face possibly could. She's a sophisticated lady, that Wilian...

Which is probably why I have this third and last story in my book: Top clumsy moment #3.  Most people don't hit their peak in High School, but, given the circumstances, I don't see how I could have risen any further.  I was a person of note in High School, mostly because I was one of three girls who could see the tops of the remainder of the collective student body's heads. But, in addition to my super-awesome awkward height I was also a confirmed nerd by all standards. No, really.  Like, Band-President-on-the-robotics-team nerdy. And if that weren't enough, I was also big into theater.  I took drama class and even attended drama camp in the summer.  I supported and performed for the community theater and, of course, performed in every school-orchestrated play.

So, it wasn't at all surprising that I was involved in a performance of the play "Spring Break" my Junior year.  This play was just one in a hundred of your typical high school play scripts.  I'm assuming the reason we bought "Spring Break" was because we wanted to spend as little money as possible, knowing everyone's parents would still pay the price of admission.  So, I found myself landing a really small supporting role with something like five lines.  I spent most of my time during rehearsals in the dressing room, applying layer upon layer of stage makeup and curling my hair.

A few nights before our first public performance, things had reached a fever pitch...as they tend to do when there are haggard mothers and unappreciated teachers trying to direct an unruly crowd of hormonal teenagers through one of the world's worst stage productions.  The director had lost all patience with our lot and declared that we were in full no-nonsense dress rehearsal mode.  Anyone who missed their cue would be the one who made us stop and begin again from the top.

No one wants to be that guy.

So, I was actually trying to listen to the monitor in the dressing room as I obsessively rolled my hair in my curling iron for the um-teenth time...and I realized my cue (the male lead receiving a pie in the kisser) was coming up much sooner than I thought.  In a frantic hurry, I threw down my curling iron, and beat feet from the dressing room on stage left to my entrance on the opposite side.  The problem in the mix, however, was the combination of my utterly insensible footwear and a gorilla in my way.  No, seriously.  In the pitch black, back stage, a kid in a gorilla costume was standing with his back to me.  He heard my sandals schlepping and stomping at a frantic pace and chose to leap out of the way...which, incidentally, turned out to be *in* my way. The two of us collided, hurtled and rolled down the corridor as my knee slammed into the hard wood floor, taking the brunt of our last catastrophic roll...I could've stopped to make sure my limbs were all in operating order...or maybe just to cry because it REALLY hurt.  But instead, I muttered something I later had to apologize for to gorilla boy and hobbled towards stage right as fast as humanly possible.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON!!  Panting, disheveled and smudged, I limped frantically onto stage just as my schoolmate took a pie in the face.  The two of us made eye contact and then burst into hysterical laughter. I'm pretty sure the physical evidence that my knee had swollen to the size of a grapefruit was the only thing that kept our poor, beleaguered director from following through on her word to start back from the top.  The show went on.  In the end, our parents suffered through two hours of that performance that they will never get back...and I spent my remaining time in the dressing room elevating and icing my knee.  Ten years later, I still have no feeling in my right kneecap thanks to a man in a gorilla costume and my general Willian-ness. 

So that's it, friends and neighbors. A little extra-special glance into the inner-workings (er...disfunctionings?) of The Willian--one of my favorite aspects of my personality.  If I am remembered for anything, I hope it will be that I was anything but perfect...and that sometimes being less than perfect can be the best.