Mr. Rickman, You Had Me At Earl Grey

There I was, five minutes before I should've been leaving for school with my kids, watching this video of Alan Rickman (your kids know him as Professor Snape). 

I couldn't look away; I dare you to try.

Original video from "Portraits in Dramatic Time" by David Michalek
Music from movie Inception - Mind Heist

How did the phone call go when Michalek tried to set this up?

 MICHALEK: "Uh, Mr. Rickman? Uh, yeah, I had this idea. Maybe you could come into the studio tomorrow morning? Could you maybe wear your new silver Armani suit, the one that makes you look like James Bond? Then, well, uh, I could make a 15-second video of you maybe, uh, making a cup of tea, then stirring it? After that, you can just go ahead and do what feels natural."

The results are epic. And, it makes me wonder how I might approach, say, unloading the dishwasher differently if I had a tune like that playing in the background:

Portraits in Dramatic Domesticity: Time to Unload the Dishwasher

She slowly grabs her bread knife, and looks at it with a cocked eyebrow as the stainless steel catches the light in the morning sun. A plate is released from her hand, spinning noiselessly into space before landing perfectly on the stack of dinnerware in the cabinet.

And then—a glass. Slowly, she brings it up to her face, and peers through it. She blinks, each eyelash apparent as she closes, and then reopens her eyes. And suddenly, she sees it—a spot! Her juice glasses are not clean!

Her face slowly transforms from mild-mannered housewife … to pouting domestic diva … to enraged Mistress of Evil.

She can not believe it; in slow motion, she shakes her head, her lips silently forming the word "Noooooo" and her knuckles turn white from the exertion of clenching her fist around the culpable glass.

Turning, she hurls the glass in disgust, and her fingers unclench to release it into the air. It spins and flips almost with the precision and grace of a ballerina until it meets its demise, smashing spectacularly against the kitchen cabinet. Splinters of glass fly everywhere, backlit by glistening sunlight streaming through the window.

She stands, panting, taking in the sight of the shards of glass scattering on the floor. One hand rests on her apron-clad hip, the other clenches in an angry fist, shaking in the air.

[Fade to black]

Retreat!

Today is the first full day of the school year in which all my kids, Kindergarten through High School will be … not home. The house is practically echoing. After catching up on the news, I turned off the TV and listened to that holy, blessed silence. I didn't think my house was capable of sounding like this.

It makes me think of the word retreat: (compliments of Wikipedia)

• Retreat (spiritual), a religious or spiritual term for time taken to reflect or meditate

This is happening right now. I'm sipping my ice water after a grueling workout. (Okay, grueling is probably a strong word. But I did sweat, and my legs kind of hurt.) And I've had about 6 complete thoughts already, and nobody interrupted me!

• Retreat (military), a withdrawal of military forces

 
 Not that my kids are a military force, but they do sometimes come at me from all directions with stunning force and efficiency. And watching them all leave for school, without looking over their shoulder, reminds me that I've done my job. My kids are strong and independent, and hopefully they know that they will make it in the world without me; but that if they need me, I'll be waiting behind them with words of moral support. Or maybe they'll hear my voice in their head: "Trust your gut."

• Retreat (survivalism), a place of refuge for those in the Survivalist subculture or movement

After a long exhausting day at school, hopefully everyone comes back here and feels like home is where they want to be. And hopefully I'll be ready to take on the homework questions (warning: anyone asking Mommy a question pertaining to math or chemistry will promptly receive a blank stare).

• Retreat (bugle call), a military signal for the end of day, known as Sunset in the UK and Commonwealth countries

Our days don't end with a trumpet fanfare, but last night, my husband and I took a walk with our daughter. As our she rode her new pink bike in front of us, we caught up on the day's events. We were lucky enough to catch the pinkest, most technicolor sunset I've seen in a while. I clasped his hand a little tighter, knowing not every day will end this peacefully. But I'm just taking one day at a time. Later that night, I held my kids close to me as we read a couple chapters of Roald Dahl's The Witches. No bugle there either—just the soft sound of me snoring because I was tired. But happy.

• Re-treat, to treat again: see Therapy

 A stark reminder (thank you, Wikipedia) that—despite all our best efforts—we are all really just a step away from therapy, aren't we?