Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoons...

S&M. Stages and mothers. Two things that should never ever be combined because once they are fused, they create a tight, powerful bond similar to that of gorilla glue and wood. The mother cannot be separated from the stage.

Having had too much contact with these mothers as of late, I have divided them into four groups:
the overprotective, worrywart mom
the competitive mom
the "I take everything seriously when it comes to my child" mom
and, of course, the "my child is living the dream I could never live myself" mom

Now, of course there is some overlap. You can have a competitive, living the dream mom or a worrywart taking it serious mom or any other combination. The point is that for the most part, if you are a stage mom, you will fall into one of these categories.

The overprotective, worrywart moms are the ones who come into the administrative offices to sign their children up for theater classes, even though they can mail in their forms just as easily. They do this so that they may not only meet with someone to discuss the school and see who the teacher is, but also to ensure that the teacher is aware that their child is shy/quiet/often sick/prone to asthma attacks/allergic to bees/sensitive about his big ears and to see what the male to female ratio of the class is. Logically, the male to female ratio of a musical theater class for 7-8 year olds is, oh, 1:16. IF that. These mothers will sit in the front of the office for an hour and a half and hem and haw about the fact that little Timmy is the only boy signed up so far and that makes him uncomfortable. They will then ask that you go through everyone else's registration forms in the class and tell them what towns all the other children attending are from. This is necessary when coordinating soccer practices of other siblings. Once classes start, they do not leave the classroom until they are sure that little Timmy is not going to burst into tears. Timmy will not burst into tears. Timmy will start screaming and yelling and go into general disrespect mode. Timmy is a brat.

The competitive mother calls up for registration and immediately tells you that her daughter, we'll go with Sue, is amazing and should be in the 9-12 year old class even though she is just now 6 years old, because she is that talented. She is better than every other 6 year old because she has more experience and it just isn't fair that the other children should hold her back. This registration, which should take all of about 10 minutes, is a 45 minute ordeal complete with you having no choice but to say "Oh, wow" as enthusiastically as you can push yourself to be, when in actuality, you don't care that Sue is on Sesame Street, Martha Stewart, Jerry Springer, Oprah, or Conan O'Brian. Sue, meanwhile, is screaming in the background the entire time about how she wants to go play at some other kid's house and why isn't mommy paying attention to her? Can she have a cookie yet? Once class starts, she will start talking to any other parent sitting out there and immediately ask them about their child. This isn't actual interest; it's summarizing the competition and giving her an opportunity to brag about her child. A typical conversation goes like this:

Mother 1: Which child is yours?
Mother 2: The one in the pink in the front.
Mother 1: Oh, she's cute. How long has she been doing this?
Mother 2: Thanks. This is actually her first acting class.
Mother 1: I see. My Sue's been doing this since she was 6 months old. Someone told me she should be a Gerber baby, so I got her an agent.
Mother 2: Oh, really?
Mother 1: Yes. She's been in countless commercials, she's doing Sesame Street, and next month she's going to be making an appearance on Ellen as a little star singer. She's been taking voice lessons since she was three.
Mother 2: Wow. Are voice lessons necessary at this age?
Mother 1: Oh, definately. If you're serious about it and they know they want to be a star one day, you have to start them as young as you can. You want to give your children every advantage so that when they're 7 or 8 and can start to audition for Young Cosette in Les Miserables, they have a fighting chance.

This is a method mothers use to intimidate one another and make the other mothers think that they aren't doing all they could be to push their children to make it. I mean, if by 5 years old, a child doesn't have an agent and has no idea how to act, then maybe she won't be on Broadway. Maybe she missed her chance to be truly great. Maybe she'll be stuck working in a dog food factory manning the production lines because her mother didn't think that voice lessons were necessary in kindergarten. This, of course, also plays on the fears mothers have that one day their child will need therapy and everything will be their fault.

The "I take everything seriously when it comes to my child" mom acts more like an agent than a mother. She will call up for registration and ask if she needs to bring a resume and headshots to the first day of class. No, she is not kidding. She will then go on for about 10 minutes about how wonderful her precious Nate is. And yes, her child's name is something douchy that will look good on the cover of Teen Beat in 10 years when he is the heartthrob she is grooming him to be. Like Nate or Corey or Ashton or Everett. He will, of course, drop his last name and go by his middle name, equally as douchy, so you end up with Nate Benjamin, Corey Lawrence, Ashton Scott, and Everett Michael. No Goldstein has ever been the next Leo. On the first day of classes, mom will seek out the director of the school, bypassing teachers and assistants, to discuss little Nate's potential directly. She has no regard for time and will literally talk to the director, regardless of classes starting or other parents, as long as she feels is necessary. This undetermined amout of time is genarally about 20 minutes per parent, which is great when the class is an hour long.

And finally, the "my child is living the dream I never could" mom will call to register her child and spend hours on the phone with you discussing how she has always loved theater. Her favorite role was Dolly in Hello Dolly and she really got a great number of compliments on her interpretation of the text, but unfortunately, a career as an actress wasn't in the cards for her. But little Emma (a name made popular thanks to the Friends phenomenon) is very excited to start her musical theater career and would really like to follow in her mother's footsteps. When you ask for an emergency contact number, instead of giving us her cell phone, she'll recommend contacting Stanley Lieberman, Emma's agent. While Emma is in class, this mom will insist on talking to you about the time she played Catherine in Pippin or Sandy in Grease and discuss all the things she knows and can help out with. She'll offer herself as a voice coach for the class or as an accompaniest, or a choreographer. She'll then want to know if you're planning on offering adult classes any time soon because, if not, she'd be more than willing to teach them. She did play Adalaide in Guys and Dolls before she got pregnant and had to give up the auditioning.

And these women, my friends, are the reasons why I will never ever, under any circumstances, be a stage mom. And also why I have taken to keeping a flask with me Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays.