The Not Ready For Prime-Time Parent

I misjudged the traffic situation. The road had been fairly kind to me, the lights, not too long.

Sipping the mocha latte I had purchased to help pass the time while sitting in the parking lot across from our local NBC affiliate's studio, I felt more than a bit stalker-esque. The interview was to take place sometime between 5:30 and 6. Live. My call to report to the studio was at 5.

It was 3:30.

I tapped away on my Blackberry, stealing glances at encouraging emails and facebook posts from friends who assured me I'd be great; I'd do just fine. I double-checked my sheet of notes of what I wanted to cover: the names, numbers, the key points.

By 4:30 the latte had kicked in, and I knew I would have to sheepishly show up at the studio too early. I drove over as non-chalantly as I could, marveling at how easily I found a good parking space, right in front of the entrance. I casually strolled in front of the security window, gave my name, signed in, and was granted access to the foyer. While I waited for my escort (for no guest dares walk the halls of NBC without an escort,) three different flat-screen TVs flashed images of the local broadcast, MSNBC, and CNBC. So many words, so many stories, so much information at once.

The stair door opened suddenly. A girl with perfectly straightened hair and baby-smooth pink cheeks greeted me with, "You're early."

"I know. I'm sorry," I replied. "Who knew City Line Avenue would move so well in the afternoons?" I said with a light chuckle.

WIthout even a smirk to acknowledge my excuse, she turned, started up the stairs and murmered, "Follow me."

When we reached the top, she asked, "Do you need to use the ladies' room?"
"Oh, thank you, yes. That will be great!" I said a little (or a latte) too enthusiastically.

After I washed my hands and inspected my teeth in the mirror, I turned to exit. On the door, a huge white sign with red letters admonished, "IS YOUR MICROPHONE STILL ON??" Huh. A little late for that warning, isn't it? I thought to myself.

I was taken to the green room (which is, actually a bright hue, somewhere between kelly and avocado), where I spent the next hour. It was quite peaceful, actually, quite calm. Checked a few more encouraging texts and emails, played a little Blackberry brickbreaker game, checked in on the news program. I could have watched Oprah if I wanted, but that would have been somewhat disloyal, I guess.

At 5:25, a teaser. My daughter's face, her arms and hands working together to open a package. The story is going to happen. This is for real.

My girl-woman escort arrived at 5:30 to take me to the studio, greeting me with a smile this time (perhaps because I was a good little guest and didn't disturb anyone during my wait.) She showed me where I could sit, a chair with a view of the entire live news studio.

Coooooool.

I got to see the Weather Center, the news desk, an alternate news desk, the interview chairs, the "stand up" location, just about every in-studio backdrop they had was in my sight. With awe and respect, I noted a few impressive things.

* All of the women -- Tracy, Lori, LuAnn -- can walk in 6 inch ridiculous heels across the studio without tripping, falling, or making a sound.
* Lori Wilson can go from standing at one mark while reading the news, to crossing the studio and resetting at another desk, all the while reading an live voiceover for a videoclip without missing a word of text and without sounding like an automaton.
* The cameras in the studio move like the robot from Lost in Space (no operators in sight; they just silently glide into place across the studio floor.) I thought at any moment one of them would turn to me, flap some of the black tubes at either side, and say, "Danger, Amy Bucher! Danger!"
* The stage manager was the most unflappable, smoothest, nicest professional production person I've seen. He knew the entire flow of the broadcast, gave clear, concise directions, and kept everyone at ease.
* Glen Hurricane Schwartz does those "riffs" about El Nino and whatnot off the cuff. The dude really knows his Meteorology. He can also polish off a whole apple between weather segments without the noise of his bites getting on air.

Lori Wilson was my interviewer, and she was very, very sweet. She expressed her condolences and said she really hoped our team's goal would be reached and that we would get picked up nationally. She gave me clear instructions to look at her, so that the interview would look like a conversation.

Of course, when the camera turned on, I promptly forgot those instructions. It seemed like she was interrupting me, but I think she was trying to reign me in (knowing I'd probably go on and on if she didn't) and ensure the key points about the 46 Mommas were made during our brief time.

While I wasn't completely happy with my own performance (about which I whined over here,) overall, the day was a success. I received some wonderful and uplifting feedback from family and friends that really lifted my spirits.

Too bad I was struck with a nasty case of Strep overnight that lasted the rest of the week.

I keep worrying I had infected the entire NBC staff. I hope not, as I'm really praying they'll continue to follow our progress and to root for our story.

Keep eating those apples, Glen.