Life Imitating Art

Since I had children and therefore grandchildren, the amount of surprises I receive in the mail has been reduced significantly. Who could blame the grandmas, really? My boys are amazingly adorable, smart, funny etc. so why wouldn't their grandparents want to shower them gifts?! Yesterday, however, the USPS brought me a totally unexpected and hilarious one: my Junior High production of Bye Bye Birdie.  Apparently, one of our family friends was converting old VHS tapes to DVD, found the play and thoughtfully sent me a copy.  I've held approximately 4 theatrical roles in my life: "assistant scribe" in Bethany Bible Church's rendition of Fat, Fat, Jehoshaphat, "unnamed president" in Daniel, Darius and De Lion (ah, church children's musical titles...so witty) also at Bethany, Tzeitel in Apollo High School's Fiddler on the Roof, and Mae in Palo Verde Junior High School's production of Bye Bye Birdie. 

In case you have not had the opportunity to see this fantastic piece of American musical theater, here's the story:  Albert, a struggling agent and songwriter,  is dealt a blow when his only real client/ superstar, Conrad Birdie is drafted into the army a la Elvis Presley.  In an attempt to procure one last hit before Conrad leaves, Rose, Albert's long suffering secretary and love interest, proposes that they send him to appear via satellite on the Ed Sullivan show from a small Ohio town where he will bestow his farewell kiss on one of his biggest fans and sing his new song aptly named, "One Last Kiss," therefore garnering enough money for him to close his agency and fulfill his long held dream of becoming an English teacher and marry her. Of course, because the show is roughly two hours long, you can safely assume that things do not go as planned and all manner of missteps, misunderstandings and hilarity ensues. 

Enter Mae.  Mae is, well, a stereotypical martyr mama. She is over dramatic, under appreciated, and a hypochondriac.  She is sure that her one and only son, Albert, is about to do himself in or be done in, more specifically by "Mexically" Rose and she aims to stop it by any means necessary. She meddled, she threatened, she bribed, she tried to lay in front of a train.  At 13, I hardly appreciated the depth of the role.  She was funny, didn't sing (neither did do I), and wore orthopedic shoes (musicals are long and your feet can get sore), but beyond that I wasn't overly impressed. What did impress me was the chord she struck with the legions of loyal parents who came to see us every night.  I was repeatedly told that I reminded them of their mom or mother in law, a thought, that looking back is kind of scary.  The fact that there are that many Maes out there is a little unnerving. 

Flash forward almost 20 years. I have three boys which means that, in theory, I will have three daughters in laws.  Three.  Dear Goodness.  I know I will not always be the apple of my boys' eyes. I won't always be the only woman who they adore and call "princess." I won't always get every dance.  So, I pray and pray hard. For these women and for me. When Samuel was really little, I prayed she would love Samuel, but love Jesus more. That she would be smart, funny, and pretty.  That she and I would not only get along, but that we would be bosom friends, bonded by our love of my perfect first born (and Jesus, of course). As time progressed and Micah came along, I prayed their wives would love them, love Jesus, and that they would love me (maybe not bosom friends, but still close).  Now.....I pray they love Jesus, love my son (most of the time), and like me. In short, I don't want to be Mae.  I want to be a mother in law who cheers them on in their marriages, who helps them become the team God intended them to be, who loves and encourages.   I want to be the Naomi to their Ruth (minus the dead husbands, of course).  The thing is I'm not totally sure how to do this.  My mother in law does it. My mom does it.  Its possible. With Jesus all things are possible, right?  So, I'll watch and I'll keep praying.  Praying that I'll be more Monica than Mae and that, in this circumstance, life won't imitate art.