Improv!

Back when I was in the seventh grade, we had an improv assignment in our acting class.  Father John asked each of us awkward twelve-year-olds to go up to the front of the room and, using a prop, give a spontaneous comedy routine.  Most students dutifully went up and attempted a joke, or just shrugged and rolled their eyes.  When it was my turn, and I was up there, in front of all my peers, I felt fear, panic, and, then, inspiration.  I wouldn't say I channeled Kathy Griffin up there, but I got a few laughs.  I remember it as a success; the first time I had pulled something funny, or surprising, out of nowhere, for an audience.  I still use the hidden talent I discovered that day, many years ago.  On the Little Badgers.

Baby Badger has reached a stage where she hates having her diaper changed.  Hates it.  I tried explaining to her that all she needs to do is start sitting on the potty, but she is having none of it.  She kicks, and yells, and refuses, and I improvise some funny.  I'll grab a toy, a rock, an attractive piece of paper, or the cat.  You should see the show.  I usually get a 15-20 second window to clean and change, and then, release!

Or we'll be in the grocery store, and the cookie aisle looms in front of the Little Badgers.  Time for some improvisational distraction.  I'll make a big fuss over how cool the milk jug looks, or whether my shoe is untied, or if anyone wants to try a turn carrying Mommy's purse.  Find a prop and add some desperation, and I've got a shot at making it to the cash register.

Big Brother Badger adores his nature shows.  Dinosaurs, prehistoric mammals, giant insects from the Carboniferous, anything that crawls or climbs or bites.  But, try to get him to leave the television after his show is over?  Now I have to improvise in a different way.  Present a successful alternative, and be convincing.

While a sense of humor is always important to bring to the table in parenting, the thing I've noticed is that improvisational talent is not restricted to just being silly.  Those same initial feelings of fear and panic can show up anywhere.  The mall, on a walk, at breakfast, at Grandma's.  You see a situation coming, and it's like an instant of tunnel vision.  What to do?  A diaper blowout is cake compared with the short fuse of an overtired child, or a scared child, or an angry, frustrated child, one who would love nothing more than to communicate exactly why she feels uncomfortable, but cannot.  Improvising can coax a smile from behind the tears, or a needed distraction, a shift of focus.  It is as true and honest as something spontaneous and unrehearsed can be. It tells of the desire to calm, to soothe, to bring humor and love to a complicated situation.

I used to think that being prepared will always get me through, making me feel as though I'm ready for anything.  My Dad has a saying that I heard all through childhood: "Prior Planning Precludes Piss-Poor Performance".  Indeed.  But being able to improvise can actually lend its own sense of security.  Even if the plan fails, I can still pull something out of nowhere.  And spinning in a circle, singing, "Itsy, Bitsy, Spider" while holding Baby's "oink" (her piggy bank) is totally worth it to avoid another nasty diaper rash.