Mother’s Day and telling stories

On Mother’s Day, I’m doing something that scares me a little: joining a cast of unbelievable women and one brave man to stand up in front of hundreds of live people and countless folks on the Interwebs and tell a piece of my story. A piece of my heart. I’m worried about what I’m going to wear. I’m worried about doing awkward things with my hands. I’m worried about maybe crying while I’m trying to read a very vulnerable piece (that I will absolutely share here later). But I’m not worried about telling my story. Because my story is about how becoming a mother has made me fierce and free and strong and maybe even a little bit crazy.

Plus, telling stories is like breathing for me. I do it here. I do it 140 characters at a time on Twitter. I do it through pictures. I even do it every night as I write a few little lines in this Mom’s Line a Day memory book my sister gave me. I knew from the start that baby books and twins weren’t going to happen, but a few words each night is something I can do. I have come to see myself as something of our family time keeper. Especially now. We’re living in a time my girls won’t remember. A time they will one day ask me about– what they were like, what I was like, what life was like when they were small. And I am saving this bit of their story to hand to them one day, when they’re well on their way to telling their own truths. I am making their prologue right now, and even if it’s just writing something tiny in a little pink book, it feels almost holy. Yes, even yesterday’s line: “Etta ate a piece of dog food after rejecting her dinner. Then she asked for more.”

“The truth about stories is they’re all that we are.” –Thomas King

Over the weekend I got to watch my sister and her true love start a new chapter. I got to put on a pretty pink dress and read some Pablo Neruda, to smile and to cry as I watched my misty daddy tell her how beautiful she looked (and she did), to sneak a glance at the one I made my vows with as she made her vows to Tyler, to dance and drink and send glowing lanterns full of hope and love into the sky. It felt like an honor, watching such a big plot point be written into someone else’s life.

And now, on Sunday, I have the honor of not only sharing a bit of my story, but standing beside several others as they share theirs—it feels almost holy. I hope, if you’re local, you’ll do us the honor of attending. If not, please check out Listen To Your Mother online. You’ll be amazed at how much you can relate even to the stories that look nothing like your own.

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Please excuse any jankiness with this post. My wifi is down and posting from my phone feels weird.

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3 thoughts on “Mother’s Day and telling stories

  1. I’m in awe of your journey. I had one so long ago , but I didn’t write things down, for, I’d always remember…. What a foolish thing not to do! ” Pre -technology everything”, I raised my little army of three! A blip on the radar that time was. Oh for a few do-overs!

    By the way, I danced the generation dance at Jessica’s wedding! We won!!! By golly , my darling and I, married the longest! Seriously? It’s a rocket ship ride, this parenting ride, but as you are inside on the journey, it feels slow and cramped and sometimes you just want out . Oh for another ticket, I’d do every second over, this time paying so much closer attention to the moments and not the hours!!!! Dear ones, the days are long but the years are short!!
    Thank you for your precious words and insights. I love reading vicariously through a younger mothers eyes!!!

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