ART OF MOTHERING

Invite no one you

wouldn’t want to see

you in

your pajamas.

I wasn’t actually going to wear PJs, but we

knew that any ego or competition would curdle

the whole thing as fast as a lemon squeezed

into a cup of milk.

The idea for our casual cabaret quickly jelled. At first we had only two rules: 1) You have five minutes to perform, and 2) Anything goes. I knew what I didn’t want: censoring, worrying, any holds barred. I explained the Freaky Salon to my kids, and they got it immediately. Beatrice decided that she and her three-year-old brother, Ivar, would dress up as horses and canter in circles to mariachi music.

I knew it would be important to encourage friends not to censor themselves or worry about the children. I figured the kids would lose interest and drift off to another room—or that we’d investigate the edgier stuff by talking with them about artistic license. I didn’t want the Freaky Salon dumbed down: no half-hearted sing-along of “Wheels on the Bus,” nothing that adults did for kids despite their own tastes. As it turned out, the kids stole the show.

Robert, my husband, came up with another rule, this one for the guest list: 3) Invite no one you wouldn’t want to see you in your pajamas. I wasn’t actually going to wear PJs, but he knew that any ego or competition would curdle the whole thing as fast as a lemon squeezed into a cup of milk. If a Freaky Salon is to be truly freaky, there can’t be a “best” or a “worst.” I also prepared myself to accept absolutely anything that came down the pike, even in my own act: awkward pauses, flat jokes, or cringe-inducing noise. “If you’re cool about it, everyone will follow your lead,” Robert pointed out.

I sent an e-vite that described the event as “an excuse to hang out with creative types, not a high-pressured situation.” I included a little rundown of the sort of thing I pictured: a two-hour gig with a maximum of 30 people performing vignettes of gumboot dancing, poetic dissertation, hair braiding, and who knew what else, along with red wine, popcorn, cookies, and silly door prizes. (As it turned out, 18 people accepted, and comfortably fit in our living room; any more would have been too

many performances.) I also mentioned that we’d have a microphone, a music stand, a piano, and a slide projector, if anyone needed them. The invitation winnowed out anyone who wasn’t wide open to the potential goofiness of such a party. After all, any party at which toddlers are allowed to take the stage will be a litmus test for the development of your own inner child.

I knew we needed a competent Master of Ceremonies, to keep the afternoon moving along. That was James, my friend in ridiculous jokes, who agreed to my request on the condition that he could use a hand puppet known as The Duke. Though James is an ace at improv, we didn’t know if The Duke would be hilarious or fall flat. “Well, it certainly will be freaky,” James said. We decided to go with it.

On the day of the Freaky Salon, James came over early to set up, and brought along a backdrop curtain from his photography studio, which we hung at the end of the room. He arranged an Ionic column of Styrofoam he’d brought along, the perfect height for The Duke to “stand” on. We moved chairs into rows, and put cushions on the floor for the kids. It began to look theaterish.

An hour before the start, Robert was still vacillating between playing the trumpet and doing an act of some sort with the kids. Beatrice was at the breakfast bar coloring the tickets as we moved the dining table, spread a tablecloth over it, and tucked some incredibly fragrant stargazer lilies into a vase. When the doorbell rang, Beatrice ran upstairs to put on a dress; Ivar decided to stay in his footy PJs.

As the guests arrived, Beatrice sold tickets for $2 each. Some people were quite liberal with their math when making change, which was nice—though Beatrice, whose smile kept growing wider and wider, was under the impression that she would get to keep the money, seeing as she’d done all the work of making and selling the tickets. When we reiterated that the money would go toward