The Little Years

I wish I could freeze time and keep my kids little forever. But, alas, they grow. Mister Man turned 4 & 1/2 last month and his sister is now 2 plus three months. If I lie in bed and close my eyes, breathing slow and steady, I can remember what it was like when they were fresh bundles, smelling of baby powder and spit up. But those first twelve months passed by in the blink of an eye, really. Those were the times when they were so fragile and new and we didn't have any clue what kind of personality they'd have. Now is the fun time, according to my husband. I'd have to agree with him.

Our son has detailed discussions with his sister on what the various rooms in his Lego fire station contain. He says things like, "Vivi, people who are silver and stand still are called statues," while we're driving and my husband and I just look at each other and smile. He's now tall enough to reach the kitchen sink and wash his hands without standing on a step stool.

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He writes his first and last name in capital letters and is working hard at learning the lower case ones. A few weeks ago we were playing Restaurant in his kitchen and he wrote out his very first menu, asking me how to spell things like Hamburger, Coffee and Cheese. Several times a day, he'll hear a word he doesn't know and will ask its meaning. I'm amazed and so proud of how inquisitive he is.

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My little man makes friends easily, but is stingy with sharing his beloved toys. He has a best buddy at preschool, but sometimes on the drive home when I ask him who he played with that day, he'll say, "Nobody. I just played by myself." Not in a sad way. He is just really good at independent play and can become immersed in his own little imaginary world which I love to watch. There are plenty of years of running around with friends ahead of him, I'm not concerned with his preference for solo playtime right now.

He wakes up every morning precisely at seven o'clock. The soft, baby blue security blanket he was so attached to for the first three years of his life has slowly moved to the bottom of his list of favorite toys. It's now trucks and blocks and {gasp!} Legos that he spends his playtime with. The last exchange of our day used to be me singing "Twinkle, Twinkle" while snuggling him tight, tucking the covers around his little frame all curled up. Now, we simply read three books and give goodnight kisses before shutting off the light and sending him into sleepy dreamland. Just like that. My big boy.

His sister is turning into a big kid too, right before our eyes. Her four word strings must have been taking their vitamins because over the course of a week they grew into five word sentences and now six. Just yesterday the little princess amazed me with, "I want to go to the playground, Mommy!" Said like the true firecracker she has become.

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Our daughter literally turns into a fish on Saturday mornings at swim class. Bored of the same old songs and skills which she mastered several months ago, she makes her own fun now, much to her teacher's chagrin. Climbing out to give Daddy a quick kiss, then swan diving back in and flipping underwater before surfacing are her show-off tricks. We've become used to a minimum of two other parents each week asking us how old she is and how long she's been taking lessons.

I love hearing her baby doll voice, her inflections sticky sweet with a cherry on top sometimes, and other times the whine is so sharp I want to pull out some cheese and crackers to go with it. The little miss has a slight obsession with pink lately and when we read her book on colors {which I bought specifically so that I could teach her the rest of the colors of the rainbow} she turns straight to the two pages on pink saying, "I yike pink, Mommy."

Art is a passion of hers, I can already tell. Both our kids are in their element when they're creating, actually. Put a coloring book, some markers and crayons in front of them and I've easily bought an hour of quiet busy time. I can't wait for summer when I'll be able to put them on the deck with art supplies and their easel and small table to see what they crank out for display on the fridge.

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I know they won't always be so small that I need to get down on my knees to wrap my arms all the way around them for hugs. I know there will come a time when I'll no longer have to sort through their entire wardrobe twice a year to purge the outgrown stuff and replace it with new clothes the next size up. I know there will come a time when I'll no longer have to prep and serve every single meal and snack.

I know there will come a time when I'll have to let go. 

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But for now, I'll grab hold of these moments that fly by so fast and I'll do my best to engrave them on my memory for ever.

Freewrite: Immersed in nature

{3/15/13, 5:30pm, PST; Top of the hill behind the Chapel Theater at the Wild Mountain Memoir Writer Retreat, Leavenworth, WA}

15-minute Freewrite

I have never in my life been surrounded by such sheer beauty. I'm sitting on a huge rock, facing gorgeous mountains covered in snow, and yet, it's the perfect temperature. Not hot, not cold, just somewhere in between.

The rush of the water shooshing downstream is so soothing. It's calming my nerves a bit. This place is so peaceful and serene.

Earlier today it was raining. Not hard, not even enough to get me wet, really. Just a gentle mist coming down. The leaves smell damp and musty, but I like it. The cool air is so refreshing.

I almost feel like I could expect to see a bear up on the mountainside in front of me. I'm looking, but haven't seen one yet. I got a close-up of that bright green moss that grows on all the trees here. It's almost fluorescent, it looks fake.

I feel like I could sit up here all day, breathing in the mountain air to become one with the perfect natural space laid out before me. But it's almost time for dinner. And time for the retreat to finally start. I better run back to my room to see if I can meet my roommate. It's 5:45pm already and dinner starts at 6.

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{On Saturday afternoon at the retreat, my roommate Natalie and I went back up to that spot and she took this picture of me. I truly feel it captures every ounce of excitement and the sheer joy within me from the changes I had begun to experience at Wild Mountain.}

Spring Break Snow

“Mommmmmeeeeeeeee!” I heard her wail from her nursery, the room next to ours.

I pulled my weary self out of bed and found my way through the dark to her door, guided by the soft light of morning creeping in through the miniblinds in our bedroom.

5:45am. Fun.

“What, sweetie?” I whispered gently.

“I wost my paci, Mommy,” she whimpered.

I felt around her crib with my palms, not able to locate the missing pacifier until I ran my fingers into the crack in her crib bumper where it had wedged itself so neatly.

“Here, honey.” I said as I put the rubber nipple back into her mouth.

“I want to sleep in your womb,” she mumbled, paci gripped ever so gingerly between her lips.

Ugh. There goes my last hour of sleep this morning.

I carried my baby girl into our bedroom and placed her in the middle of our king bed. I tried to fall back into my sleep, but it wasn’t happening. The snow that had fallen during the night was reflecting what little bit of sunlight that was emerging from the sky and our room was starting to welcome the morning. I spent the next fifteen minutes caressing her soft cheeks and hands, a sweet luxury I don’t always having during the day when she’s rushing about playing so busily.

I savored those minutes.

“I wan to go downstairs, Mommy,” she declared, after tiring of my affection.

And so I pulled on my fluffy yellow fleece bathrobe and picked her up so we could go downstairs and admire the last snow before spring while we ate breakfast.

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Ten Reasons I'm Thankful I Went to Wild Mountain

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Back on November 15th of last year, I took a deep breath as I clicked the "Complete Transaction" button to send in my initial deposit on the last day of early bird pricing for the first ever Wild Mountain Memoir Writer's Retreat in Leavenworth, Washington. I told myself it would be okay as I exhaled slowly. I didn't exactly know how I'd pay for the entire trip, but I did have a part-time job that provided a steady stream of additional income, so I figured we would make it work. Somehow. Besides, I had asked for my husband's blessing before going ahead to book my ticket. He was 100% supportive, as always.

Little did I know just how much of an impact this writer's retreat would have on my work, let alone on who I am as a person in general. It's a little unreal how much a beautiful resort, jaw-dropping scenery, incredibly brilliant and inspiring published authors as instructors and presenters, fresh organic gourmet food, and vivacious, supportive, funny and highly social attendee writers can impact one's sense of purpose in the world. But, man, I can honestly say that I came home a more empowered writer and person in general.

In January I booked my flight using frequent flier miles we had been saving up for a rainy day. (The retreat was in Seattle, I take that as a sign from up above for many reasons, rain being one.) I decided to take an early flight out on Thursday before the retreat, in order to give myself an entire day and a half to settle in and adjust somewhat to the 3-hour time change before the retreat officially started on Friday evening. That proved to be one of the best decisions I made in booking the trip. I had a great flight out to Seattle from DC, and enjoyed the next 24 hours relaxing, exploring the resort, and writing while listening to Ed Sheeran's new album on repeat before the rest of the retreat-goers arrived on Friday night at 5:30pm.

 

Then it got wild.

 

Here are my Ten Reason's I'm Thankful I Went to Wild Mountain:

10. A mountain resort set withing the picturesque and uber-relaxing Cascades Mountains. I seriously was in complete awe of the beauty that surrounded us the entire weekend. From the snow-capped mountains to the bubbling waterfall with it's soothing melody. It was the perfect setting for writing, reading, and learning.

9. The food was simply incredible. Top-of-the-line gourmet, organic, fresh and delicious. I fed my body just as well as I fed my writer's soul last weekend.

8. A break from the reality and stress of everyday life. I packed for an adventure, and it was one heck of a ride from start to finish. I'm still glowing from the whole of it all.

7. Community. From the moment I met my roommate, Natalie, to the last hug goodbye at the airport, for forty-eight hours I was wrapped in a sense of comfort knowing that I was surrounded by my people. My tribe, as I like to call them. Writers who write and who truthfully share their stories for the greater good of people who read them.

6. Hands-on instruction from rock-star authors who so generously and passionately offered up their best knowledge on the craft of memoir writing. Techniques, tips, and tidbits of advice were wrapped with gorgeous bows for us. I am so very grateful to Ariel Gore, Candace Walsh, Suzanne Finnamore, and Theo Pauline Nestor (and Scott, for encouraging her to just go for it and host the retreat) for making the magic happen. Sitting next to Cheryl Strayed after her keynote address (written specifically for us) was a dream come true. She took her time in signing my three books and gave me a hug at the end. She is so amazing. My favorite piece of wisdom from her talk was to write until you find the bigger picture. I learned that I need to find a universal thread for my memoir in order to make it a book which many people will want to read. I'm happy to report that I think I found that universal thread during Theo's two classes and I can't wait to start sewing my story together with it.

5. Meeting a blogger who I deeply admire and respect. The witty and beautiful Ann Imig won the Writer.ly 6-word memoir contest and received a scholarship to attend the conference. Ann is the brainchild behind Listen To Your Mother, "a national of live readings by local writers in celebration of Mother's Day," which was born in her hometown of Madison, Wisconsin, and has grown to 24 cities this year. I was so honored to have met and gotten to know her over the weekend and am now privileged to call her a friend.

4. Feeling like I was back in college again. The resort had a cabin set-up, and each cabin had between one to four beds, so we were grouped based on the package we selected. I chose a room with one roommate and was so perfectly matched with Nat, who ended up becoming my best friend at the retreat solely based on the fact that she and I just "clicked". On Saturday afternoon, she wrote in our free time, and ended up reading me what she wrote, to which I promptly replied, "Nat, that's your first blog post right there." We spent the rest of the break before dinner creating her very own blog, It Will Never Happen 2 Me, and then went to the bar for a celebratory drink. So fun to be a blog instructor for a few hours.

3. Cheaper than an MFA. I think I heard this phrase mentioned more than once during the retreat. I'm pretty happy about that right there, given my love of a good deal and my admitted regret to having wished I studied Creative Writing as an undergrad.

2. I left the retreat emotionally and physically exhausted, and yet, I was more energized and inspired than ever before. I couldn't wait to get home to start writing again, to apply all of the incredible things I learned. I even wrote on the red-eye home because I was so uncomfortable in that damn window seat. Some of it is actually usable material, which is surprisingly fantastic.

1. New friends. I gained an unbelievable community of like-minded, highly intelligent, encouraging, fun-loving people. We're blowing up Facebook these days, if you haven't noticed. And I'm sure it'll continue. We're serious writers and we're keeping in touch. I can't wait until we all get published and get to have a Wild Mountain reunion to celebrate all of our accomplishments.

What a weekend. I changed. My book changed.

And this is only the beginning, folks.

Happy Birthday, G! {Wordless/Wordful Wednesday}

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Back when "Don't Carpe Diem" went viral via Glennon Doyle Melton's blog Momastery and the Huffington Post, I spent the next week staying up late every night, reading the archives of her blog and I'm so glad I did.

She is one hell of a writer who I had the pleasure of meeting randomly last year at our local swim school. After helping my son pull on his goggles and ushering him off to his swim coach, I went to sit down in the parent's viewing room with my 2-yr old daughter and looked to my left as a pretty mom was about to sit down in the empty seat next to us.

In a surprised (and almost giddy) voice I said, "Are you Glennon?" knowing the answer before she even had a chance to reply.

"Why yes, yes I am!" she replied with a warm smile.

"I've read your blog!" I said cautiously, not sure whether or not I should admit to how much of a huge fan I was of her writing. "I love it." Realizing later I could have said, "I've read your life," that is how incredibly honest she is.

We talked for the next twenty-five minutes while our kids swam (hers crying through the lesson mostly.) And she hugged me when we said goodbye.

I called one of my best friends, Stephanie, on the way home because I couldn't contain my shock and excitement.

 

Happy 37th Birthday, G. You are inspiring, uplifting, brave, brutally honest, and hands-down, one of my favorite writers. Carry On, Warrior!

 

+ The Paper MamaLive and Love Out Loud & Baby Baby Lemon

Rest: Five Minute Friday {2}

This week I've been short on it. My mind shifts into high gear as I settle into a sweet little hypomanic state. Don't freak out parents - I know I need to catch up on my rest. I just had so much to get done before kissing the kids goodbye, hugging my mother-in-law, and giving my husband a bear hug and a sensual "thank you" kiss at the airport as he dropped me off. He encourages me more than he knows. He trusts me with his loving smile.

It was a long day of travel yesterday.

Five hours on a plane, twenty minutes on the lightrail, three hours on a bus.

But I am finally here.

Dinner last night was amazing - so fresh and full of vegetables and fruit. Sleep came easy to me once I shed my traveling clothes and slid into cozy jammies.

Rest was refreshing.

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Five Minute Friday

Books for a rainy day

One more hour and the kids will be home for the day. I should be working, but yet I find myself drawn to the pen and my notebook. Needing to write. This morning after dropping them off at daycare in the pouring rain, their little raincoats slick with wetness from the sky, I drove over to volunteer at my son's preschool book fair. I love this church school, feel so at home here.

I quickly learn the cash register and ring up several orders of cute kids books, casually chatting with each parent as they pay for their order.

My half-hour shift is over quickly. The rain is coming down in buckets now, and I can't help but notice as I peek into the classrooms, how cozy and safe it feels. I love that this is my son's home here three days a week in the afternoon. His first school experience is so filled with love and smiles.

And books. Lots and lots of books.

As I pack up to head home, I ring up one last sale. I couldn't leave without buying a few new reads for my little ones. My little book lovers.

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Kicking Bipolar's Ass

1-IMG_7346 "She is bipolar."

I cringe every time I hear these words, or see them typed out in print or online somewhere like I did today. You would never hear, "She is cancer." Instead, after someone is cured of cancer you hear, "She BEAT cancer."

That is so wonderful. I cheer along with everyone else when I read of someone's victorious fight with the devil that is cancer. If you think about it, mental illness should be looked at the same way. I don't want to be known as the woman who is bipolar and is married with two kids.

I didn't ask for this condition, this heartbreaking, terrifying, complicated illness, to hit me at the age of twenty-six when I was newly married and at the peak of my recruiting career.

And I am not my illness.

I am so much more than this condition I live with and manage each and every day.

I am a wife. A mother. A daughter. A sister. A granddaughter. A niece. A cousin. An aunt. A friend. An employee. A room mom. A church member.  A Sunday school teacher. A writer. A reader. A bubble bath-taker. A coffee lover. A vegetarian. A chocoholic. A fan of music. A dancer. A car singer.

You know, the type that knows every word to every song and loves to sing no matter how bad of a singer she is. Yeah. That's me.

I am the sum of all these beautiful, wonderful things.

I am NOT Bipolar.

I may have bipolar disorder, but it does not define me. I am defined by the people I surround myself with, the people who I love and who also love me for who I am. The ways I spend my time help to mold me into the person I am becoming.

And I'm pretty happy with her. Most of the time.

Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of growing and learning to do. But I do think that I can be proud of how far I've come.

I turned 34 last month. I recently commented to my best friends how it seems like a third of our lives is gone already. They both reminded me that we'd have to live to 102 for that to be the case. Hey, it's possible. But I guess they're right. More than a third is done. Lived. In the books. {or, on the blog.}

Sometimes I wonder where all that time went.

I'm not sure, but I do know that I want to be able to say, for the rest of whatever time I have left, that I beat bipolar disorder. That I was an inspiration to others still fighting. And that I did my best.

I think I'm doing a decent job so far.

What I need: meds and sleep

My poor husband. Being married to someone who has Bipolar Disorder has got to be a teeny bit nerve-wracking at times. Take last week for instance. I contracted Baby Girl's lovely stomach bug and on Wednesday night (really, the wee hours of Thursday morning) was up puking my guts out from 1am until 4am. It was horrendous. I swore up and down that I don't think I want to have another baby because throwing up is the most awful thing in the world and I know I'd have morning sickness if we decided to go for #3.

The next morning I tried my hardest to get the kids up for Mom's Morning Out but I could barely walk ten feet without my head spinning. My husband had a 9am meeting that he HAD to be at, so I decided that I'd just keep the kids home and would let them watch TV all day until he could come home early in the afternoon.

And then I remembered my wonderful Mother-in-law. She's retired and she loves the kids and they adore her. I called and she said she would of course come over to watch them so that I could catch up on my sleep.

I couldn't even make the kids breakfast. My husband gave Mister Man a bowl of cereal and Baby Girl a sippy cup of milk and he was out the door. They were distracted with the TV until my Mother-in-law arrived and I crawled back in to bed. I didn't even come out until almost 2pm.

By then I only had a few hours until my husband would get home. I hadn't been able to eat anything, but was able to drink apple juice on ice. It tasted like pure heaven but it was bad news for my blood sugar. My husband got home around 4:30pm and I went straight back to bed. He made me a piece of toast and I was able to keep it down, but my body still ached from the heaving the night before and then there were the chills. I couldn't get warm despite two layers of clothes, socks, and a fuzzy bathrobe. Under covers. Eventually I fell asleep again.

I woke up at 9:30pm and picked up my phone next to me in bed to text my husband so he would check on me. He came up and when I was so delirious in the way I was asking him to get my phone charger, he started to get concerned.

Not about the stomach bug I had. He was concerned that I may be manic. I could hear it in his voice.

He tried to force me to take my Lithium, but I refused. I got angry. I called him names for trying to force me.

I realized I had forgotten to call his mom back about the next day and whether she should come help me again, so he offered to call her. He'd stay home with me and the kids.

When he came back up with another piece of toast for me, I took a bite and apologized for my rant. I was just so afraid of the medication making me throw up again like I had the night before. I promised to take it the following night. I know how much I need it.

Just not when my stomach is rejecting anything that goes into it.

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Sleep is my #1 trigger. I know this after years of managing my illness. As much of a night owl that I am, I cannot pull all-nighters like I did in college anymore. I can't even take care of multiple newborn feeding shifts (lucky for me). Because of this, I do everything I can to protect my sleep. If I don't, my health is at risk. Same thing with taking my medication. I may just need a small amount of Lithium every night, but if I go a week without it, I am most-likely going to become manic.

I don't blame my husband for trying to get me to take my medication and for worrying that I could have been becoming manic. He is just doing his job of looking out for my well-being and our family's well-being. I am very thankful that he realized that my irrational behavior was due to my frustration in him not being able to find my cell phone charger and also my haywire blood sugar levels from surviving on nothing but apple juice and a piece of toast all day. He is a wonderful, loving partner and father to our kids who has done a tremendous job of helping me to manage my illness.

Within a few days my sleep was back to normal and my stomach is almost back to normal. I was only off my medication for one night do to this nasty stomach bug (which I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, btw). This week I am preparing for Daylight savings by going to bed a little earlier each night starting tomorrow. The following weekend (St. Patty's weekend!) I am heading to a memoir writer's retreat in Seattle and this will be a bit of a challenge for me, sleep-wise. But I am well-prepared and I have my trusty sleep-aid to use since the time change will definitely disrupt my sleep. When I get home on the 18th I'll have a good week of work to do on my sleep to get back on schedule, but I know I will be okay.

I am a fighter. I monitor my sleep and take my medication because it is my responsibility to my self, my spouse and my family.

And it's getting to be past my bedtime, so I need to wrap this post up so that I can log some quality ZZZZ's.

Ordinary: Five Minute Friday {1}

I step on a Lego man as I wonder around the kitchen trying to get breakfast on the table for my two kids. There are two massive construction vehicles along with a block-built launching pad for my son’s rocketship. Baby girl’s pacifier and lovie blanket have also joined the collection of toys taking up precious floor space in my kitchen. 1-WP_002102

A load of freshly washed laundry is piled on the couch from last night. The dishwasher is full of clean dishes and so the dirty ones from last night that didn’t make it in are sitting in the sink.

Most often, this is what my house looks like. I usually wish I could send my husband and kids out for five hours so that I could clean the house from top to bottom. But then, it wouldn’t be an ordinary day at home, would it?

Five Minute Friday

The artist in him

{I'm a day late, but I still wanted to link-up with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary's Just Write series. Better late than never, right?}

It was day three of Baby Girl's stomach bug. She had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, and because of this, threw three massive tantrums in a row during the course of breakfast. By 9:30, she was wiped. So much so, that she laid down and fell asleep in the middle of the family room.

I asked my Little Man if he wanted to color beside me while I worked so that he wouldn't disturb his little sister's much-needed nap. He nodded enthusiastically, asking for the coloring book that his Grandma had given him the week before. "The one that teaches you how to draw, Mommy."

I set him up in the seat next to me and we both dove into our work. He was studying the lines so carefully as he moved his marker over the white paper. I love how he draws grass on most all the pictures he colors. And the way he draws faces on his stick people is so incredibly cute. Big holes for eyes and a nose, then a huge line of a smile that goes all the way from one ear to the other.

Makes me wonder what my drawings of people looked like from when I was his age.

The only one I remember is a dinner plate that I drew on at preschool for my mom and brought home as a Mother's Day gift. It was a big circle of a head and the arms came right out of the sides of the head.

My son is obviously much more of a gifted artist than I was at that age.

I've always had a fascination with art and it warms my heart to see my son so happy as he colors, draws, or paints. He makes me so proud.

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I looked over at him drawing this picture of a giant man and said, "You're a very good drawler, bud." {I know there's no "L", I just remember how I used to say it that way when I was young. I was speaking his language.}

"Am I like an artist?" he asked, a serious tone to his voice.

"You sure are," I replied.

"I'm your little artist," he declared.

 

My creative heart skipped a beat. And smiled with pride.

What I learned from my Listen To Your Mother audition

You will try your best not to think about it so much, but in reality it's the only thing running through your mind since you sent in your email requesting an audition spot.

It will take weeks to choose a piece to read, then when you read it for your best friend, she chooses a different one for you.

When the Producer and Director say to bring 3 copies of your piece, the third one is for you. Bringing your own copy in large print made you look like an old grandmother who needs bifocals to read 12 pt font.

You'll practice your piece standing up, but when you get there the Producer and Director will be sitting on a couch since the audition is in a hotel room. There will be a chair waiting for you to sit and read. This will throw you off a little.

You'll decide five minutes after meeting them, that there is no doubt in your mind that you want to be a part of their show. It is more apparent to you now than ever.

You think you won't cry when you read. But you do. Just a little.

You'll feel confident going in but more unsure of yourself than ever as you walk out the door and get into your car to drive home. You'll wonder if they really liked you and your writing. Or were they just being polite?

The week after the audition will feel like the slowest week of your life. Especially since there is no school on Monday due to President's Day.

You will try your best to focus on the normal day-to-day tasks and activities of life after the audition, but really all you can think about is whether or not you made the cast.

Five days after the audition, when the email finally arrives in your inbox, you'll read it quickly. Because when it comes time to take the band-aid off, the faster you do it the less it will hurt.

You think you won't cry when you read the rejection email. But you do.

You'll wonder if you could have done something differently. Would it have changed their minds?

You'll long to hear "I'm so sorry, honey. I know how hard you worked on your piece and how badly you wanted this. It's okay." while he wraps his arms around you.

But instead, he'll say "It's not that big of a deal. It's just one audition. There will be other opportunities, honey." which will sting. And more tears will come.

You'll give the kids a bath and tuck them both in, reading more books than you usually do, because it's a distraction from the hurt.

You'll pull out your journal and you'll write until you feel better. Or at least until you stop crying.

You'll want to self-medicate with a big, expensive bar of dark chocolate and a glass or two of really good red wine but instead at that moment you'll realize you're the textbook definition of an emotional eater and so instead you'll choose to take a bubble bath.

In the end, you'll realize that this just may not be your time to "no longer be anonymous" and so you'll decide to keep your identity under wraps a little while longer.

You'll be flattered that both the Producer and Director email you to ask you to audition next year. And to not be a stranger.

And you'll think: maybe 2014 will be your year to share your story on stage.

You really hope so.

Congratulations to the 2013 Cast of Listen To Your Mother DC! I'm looking forward to another incredible show on April 28th. Last year I was inspired, this year I auditioned, and maybe next year will be my year.

LTYMAbout the show:

The mission of each LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER production is to take the audience on a well-crafted journey that celebrates and validates mothering through giving voice to motherhood–in all of its complexity, diversity, and humor.
LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER aims to support motherhood creatively through artistic expression, and also financially–through contributions to non-profit organizations supporting families in need.