Confession: I may or may not dread Picture Day

I survived Picture Day.

BARELY.

My current project is The Lion King, Jr. 

The show is double cast, with about 25 kids per cast.  Thankfully, double casting means that I don’t have to make a costume for every single child because the kids can share with their doubles!  Hallelujah!! 

Still, there are about 40 costumes to construct… whew!

Aside from opening night, this is perhaps the MOST anticipated (and dreaded) day during the entire run of the show.

The costumes, the makeup, the hats and accessories.

The chaos, the confusion, the questions and critiques.

I love to see my costume creations come alive on stage!  

But it’s a long and bumpy road from concept to completion.

Back to Picture Day…

The buildup to picture day this time included long days and late nights of last-minute costume sewing, as well as farming out projects to family and friends with a looming deadline.

After working well past midnight the night before, I woke up knowing that I wasn’t going to make it. 

There just wasn’t enough time!!

There had been too many unforeseen circumstances that put me behind.

The panic set in, my heart pounding and my stomach in knots.

If a child didn’t have a costume, would they feel left out and be scarred for the rest of their lives?

Would I get nasty grams from upset parents who paid good money to get a picture of their kid in costume??

Would my own children forever resent me for choosing this insane career that required long hours and time away from home???

I got the big kids off to school, tossed some fishy crackers to the little kids, turned on a movie to entertain them, and picked up where I had left off the night before.

I ran out of bobbin thread.  (Why don’t these things hold more thread??)

I cut my finger with the scissors.  (What the…?  I haven’t done that in forever!)

I changed a poopy diaper.  (Is there ever a convenient time to do that??)

I put in a new movie and threw more crackers at the kids.  (They saw through this charade and demanded more attention than I could give them)

Thankfully, my mom came over to help.  (Bless that woman!!)

Lunchtime already?? How did that happen??

After feeding the kids and getting them down for naps, I left the kids with my mom and sped over to the theater.

2 hours until pictures.

Fueled by some sugary junk food and the three hours of sleep I had gotten the night before, I persevered.

With the help of the Producer and the Theater Admin, we feverishly worked to ensure that each child had something to wear in the pictures. 

One hour left.

We hot glued, spray painted, duct taped, and sewed with chaotic intensity.

30 minutes until go time.

THE MANES!!!  I HADN’T FINISHED THE MANES!!  This is LION KING for goodness sake!  THEY NEED MANES!!!

Wiping away the sweat and tears, I pressed the pedal to the metal.  

Ten minutes.

People coming into my sewing room asking me questions I didn’t have answers for.

People running errands for me.

People wondering why I looked like a woman possessed.  (Really though, this isn’t something new)

Two minutes.

“I ONLY NEED TEN MORE MINUTES!!!” I shout hysterically, then look up to see it’s the Producer I just yelled at.  Oops.  Sorry about that.

And then the real insanity begins.

The questions start to pelt me like annoying little nerf darts. You know the ones.  Soft and squishy?  Sure, unless they come in a tidal wave and consume you!

“How do you want this makeup done?” “Does this lion need ears?” “Does this hyena have a headpiece?” “How does this costume go together?” “These pants are too big…” “There’s a tag scratching my neck…” “If I rub my nose like this, will my makeup smear?” “I forgot to wear underclothes, can I change in the bathroom?” “How does this cape attach?” “Do we have any safety pins?” “Do you have any bobby pins?” “Was I supposed to bring shoes?” “Is it my turn yet??”

Faces blur past me as I supervise the cacophony of kids, parent volunteers, and costumes.

Finally, FINALLY, everyone has a costume and all of the kids are happily lined up for pictures.

The dressing room is quiet.

The adults are left looking around in stunned silence at the carnage of clothing and hangers strewn about the room.

We made it. 

We did not fail.

We stayed the course and fought a good fight.

OH, SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS HOLY—WE DID IT!

SUCCESS!!

I collapse into the nearest chair.

…and then the second cast comes bounding into the dressing room like a pack of wild animals.