That Show I'm Going to Be In

The outpouring of support from friends and family for making Oklahoma City's inaugural Listen to Your Mother Show has been tremendous.

Still, a lot of people have never heard of it.

Ann Imig, the head momma herself talks about it here:


It's an easy concept that creates a beautiful and authentic experience.

As I sat in a hair salon with foil in my hair and showed YouTube videos of past performances from my iPad, I realized that that was the true essence of the show. Women hanging out and sharing stories.

Two of our directors were in the Northwest Arkansas show last year.

Proceed with caution: After you watch the videos, you may have the compulsion to share them with others.

Heather Davis talks about unmentionables hair accessories.


Misti Prior talks about pretending to be Mother Teresa.


Today, the website introduced moi. 

Here's a teaser that shows the rest of our cast.  Hint: I'm the toothless one.


10% of proceeds benefits Infant Crisis Services in OKC. We're also accepting diaper donations at the door. Tickets are still available. You can order yours here.

Bring some Huggies and someone to hug. It's going to be that kind of afternoon.

Stress Awareness Day

When it comes to being organized, I'm like one of those sad contestants on a reality show who can't sing/dance/live in reality. No one needs to tell me I can't carry a tune in a bucket, but I sometimes have delusions of grandeur when it comes to organizational skills.

I can happily spend hours in The Container Store...and not buy a thing. Pinterest has sucked hours of my life providing ideas to better manage my time.  Some of the first magazine articles I ever read were how to be organized and maximize efficiency, and I still buy magazines if one article tempts me with a clever way to get my life in order.

But life isn't easier. 

Because no matter how many lists I make, or calendars I color code, or bags I pack carefully, someone (Garrett) will forget to drop off soccer shoes and clean socks with the child.  And someone will demand to be lugged around the house (Alexandra).  And someone will suddenly become incapable of going into a room by himself and grabbing his stuff (Max). And I add plenty to my own misery as well. "The best laid plans of mice and men...."

Chaos causes me stress.

I once had a ceremony on my piano.  I used this method of relaxation from the time I was in sixth grade until my piano had too many hands on it.

Since then, I've experimented. Exercise is calming, but that's one more thing to schedule.  I've fed the stress with an old favorite: brownies and milk. Then I evolved to red wine and Hershey's kisses. I sometimes enjoy tea and a scone (or four). Nothing works well.

Recently, I discovered the best method to de-stress doesn't involve fancy highlighters or  exercise equipment or even a musical instrument.

I breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

Simple.

Sometimes I forget, but the body has a way of reminding me.

In. Out. In. Out.

Don't you feel better already?

If breathing doesn't relax you, bloggers are sharing ideas on how to take away the stress over at Oklahoma Women Bloggers.

Can I get a rubber eraser app?

My kids are obsessed with technology. They play on the computer. They play on the iPhone. They play on the iPad.  The simplest pieces of plastic transform into pretend electronic gadgets.

Kids. How do they get these ideas?

According to Kelly McDonald, three marriage deal breakers of the 1960s were
1.  different race
2.  different religion
3.  inability to provide financially

Today marriage deal breakers are
1. lack of hygiene
2. talking about exes
3. constantly on phone or other mobile device.

Garret teased me that I'd be out of the running for marriage because of the last one.

What?  Me?

He wasn't kidding.

Would they make the cut in 2013?

I'm a part-time work-at-home mom.  I get the pleasure of being with my kids several days a week. But I still get emails from work.  And I check the messages. I also am a writer, and doing so involves computers. But it's not just work that occupies my techy-time. I make grocery lists. I take pictures.  I research recipes and child-friendly projects, and...and...

...they don't know that. They just see me with my hands wrapped around a hunk of technology.

McDonald mentioned that Generation Z, which apparently doesn't even encompass my little ones (there's no name for them yet), has fewer verbal skills than previous generations.

Why?

They text. They Facebook. They Instant Message. They don't talk on the phone.

Am I contributing to the death of the spoken language?

I don't want my children to think of me with my nose in a gadget. I want them to think of me looking in their eyes, singing songs, playing piano, 

building cardboard spaceships, reading books,

 

playing sports, 

 

and picking "flowers."

I want them to remember that I loved them enough to model love and companionship and... verbal skills.

Now, more than ever, I'm making a conscious effort to go back to the basics. Like a rubber eraser. Maybe I'll start by writing notes on paper.  

Technology is a good thing.  But so are the basics. Face to face. You and me, baby.

My friend Lisa Marotta has a call to action on this topic.  I'm not ready for the power grid to go down completely, but I do plan to power off more often.

Oklahoma Women Bloggers handed out virtual rubber erasers this week. Skedaddle on over to see what other bloggers are erasing.

Cheer for Your Team

I'm not very good at the preschool athletic mentality. 
1.  Every kid is not the Most Valuable Player.
2.  Each game should have a winner and a loser.

That's life. 

Don't get me wrong. Winning isn't everything, but losing doesn't mean hanging up your sneakers, either.  When you fall, brush yourself off, quit your crying, and get back in the game. It's important to always do your personal best because your only real competition is yourself.

I was a cheerleader--the kind that believed more in the job than the uniform.  I disdain the "spirit leaders" who leave when rain or sleet falls from the sky. If the team can still play, then they can still cheer.

12th grade: front and center in a parka in the pouring rain

After a few adult beverages, I'm willing to dance my high school's fight song.

Go Bulldogs!

 

Last month,  I put my dormant cheer skills to use and cheered myself on through my own special version of March Madness.

Here are the rules: If a writing opportunity presented itself, I must enter the competition.

Even if I doubted my abilities--especially so--I must take action. With failure comes wisdom. With wisdom comes success.

Want to know how the brackets turned out?

I submitted my essays to two Listen to Your Mother shows.  Instead of submitting to one show, I embraced March Madness and submitted to two.

Two! Two! We want two!

And, well, you know how that turned out. Read about it here and here.

Gooooo team!

Then, I tried Brenda Drake's agent contest.  My cheerleader was still asleep when I dragged myself out of bed to submit early in the morning.  Right before I pushed send on my carefully written entry of my novel's first 250 words and 35-word pitch, I doubted myself.  I changed the pitch.

I did not make the next round.

That's all right. That's okay. We're gonna win another day!

Then another opportunity presented itself. Mini Vaughn, one of the slush zombies for the contest, volunteered to critique the pitches on her blog Dirty Silly Things.  I thought, "Oh my. I can't put myself out there and face rejection again. It's so public. She even says something about spanking us and making it hurt."  *Blushes* 

My cheerleader gave me a high-kick in the butt.  

Be aggressive! B-E Aggressive! B-E- A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E! Be aggressive! B-E aggressive!

Because she was an obnoxiously perky, insistent little inner cheerleader, I not only sent the rejected logline, but I also submitted the one I'd planned to send. If I was going to get a smackdown, I might as well really feel the pain, right?

The critique wasn't painful at all. She thought the original pitch was "fantastic." Lesson learned.  My biggest opponent is self-doubt. 

Defense! (clap, clap) Defense! (clap, clap)

Over the month, I had a couple of contest triumphs and forfeited one opportunity. The point is that I put myself in the game.

I'm gearing up for submitting my freshly revised novel to agents. I've listened to agents who seemed excited about the story but rejected it. I've rewritten the novel and improved my game. 

First (clap) and ten! Go! Fight! Win!

Why compete? Because someone has to win.  Why can't it be me?  Or you?

  Dribble it! Pass it! (clap) We want a basket!

Have you stepped outside your comfort zone lately? What would you like to achieve?  

Go for it!

Listen to your personal cheerleader and take the challenge. Let me know what it is.

I'm already waggling my spirit fingers for you.

Listen to Your Mother

"Do you need me to go with you?" Mama asked.

Um. No. My facial expression was likely reminiscent of my teenage years.

"Don't look at me like that.  Your dad is worried. Everyone knows you get lost."

True. But I'm not incompetent. I'm a reasonably intelligent, somewhat independent wife and mother-of-two.

And I'd made a call back for Listen to Your Mother! Oh, yeah.

I could drive to a simple audition by myself.  Probably.

I'd leave early.

If I drove alone to the audition for Listen to Your Mother--Northwest Arkansas, I'd get about three hours BY MYSELF. My fantasy life took hold and I dreamed: No crying. No food fights. No one needing me at all.  I'd go to my son's soccer game, drive the windy, crooked road through the foothills of the Ozarks,  audition for the NW Arkansas show Listen to Your Mother, and return in time to take the kids to a Hot Wheels party.

Yep. This mama was going places.

Giddiness prevailed until I received another email. It was a callback for the inaugural show of Listen to Your Mother--Oklahoma City. My home state.  Good news. But my heart fell when I read one little line in the email.  I would not be able to audition if I made the NW Arkansas show.

And that made me anxious.

I liked my essay for NW Arkansas.  But the piece for Oklahoma City... was my story.  I didn't realize how important it was to me until that email told me I might not get the opportunity to share it.

When I saw the amazing cast list for Arkansas, relief flooded me. My name wasn't on it.

I got to tell my story!  It might be only once in front of the captive audience of directors and producer, but I. Would. Share. My. Story.

And that made me nervous. Because I wanted to tell everyone.

So, when my mother said, "Do you need me to go with you?" I said, "No."

I didn't need her to go. But it might be nice. "But if you want to spend the day together, I'd love to have you along."

"I'll drive," she said, "so you can practice."

Half an hour into our drive, I read the piece.  Only a few lines in, her hand flew off the steering wheel to get my attention. "Stop."

She offered advice. Good advice. Before the audition, I read the piece for her three or four times. She commented and critiqued. The rhythm was familiar--reminding us both of when I was in high school and she'd help me run lines for a show or a competition.

When I walked inside the building for my audition, I didn't feel like a child who'd been driven by her mother.  I felt like a woman with a story to tell.

And, boy, I was a wreck.  All heart palpitations and nervous chatter. The directors and producers were kind women, willing me to do my best.  They wanted to hear my story as much as I wanted to tell it.

Afterward, my mom and I ate, shopped, and headed home. We laughed and talked without life interrupting us until my phone rang.  I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

It was Heather. One of the directors. She claimed she wanted me to get some sleep and informed me I made the show!

I babbled a response, my emotions busy tumbling over each other for attention. Happiness. Relief.  Excitement.

When I hung up the phone, I could tell by the look on my mom's face that she knew.

Sometimes you need to listen to your gut.

Sometimes it's best to listen to your mother.

Come see our show on May 5 at the Will Rogers Theater in Oklahoma City. Tickets are available here. Listen to Your Mother OKC benefits Infant Crisis Services.

Mommy Monday: Camping In

First of all, let me clarify that I have no delusions of SuperMomness. Quite the opposite. While other children enjoyed fun day trips and getaways for Spring Break, our little people were stuck at home with me.

Poor little things.

So, since Max had been wanting to camp out for over a year--see, we procrastinate around here--I planned a camp in.

No leaky tents. No bugs. No dirt. No bugs. No bugs.

My kind of camping trip.

I found some great ideas on the blog Rainbows Within Reach.

While the kids slept, Garrett and I set up the campground. We posted these signs and set up a campfire from Oriental Trading.  We pitched a Cars and Fairy tent in the formal living room. The hallway became the hiking path. We made the den into a pond.

  

 We raided the toy room and put their stuffed animals all over the house.  (I swear those things multiply when we're not looking.)

They caught a lot of frogs with that net. Max caught Alexandra a time or two as well.

The area by the piano became the bear cave. Shhh! They're hibernating!

 

I set out National Geographic magazines and books on animals in a weak attempt to make it seem more like nature. We used the iPhone app White Noise to have water, cricket, and frog sounds.

Grandma Celeste--my ninety-two-year old grandmother--joined us in fishing for snacks.

Dip pretzel "fishing pole" in Nutella or peanut butter and then "catch" the goldfish!

Then they built a campfire...with their own hands!

We read Going on a Bear Hunt before the kids went out into the wilderness and reported back what they saw by acting like the animals.

Max and I made Playdoh insects.  Alexandra mostly rolled it into balls and tried to show us that Playdoh balls don't bounce very well.

We talked about the difference between what happens at day and night.

When dad got home, they grilled hotdogs. Then, the kids put on their backpacks. We gathered up their science journals that we'd made and went on a hike.  The kids pointed out all the animals they saw on our journey, and Garrett and I drew and wrote them into their journals.  

We rested at the pond and looked through our list of animals. Then we played charades.  Max told Garrett to be a bird.  We had great fun watching Garrett fly around and caw like a crow while I pretended not to know what he was.

All that hiking and playing works up an appetite, so we made smores.

They were soooo messy but sooooo yummy!

Alexandra doesn't quite know what to think of her family.

The kids took a swim in Lake Bathtub before we hung out in Max's room for a while and looked up at the (glow-in-the-dark) stars (on his ceiling).

Now, that's one happy camper.

Intruder!

Big Leprechaun: Oh, wait, it's just her.

Little Leprechaun: Will she take our treasure?

Big Leprechaun: Don't get your rainbow in a wrinkle. No, the iPhone is safe. If you cry really loud when she tries to take it from you, you can keep it for life.

Little Leprechaun: That's my plan.

Big Leprechaun: I'll scare her away. Grrr!

 

 

Little Leprechaun: She's still here. Pinch her. She'll go away.

Big Leprechaun: Can't do that. She's wearing green. Let me scare her again. Grrr! Grrr!

Big Leprechaun: It's not working. Wait, what? (listens carefully) She says she's here to take a picture of us because of a holiday.
Little Leprechaun: Holiday? We forgot a holiday?
Both: Well, why didn't you say so?

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!