GIRLFRIEND Had A Stellar Opening Weekend, And I Can Exhale.

This weekend's premiere of Girlfriend was insane. As in, I nearly lost my mind.

I had been bandying this play around (in my brain, on paper, to the occasional passerby) since 2008, but had really been hammering out drafts in earnest since last summer. In essence, this play was my baby.

My colicky, allergic, and stranger-phobic baby.

And the idea that this baby was going off to be seen and heard and judged by people who didn't even know about the multiple scene changes and character changes and coffee mug changes...and who didn't fully get how crazily I loved each scene and character and mug of coffee...

Well, it felt like I was sending my baby off to college. Or to a firing squad.

But then I remembered that I had a director in my corner; a gal who reminded me of the play's inherent sweetness, who promised me a production of which I could be proud, and who suggested that- maybe- I could write an ending? How about a different one? Let's try a third- yes, there's an ending.

And I had simply wonderful friends send flowers and thoughts from all over the place, and my parents sent chocolate-covered strawberries which, as everyone knows, is the traditional Opening Night Gift.

And I remembered that I had a cast who was so flippin' funny and full of heart and energy and patience for my tendency towards wordiness. And there was a production staff, too, who wanted this play to be exceptional- for the playwright and cast and their awesome theatre company (20%Theatre Chicago, whoopty whoop).

But I still had The Panics. And it didn't let up until I was sitting in the darkened theater with P.J. on one side and my director on the other, clutching their wrists as if my balance would keep the play from toppling.

And guess what, guys? It was good. The cast was hilarious, the storyline made more sense to me than it had in my 4am brain, and the audience applauded even though they didn't even know me. (I mean, some of them did. And those friends laughed extra hard. And I'll totally take it.) Granted, there was at least one reviewer who sat stony-faced throughout the whole thing, like she was watching Schindler's List performed in mime. But maybe the fact that the audience around her actually laugh/applauded between scene changes should color her review slightly?

Because here's the thing. People liked it. A lot. And I can finally breathe that breath of So, You Didn't Faceplant.

Opening night: Me, 20% Theatre Chicago's Artistic Director (and one of our show's leads!) Lindsay Bartlett,
and Girlfriend's fearless director, Amy Buckler. I love these people to the moon and back.

Hey, what's that? You need those details one more time? Well, okay: 

Girlfriend, by Keely Flynn
April 25th-May 19th
Zoo Studios (4001 N. Ravenswood, Chicago)
Thurs-Sat, 8pm Sun 2pm
Industry Night Mon, May 6th, 8pm
www.brownpapertickets.com
(Wanna pay cash at the door? email boxoffice@twentypercentchicago.com)

Thank you, friends and family, for coming and indulging and bolstering and laughing your heads off. You rock. 20% Theatre Chicago rocks. This gorgeous Chicago Spring weather rocks. 

And so does napping. Napping is definitely gonna rock.

Girlfriend, By Keely Flynn. Oh Wait, That's ME.

Lately, I've spent a bunch of time reviewing and promoting some terrific shows around town. But there's one very important show opening in previews tonight...

'Cause it's mine.

Girlfriend is the story of Anna and Caro, two twentysomething gals who have been friends forever and ever, Amen. As they attempt to navigate the ups and downs of functional adulthood and the Chicago theatre scene, they also redefine friendship- and just how heavily you can lean on those pals before you drag 'em down with you.

Sure, this may be one of the more biased things I've ever blogged, but Girlfriend is a really funny show. And- honestly- not just 'cause I'm the playwright. This cast is quick and sharp and bitingly funny. They're also adorable and fun and completely root-able. There are bits and pieces of people I've loved in Chicago- and more than a few glimpses of folks I'd like to shove off a bridge.

But, I assure you, it's a comedy. A wicked awesome one. Because Amy Buckler, our director, is smart and savvy and really good at coaxing a storyline out of a blocked playwright. And 20% Theatre Chicago is an amazing group of artists who rock the heck outta new works.

Speaking of tips o' the hat, I'd really be amiss if I didn't give a big shout out to my husband P.J. (Like, a twenty gallon tip o' the hat.) This is the guy who found me at my desk, shaking from my 10th cup of coffee, and having a draft-related freakout to end all draft-related freakouts. And this is the guy who took my laptop out of my twitching hands, plonked me into a bathtub, and yanked the rest of the story line from my brain (not entirely unlike how the Egyptians removed brain matter from their mummies).  He also maintained our kids and pets and meals and made sure I drank water during this whole creative process. So, yeah. Wicked big thanks.

And I'd like to dedicate this show- my part of the show, anyhoo- to my Dad. As many of you know, Dave Flynn is undergoing some serious chemo for some serious cancer. But through it all (and since I started writing in the 2nd grade), he's been one of my staunchest supporters.

Dude has every playbill and poster in which I've ever been featured on the walls of his recording studio. That's a lot of shows; some of which should've been shoved off that ol' bridge as well. But there they stay, reminders of how proud he's always been of my work.

So Dad, happy 62nd birthday. I can't wait to tell you about how *your* show went. (And you better make it out here for the next one, yeah?)

Girlfriend
April 25th- May 19th
Zoo Studios (4001 N. Ravenswood, Chicago)
Previews April 25th & 26th, pay what you can!

Thurs-Sat, 8pm Sun 2pm
Industry Night Mon, May 6th, 8pm
www.brownpapertickets.com
(if you'd like to pay cash at the door, email boxoffice@twentypercentchicago.com)

An Early Birthday Present, Dad.

Dad, 

Tomorrow is your birthday. Today is your 9th round of chemo. One of those things is awesome...and the other is rather annoyingly unfair. (Like when the segues between MST3k clips seem to go on and on and on and what is with all of the chatter, people?)

So to celebrate the former- and distract you from the latter- here's some stuff I'm pretty sure you'll just love. 

Like Johnny At The Fair:

Or this kid's school picture (courtesy of Awkward Family Photos):

This impossibly hard rock n' roll trivia game: 

How about he fact that I was so surprised to see someone I actually knew at my own wedding:

Maybe a good quote from Jack Handey:

If you ever fall off the Sears Tower, just go real limp, 

because maybe you'll look like a dummy and 

people will try to catch you because, hey, free dummy.

And definitely this pic that proves you know how to rock- on yours or anyone's birthday:

Happy birthday, Pop. 

Love, your obnoxious daughter 

...And a legion of awesome folks high-fiving you from across the internet. 

TUTA Theatre Chicago's The Silent Language.

People, people, there is so much good theatre going down around Chicago this month. But right up there at the tippety-toppest is TUTA Theatre Chicago’s darkly comedic fairy tale The Silent Language, directed by Jacqueline Stone; meaning, seriously, don’t miss this one. The U.S. premiere- written by Serbian playwright Miodrag Stanisavljevic and translated by Zoran Paunovic- is TUTA’s first foray into performances intended for younger audiences. And it’s spot on.

Poor Gasho (Max Lotspeich) plays the guitar in TUTA's The Silent Language
Photo credit: Anthony Robert LaPenna

Based on an old Serbian folk tale called Nemusti Jezik, the story concerns Gasho (an energetic and youthful Max Lotspeich), a poor servant who receives a gift of the silent language. This gift enables him to communicate with all things in nature, the things that often go unheard and overlooked. As he sets off on a quest to rescue a princess being held captive by the “threest” elf king (Aaron Lawson, hilarious and bumbling), Gasho finds himself both helped and hindered by the inhabitants of the fairy tale’s forest. The terrific ensemble also includes Sean Ewert (quietly terrifying as The Boogeyman), the hilarious trio of Jamielyn Gray, Angela Bullard, and Laurie Larson, and Carolyn Molloy as the plucky and desperate princess.

Designer Michelle Lilly’s set is lushly decorated with a mix of shabby-chic Victorian details, draped tapestries, and elements of nature all gorgeously woven together. Coupled with Wain Parham’s evocative original score, it’s impossible to not become fully immersed in this magical land. Geared towards theatergoers aged 8 and up, The Silent Language is a show that adults will truly love as well.

TUTA Studio Theatre

2010 W. Fulton Ave, Chicago

April 19^th- May 19^th, 8pm (no show Saturday, May 4^th)

1.800.838.3006

www.brownpapertickets.com

www.tutato.com

April Date: Folk Music And Empanadas And No Falling Asleep.

With all of the madness and world events and still jet-lagged children, I wasn't sure we'd manage a Date Night this month. However, P.J. wasn't about to end his streak o' dately awesome since Christmas- and surprised me with tickets to see Hem at The Old Town School of Folk Music. (Which, if y'all locals haven't managed to see a show there, do it. 'Cause it's the loveliest.)

Hem, a terrific folk band, hasn't toured in about six years and is now promoting their newest album. Which. Is. Lovely. Peej scored a table right in front of the stage, where we snacked on the obvious concert choice of empanadas and tea. (We are exactly one hundred and ten years old.)

Dawn Landes opened for Hem, and played a great acoustic set. She later came back to play with Hem- who played for nearly two hours. They performed some hits and fan favorites like Half Acre, and some new favorites like Identical Snowflakes (a beautifully adorable song about snowflakes who fall in love and decide to fall to the ground together- and which had me weeping like a toddler) and Last Call- a song about reminiscing at an ocean front bar. (Which served to make me want to be a) toasting with cocktails and b) near the Atlantic.) There was even a singalong (and everyone loves that) and P.J. and I were sure we were about to be hired for the rest of Hem's tour as lazy backup singers.

Definitely a chill date night, but one where we held hands and enjoyed just being still for the first time all week. (Month?)

And again, there were empanadas.

A Party, Some Chubby Toddler Legs, And Wal-Mart's White Cloud Diapers.

(I'm thrilled to have had the opportunity to work with Wal-Mart and receive their new White Cloud diapers for Susannah to try out. This is a sponsored post, but all thoughts and opinions are my own.)

***

This past Wednesday I hosted a bevy of Chicago-area mamas and their adorable offspring for a party featuring Wal-Mart’s reintroduced line of White Cloud diapers. And what a crew! While the kiddos snacked and dashed and snuggled, the Moms tested the new diapers- and braved a couple of hilarious baby shower games. 

There was a race to see who could down a baby bottle [full of water, nothing too cray, here]. Turns out, those newborns have some serious drinking abilities with those teensy bottles. (It took me way longer than I’d like to admit.) And how about Guess That Baby Food? (Sniffing in the diaper?) LeTroy over at Thriftinista In The City took the brave to a whole new level- and tasted the thing. Automatic winner.

Winner.

And there were plenty of chubby diaper-clad legs running around, showcasing the White Cloud diapers to their maximum cuteness. We all agreed that the softness factor was a major plus, and I personally was stoked that this incredibly affordable line didn't cut corners in the comfort department. I also dug that the diapers are hypoallergenic and fragrance free- anyone else have a rashy baby in the house? And finally, the best thing about these redesigned White Cloud diapers is that they work. An ultra-absorbent inner core and reinforced cotton sides guarantee that I’m not gonna need to bring three pairs of toddler pants every time we leave the house.

Because hey, anything that makes life with a toddler easier (and cheaper) gets my vote every single time.

Diaper model.

Diapering can be one of the biggest expenses in a family’s weekly budget and a great performing diaper is a must-have for parents. In order to make this affordable, Wal-Mart has reintroduced their premium line of White Cloud diapers to address the needs of today’s busy parents. White Cloud Diapers provide your baby the highest quality diaper with superior leakage protection, exceptional softness and great fit. White Cloud Diapers are available exclusively at Walmart, where you can find low prices everyday on all your family’s needs. Check them out today!

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of #WhiteCloudDiapers.

My Family's Ridiculously Close Call At The Boston Marathon.

This is not my story. It's my family's story.

My family was in Boston on Marathon Monday. My entire side of the family. My marathoner sister Rachel- who raised over 11k in honor of my Dad for Dana Farber- my parents, my sister Emily, Rachel's best friend Barry, my sister Kate, her husband Tom, and their three little boys Quinn, Cole, and Declan.

I wasn't there. I was at Disneyland. (More on that bizarre juxtaposition later.)

When the first bomb went off, my family was seated in V.I.P. bleachers at the finish line. As fate would have it, they had recently been gifted these stellar seats by a wonderful family friend, otherwise they would have instead been mere feet across the street to watch Rachel cross the finish; the spot where they normally stand and cheer, the exact location of the first bomb.

In fact, Kate and the boys were standing on that spot only the day before, cheering on Tom for a 5k he ran on Sunday.

This picture- which made the front of the New York Post and Boston.com- is an image of my family fleeing the bleachers. They're the ones looping around and running down the stairs. This photo simply haunts me.

Photo credit: David L. Ryan/ Globe Staff

If they had been standing in their usual viewing area, I might not have my family.

If my Dad hadn't decided to stay back at the hotel because he wasn't feeling well, or if Tom hadn't decided on a whim to run the last two miles with Rachel, or if Tom hadn't brought his cell phone, or if Kate- at eight months pregnant- hadn't been so quick to grab Declan, or if Emily hadn't taken off work or Barry hadn't decided to adjust his plans or if Emily and Barry and my Mom hadn't been so quick to grab Quinn and Cole, and if and if and if.

Back in Anaheim, P.J. had been holding my phone and saw that a call was coming in from my Dad. We were on a gigantic carousel with the girls at the time, and more than a little confused as to why my Dad would be calling right around the time Rachel was hitting Mile 24.

"Something's wrong," P.J. told me.

As it was, "we" were very lucky. Tom helped Rachel finish her marathon- albeit by the waterside- and my family members eventually all met back up after taking convoluted routes through Boston, staying well away from the crowds and main thoroughfares. As Kate told us- "Clearly someone crazy had planted devices in the area, so how was I to know which way to go?"

I'm grateful that they were able to contact Tom (whom, as Kate informed me, never runs with a phone) and Rachel, diverting them from the finish line and letting them know everyone was okay.

I'm angry that Rachel, after training so hard and earning this for herself and our Dad, was denied the thrill of crossing the finish line for her first marathon.

I'm devastated for the innocent victims and their families. Crushed. Horrified.

I'm guilty that I was so incredibly far away, waiting in line at the tea cups and pretending normalcy for Nora and Susannah, while simultaneously waiting on reassuring texts that the group had found one another. Watching people shove to the front of the churro cart while refreshing our browsers and feeds.

I'm saddened for my nephews, who saw and smelled and felt things which no one should ever have to experience.

And I'm grieving that this- which is not my story, but instead a retelling from someone standing at multiple "30 minutes to ride from this point" signs- is a slap in the face to the marathon and Patriot's Day and everything Boston holds dear.

I'm so lucky to have my family safe and sound. Others weren't lucky. This is a national tragedy and a horrifying state of affairs and the stuff of nightmares. But right now, I can't help but feel lucky (and all of those messy emotions which come along with it) that they're okay. That a series of coincidences added up to have each of them in the right place at the right time. And I have to go with that one. Blessed. Fortunate. Providential.

Lucky.

Today's Happy Thought.

'Cause who couldn't use a happy thought today?

California, A Wedding, And Some Stoked Little Girls.

Since I'm still very much so in the midst of California-vacationin', here's a sneak peek of the awesomeness that has been this week. For starters, I attended a wicked beautiful wedding of some college pals. The venue was on a gorgeous Southern California bluff overlooking the ocean where I kinda want to have my next wedding. (Take notes, Peej. If you're lucky, it'll be to you.) 

There was dancing (led largely by my three year-old). There was fabulousness with friends. And, if you were a certain attendee, there were naps.

Um, you said ALL the single ladies, right?

Nora knows some nice people.

The beautiful bride and groom, a beaming friend, and the love between a girl and her cupcake.

I LOVE WEDDINGS.

Y'all, dance like this.

Weddings are simply exhausting.

Happy wedding, Wilder and Barb. Even happier marriage. (And lots n' lots of naps.) 

Mini Kitchen Makeover, Part 3, AKA P.J. Thinks The Backsplash Looks FINE.

Apologies for the utter lateitude of this post: I was busy feeling every single minute of the four hour and thirty-five minute flight to LAX next to the totally awake and needing to acknowledge/touch/drink everything Susannah. (Interesting sidenote: right before the descent, she asked to sit with P.J. so I swapped daughters. And Suzy fell asleep as the plane touched down onto the tarmac. GOOD FOR YOU, P.J.)

But back to the kitchen. It’s done! [Ish!]

Over the past few weeks- see here and here- we've removed the janky countertops. Stained and refinished the warped cabinets. And my job (for the past week and a half) has been to mortar and tile and grout and re-tile and re-grout and super glue my finger to my thumb.

We chose a gorgeous glass mosaic tile because a) I have an unfortunate love of aesthetic and b) and over-inflated sense of ability.

Had I but known how incredibly sag-happy all of those miniature tiles would get on an oddly mortared wall (not to mention how incredibly uneven our cabinets/[walls/home] have the tendency to be), I would've just spray painted the whole thing magenta.

Except that spray paint is illegal in the city proper of Chicago. 

Gosh, I look competent. Hour One.

[Picture deleted due to Wall Rage, Day Four.]

[Picture deleted due to Ugly Cry, Day Nine.]

Ohmigosh, it's a finished kitchen. Easy!

You can't even see the blood stains and puddles o' tears and that place where I punched a hole in the wall! 

Who wants to come over and Not Use My Kitchen For Food Prep?!

So yes, "new" kitchen at one seventh of the price. (Unless you factor in usage of your spouse's thumbs into the overall cost. Which P.J. apparently doesn't.) And I'm decently happy with how a large part of my home looks. (Or at least I will once I'm rested/re-grow the skin on my hand.) 

Except...

Have you seen my "master" bathroom? I think it needs some attention, don't you? 

My Dad Doesn't Embarrass Easily.

Hangin' with da ladies.

Hey Dad,

Thanks for making us feel like we were exactly where you wanted to be on a Saturday night. (I mean, I know it's true, but still. We could get a little trying. Kate especially.)

Thanks for taking me to the drugstore after I got my first period and for acting so cool about the whole thing. I'm sure that's where you wanted to be on a Saturday night.

Thanks for not leaving me at Edaville Railroad that one time when I pitched the mother of all tantrums.

Ditto for that wedding where I got into the bowl of grapes and subsequently needed to be dealt with.

Thanks for always answering your phone at work, even when you know I'm calling to cry about grout or have a suspicious question about power tools.

Thanks for reading this during your 8th round of chemo and rolling your eyes at me at this very moment.

And thanks for agreeing to get better super soon. Because we have lots more adventures ahead of us.

And there are so many places from which I have yet to be carried out kicking and screaming.

We Are All So Very Tired. And Dreaming About Grout.

Last night, I was awakened at 3am by a smallish person, excitedly telling me about dreams and stories and silly things. Well, I had to take her word for it because frankly, I wasn't finding her jive all that hilarious.

But she's usually pretty spot on with these things, so I'll trust her that it was all very funny.

Anyway, the 3 year-old didn't wake me from the soundest sleep. At the time of her arrival in our bed, I was tossing and turning with half-awake dreams concerning glass mosaic tile and an ever-shifting squishy wall of mortar.

I'm not proud of this story, I'm just telling it like it is.

And since I possess a glorious memory foam pillow, I spent more time than I care to admit trying to flatten my pillow's surface, completely convinced that it was the errant backsplash wall. Ever try to flatten a memory foam pillow? Yeah, it works real well.

And Nora never fell back to sleep.

And I never managed to flatten that pillow/mortar wall.

And Susannah had her 18 month shots this a.m., along with an exciting blood draw which included the nurses' third consecutive visit attempt to find her baby veins.

We are all Feeling Feelings.

And as of publication time, none of those "feelings" have been that of anyone's face hitting anyone's bed-like surface. Which is just as well-

My pillow clearly cannot be trusted, anyhow.

18 Months.

Susannah Mae- Suzy, Zuzu, The Zu, Monkey, Buttercup, Little Baby Seester-

Happy 18 months. This milestone is huge for so many reasons, among them the fact that you're no longer a baby and we get to stop annoying non-parents by counting your age with months. (Hey kid- you're one and a half! Wicked.)

Ready for anything.

You are awesomely smart and alarmingly impish. You climb- Good Lord, you climb. Before you came along and other parents bemoaned their little cabinet scalers, part of me thought to myself- Why don't you just tell them no? (Hahahaha.)

You know the word "no." You know time outs. But you also know body parts and animal sounds and what to say when your sister runs into a wall. ("Icee?") You've got buckets of empathy and the easiest laugh this side of vaudeville. You are a clown and a [momentary] thumbkin snuggle and a tiny dancer, spinning and singing soft la la las to yourself behind the curtain.

We love when you act out pages of stories as your Dad reads them to you. We love when you call hippos "hippies." (Because you know what? Maybe they are.) And we love when you stare at your sister with absolute hero worship, ready to squeeze yourself into an impossibly small space at her say so.

Today was your first gymnastics class and, as 18 months was the final cut-off, you were absolutely, positively the youngest one there. But I didn't worry. Because I know you never do.

Strong like bull.

When your teacher asked you to hop up on the high mats, plant those hands and pike, you did it. Never mind how on Earth you learned what "piking" was (although I suspect your sister), I was wildly impressed/not surprised/rather fearful that you just WENT for it.

I hope you always do.

Unless you're diving from cliffs or speeding around a racetrack. Then, I advise you to either wear the maximum amount of protective gear allowed by law, or simply paint a watered-down account for your mother after the fact.

I thank you in advance.

And hey, take your time on that whole race towards "two." I know you won't- because you don't pull any punches with races-

But let's both just pretend that you will.

(I love you, Monkey.)

Mini Kitchen Makeover, Part 2, AKA P.J. Gets Out The Power Tools.

You guys. Turns out, getting parts of your kitchen remodeled (and then repeatedly walking in and out of said room) is better than waking up to check your stocking or Easter basket or Valentine envelope or birthday table pile (what?) in terms of Immediate Gratification Awesome Feelings. 

Last week we got these ridonk cabinets resurfaced. This week? Oh my word, QUARTZ COUNTERTOPS.

Let's review what we had been working with:

Man oh man, those cabinets are purty. That counter is a little wonky, though. Can we get a close-up?

Yup, that sure is an impossible-to-remove stain. Boy, that must've been a joy to live with!

I can't stop staring at those rad cabinets! But there sure is a lot of that fugly countertop, huh?

Warped, stained, unevenly seamed Formica. Let's hear some offers, boys!

Yeah, it's over there too, offending my coffee maker.

Peej had been fully prepared to use the jaws of life to remove the counters.
Turns out, it's super easy to remove a counter if it's never been attached to anything, ever.

Anyone need a die? Some shelf liner? How about a flat razor?
(What kind of establishment have we stumbled upon?)

P.J. uses a power saw in the kitchen. Sure, he'll chase loud teens from our lawn and threaten
car alarms in his boxers, but a sawing in the kitchen at 9pm? The girls'll be fine. (They were.)

P.J. was pleased/dismayed to find how easy sink removal was.
Because the sink had never been bracketed or attached to our flimsy Formica.
Our cast iron sink was just hanging out on old particle board. Hooray!
(Also, Peej is wearing my Dad's flannel and it makes me wicked happy.)

Yesterday morning, guys from The Home Depot showed up and saw that P.J. had left some nice, neat
holes just right for new quartz countertops to fit atop of. So here's what they left us. (A shiny sink, too!)

Hey there, pretty lady.

It's so clean and sturdy and looks like a real kitchen where people could even live and prepare food!

Here is where there was oh-so-recently a stained countertop. It is no longer.

Let's be in love forever. 

Next up: Backsplash! Water re-connection!

And that fun moment where I never let anyone use the kitchen ever again.

Norman Rockwell It Ain't.

Happy Easter!

Love,
The Confused Todder (Awake Since 1:45am)
The Jellybean Thief (Vibrating With Sugar In The Background)
The Crab Apple Gal (Pondering A 4th Cup Of Coffee)
And The Determined Guy (Having A Magical Day, DARN IT.)