Tuesday, August 21, 2012

She's completely fine, her mother's freaking out...

No time to post this yesterday - better late than never...

Couldn't find a pic of Alfred E. Newman in drag as an over-protective mother

So today is the first day of Rissa's aerial arts circus camp.  At the end of her day, she will be catching a bus, riding to the subway, then taking the subway to meet us downtown.  All by herself.  For 45 minutes or more. I might throw up on the keyboard as I'm typing this.

This is our workshop week for the rock opera.  We're doing the 2 birds, 1 stone thing.  We are in downtown Toronto working through 90 minutes of musical material from our soon-to-be-produced Broadway smash hit Mythos: The Crimson Chorus.  (I am dreaming BIG with this show!)  We work from 11:00 a.m. to 7:30 p.m.  Rissa will be having the time of her life at aerial circus camp from 9 to 4.   45 minutes away by public transit.  She is 12.  (Okay, having read that back, my angina just kicked in.)

I need to just re-frickin-lax.  #1 - she's 12, not 6.  She managed just fine when she was 10 in NY when she was taking ballet classes.  We would ride the PATH train in together and she would get off at 9th Street Station and make her way off the subway and walk the one block to Joffrey just fine.  She never died nor was abducted once.   Now she's 12. (Looks at least 15.  She's 5'4".  Carries herself well.) and #2...


I'm going to hurl.  All over the frickin' keyboard.

LATER... 4:10 p.m.
Rissa called to say she was just heading over to catch the bus.  My stomach starts to cramp.  Minor hyperventilation ensues.

LATER... 5:00 p.m.
Rissa has yet to call.  I'm pretty sure that she has been abducted.  I begin planning my vengeful retaliation on the bastards who did her in.

LATER... 5:05 p.m.
I have asked David about a dozen times if he thinks she is okay.

LATER... 5:10 p.m.
We are waiting in line at Subway.  We are getting Rissa her favourite sub as a reward for being so brave -  if she comes back alive.

LATER... 5:15 p.m.
She's not dead!  She is at Wellesley (Well - Lesley as she calls it) Station.  I sprint from Subway, leaving David to pay, run as fast as I possibly can until I reach the corner from which Rissa will be able to see me.  Then I wave in a completely unconcerned way as I saunter nonchalantly over to her. I might have chucked her on the shoulder to show how perfectly okay I am.

"Hey you!  How was your day?"

To which she replies  "It was AWESOME!"

I look her over.  She doesn't appear to have been molested, no clothing askew, no blood anywhere.  Then I take the hand of my beautiful 12 year old daughter (she still lets me do this) and we walk, swinging arms to meet her father.  One small step for Rissa, one giant step for Heather.  And tomorrow I get to go through this all again. 


  1. I hyperventilate letting my eight-year-old son walk to school of his own. It's a four-minute walk. I tell him it's not him,it's me.

    1. The first day Rissa walked to school on her own, I was waiting on the front porch having palpitations until I sneaked a peek and then I ran inside to be all "What, you're home???" and act calm.

  2. Way to go Rissa! ... um, WAY TO GO HEATHER!!!

    1. hee hee hee - We might just start calling you that.