Time to Listen to Your Mother again!

Yes! It's true! 

New York City's Listen to Your Mother show will be back this May.

I will once again be producing, and working with a great team: returning Director Amy Wilson, and Associate Producer Holly Rosen Fink, and joined this year by two more wonderful writer/blogger/media gurus: Associate Producer Nancy Friedman and Assistant Director Shari Simpson.

Last year’s show was such a resounding success (selling out weeks before the performance) that we needed a bigger venue for this year’s show – much, MUCH bigger…

And thus we are thrilled to announce that in 2013, New York City’s Listen to Your Mother show will be performed at:

Symphony Space

on Sunday, May 12th (Mother’s Day)

at 5 PM

So this year on Mother’s Day… spend the DAY with your family but the EVENING with your friends and us!

(Tickets are even already on sale, here!)

If you don't know what the Listen to Your Mother show is? It's a national series of original live readings by local writers in celebration of Mother's Day.

If you don’t know Symphony Space? Located at 2537 Broadway (at 95th St.) it is a pre-eminent multi-disciplinary performing arts center on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, renowned for world-class music, film, stage, dance and literary productions and events.

We are thrilled to be bringing LTYM:NYC to a whole new level – and larger audience – here this May.

And if you’re interested in being in the show, come visit the LTYM:NYC website next week… where we’ll be announcing the call for auditions!

Also if you are not in the New York City tri-state area* and want to either BE in or SEE a Listen to Your Mother show, and you live in or near these other 23 places?

Austin . Boulder . Chicago . Denver . Eastern Iowa . Indianapolis . Kansas City . Madison . Milwaukee . New York City . Northern Utah . NW Arkansas . NW Indiana . Oklahoma City . Plumas County, CA . Providence . Raleigh-Durham . Sacramento . San Francisco . Spokane . St. Louis . Twin Cities, MN . Washington, DC . Wilmington

You're in luck! LTYM is coming to your town! So go to the LTYM national site, then find and click over to your city's site on the "Local Shows" pull-down list to see what's happening there. Many cities are already setting up auditions - so exciting!

*If you are like me you can nevermore read those words: "Tri-State Area" without hearing them in a funny-fakey German accent - thanks to Phineas & Ferb.

Listen To Your Mother is back and badder than ever!

I've been sitting on this for a while, so it is with a great sigh of relief that I can finally shout out to the world: Listen to Your Mother is returning to NYC in 2013!

That's right, once again, this May, I will have the honor and privilege of producing the Listen to Your Mother show, here in New York City. I will again be working with the killer team of Director Amy Wilson and Associate Producer Holly Fink. And this year we will be joined by the lovely and talented Shari Simpson AKA Dusty of the blog Earth Mother just means I'm dusty.

If you're one of those really organized types, you'll want to save the date. This year we'll be performing the show on Mothers Day itself: May 12th, 2013, in the early evening.

If you don't know what all this is about? Here it is (in the words of Ann Imig who started this whole thing):

LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER (LTYM) is a national series of live readings by local writers in celebration of Mother's Day. Born of the creative work of mothers who publish online, each production is directed, produced, and performed by local communities, for local communities.

LTYM began with one show of local writers reading in Madison Wisconsin on Mother’s Day 2010.  The video of the show was posted online in its entirety, and so LTYM reached a global audience and garnered a huge response.

Bloggers across the country began asking to host LTYM in their home towns, and so in 2011 Ann took the project national with shows in 5 cities across the country. And then in 2012 it expanded to 10 cities - including New York City!

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.

Last year's show was amazing. I loved every minute of putting it on, from the auditions, to the rehearsals, to maintaining the local website, and all the hard work that went into making it happen. Working with Holly and Amy and Betsy was a dream. Our cast was an incredibly talented group of wonderful women (and one man) and I can't imagine a better one. And then of course there was the show itself, a highlight of my year.

And this year? (Drum roll, please) ... TWENTY-FOUR cities around the country! Yes, 24! Watch this lovely announcement video to see them all listed: Introducing Listen To Your Mother 2013!

And if there's one near you? You should definitely consider coming out to audition (it's a wonderful experience, whether you get cast or not) and most certainly go see the show, come May!

The production teams in each of these 24 cities will be announced soon (with 9 out of last year's 10 cities returning this year too), and I have to say I am bubbling over with excitement about how many of my dear blogging friends around the country are coming on board. This is some mad crazy talent pool here, and you will be thrilled when you read that list, too.

Watch for that announcement on the main Listen to Your Mother site next week. And in the days and weeks to come, more information about the shows around the country and right here in NYC will appear there too. Also please follow us on Facebook and Twitter for timely announcements.

And if you want to see what we were up to last year? Here's my post linking to the VIDEOS of both the NYC show and all the others as well: The LTYM Videos have Launched!

And also, because hey, it's MY blog, in case you haven't seen it yet, here's the video of me reading "Holding Hands" at the 2012 LTYM-NYC:

Stay tuned for more soon!

Amy Grant talks (and sings) about Caring for Aging Parents on Katie Couric, and I was there...

What do Katie Couric, Amy Grant and I all have in common?

We have all gone through - and are still in the middle of - caring for aging parents through their physical and mental declines.

And how do I know this?

Katie and me

I was invited to the taping of Katie's show on Taking Care of Aging Parents, which airs today (at 3 pm here in NYC, check local listing for elsewhere), as a special audience blogger/tweeter. It's a lovely way Katie and her show are actively engaging bloggers and the social-media-connected generation.

I was also asked to contribute a post for the Katie show blog, and you can find it here: Caring For My Aging Parents

I highly recommend you watch this show if you have any interest in this topic, or even if you don't but you have still living parents or other older people in your life you may end up caring for some day. And even though it may SEEM years away still, you never know what fresh disaster is just around the corner (ever the eternal optimist, I know) to make that hazy "someday" instantly morph into today.

It is intense, exhausting, deeply rewarding, filled with love and sorrow, and something nobody thinks about - or wants to think about - until it is thrust upon them. It's better to be prepared. Don't turn away just because it's unpleasant to think about. Watch and start to plan now!

Also Amy Grant gifted us with a live performance - the world premiere of a new song that she wrote for her parents, her mother now passed on, her father deep in the throws of a grave dementia.

Amy Grant performing on Katie

Blogging the show was a great experience. I got to hang out in the green room beforehand, watch the show from the front row, and comment on it throughout via my twitter stream. Katie sat next to us bloggers during Amy's moving song.

Me at Katie

It was also fun to be back on a soundstage, reminding me of my former life in film & TV production. Sigh. And then it was back to "real life" (taking care of kids and mom).

The LTYM Videos have Launched!

LTYM-NYC, the most amazing group, EVER!

Remember all the way back to last spring? (Early May, in matter of fact.) I certainly do. It was a happier time. Before my mother's (down)fall.

I was SO busy, all wrapped up in New York City's premiere of the Listen to Your Mother Show (LTYM) - a national event in 10 cities. I was producing as well as reading, so I really didn't have time to be nervous about my performance.

It was an amazing a experience. A highlight of both my blogging and theater life.

And today, FINALLY, the videos are up on YouTube.

Gulp.

Please watch the whole show if you can, because EVERYONE in our NYC cast was amazing.

And then watch EVERYONE in Washington, DC; Austin, Texas; Northwest Arkansas; and Spokane, Washington as well.

An now EVERYONE in Chicago; Madison, Wisconsin; Northwest Indiana; Philadelphia; and San Fransisco, too! 

Hours of top notch entertainment, folks. And free!

And if you particularly want to watch me? Here I am, live on tape:

Gulp.

I'm in The New York Times!

Yes, it's true!

I'm in the The New York Times! (Well, the online Times, anyway.)

But still? It's The MotherNewYorkFuckingTimes! Yay!

Go! Read me on... (drum-roll, please) the New York Times Motherlode parenting blog!

HERE:

A ‘Sandwich Generation’ Caregiver Heads Back to Work

And all thanks to Listen to Your Mother.

(And KJ Dell’Antonia, editor extraordinaire who tamed my 1200 word monster down to a trim 700)

I was asked to write a piece about how producing and reading in this show has taken me out of my mommy-comfort zone. (And has it ever.)

So, here it is...  my byline...  in the New York Times...  (online).

And please LEAVE a COMMENT, because I'm sure that's one of the things they look at, when determining if they're going to invite you to come back and play in their sandbox or not. And I want in.

Thanks and stay tuned tomorrow for our regularly scheduled program...

(The boys get spring haircuts for Wordless Wednesday - or what passes for wordless from wordy, wordy me - less than 500 words to go with lovely pictures.)

Listen to Your Mother - an amazing ride!

Photo courtesy of Anne Flournoy @TheLouiseLog

New York City's first (hopefully annual) Listen to Your Mother Show did indeed take place yesterday. And I produced it. (Chills.)

It was amazing, glorious, profound and moving. And I'm not blowing my own horn here, but talking about all my fellow cast members.  It was a privilege and honor to share the stage with them, to listen to their stories. (And? Thank goodness for waterproof mascara.)

I was so happy during the show. And then, afterwards, slid into that happy / sad place I often find myself in, when something so long anticipated and labored to bring to fruition is finally done, over, finished; and the world has whirled on.

The show's director, Amy and I were texting this morning about how we'd both had an odd insomnia last night, not wanting to go to sleep, because when we woke up it would have all become "yesterday," and we concluded it felt much like a wedding in that way.

I'm trying to still bask a little in the glow today, but there is so much to DO in all the rest of my life. (Isn't that ever so, once motherhood has come along and the term "free time" becomes an oxymoron?)

I have an essay reflecting upon the day and the production process in me, but it's not yet ready to come out today.  So instead I'm going to share what I read on the stage. (YouTube video will be available soon.)

This is a slightly expanded version of a post I wrote last June, that was also just published in StoryBleed online literary magazine last week, an essay called:

Holding Hands

Today my mother was tired when I stopped in to visit, planning to take her downstairs to lunch.

And while many a day I will coax and cajole, force her to rouse herself, to rise to the occasion, today I didn't. I let her be.

Why? Because I was tired, too.

So I didn't make her make an effort, make her rise and dress, put in her teeth. I did hand her her hearing aid, however, to make conversation less about shouting and gesturing, and guessing.

And then I laid down beside her on the big, now half-empty bed and held her hand.

And we talked.

We talked about the little things; about everything and nothing.

I told her how we had just this morning measured Ethan, to find he had grown a full half-inch in a month.

She patted her head and mine, proclaimed us both lucky in our luxuriant curly hair.

I talked to her about Jacob.

She furrowed her brow, "He's still autistic, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, that's for certain, probably always will be."

Her eyes soften, wishing there were something she could do, finding nothing.

"But he's doing well? He's in a good school?"

"Yes, Mom, very well, and in a great school, where they love and appreciate him. I'll bring him by soon. He wants to see you, asks for you."

I haven't brought Jake to see my Mom since I had to put her cat Willie down last week. For a quite a while before that even, as Willie was growing quite frail, unable to handle the overly enthusiastic love of an autistic eight year old.

Jake adored that cat, will have a hard time with him gone. I'm not ready to handle that. Not yet.

“So everything is good then?”

“Yes, Mom, everything is just fine, terrific.”

(Terrific? Is not a word I would ever use to describe my life. Once you add Special Needs, Autism into the mix of kids and family, life becomes many things: intense. challenging, stressful - always - stressful, also meaningful and rewarding in ways I had never imagined.

But “just fine”? No. Not ever. Everything is not fine.

And also, this is news that cannot be shared with my mother, not anymore. She needs to know - to believe - that all is well with me, that caring for her is never a burden. She would feel so guilty if she thought she were one more weight heaped upon my difficult life.

She feels bad enough it’s me taking care of her now instead of the other way around; that I’m washing out HER underpants. So, to her, my life is “just fine.”)

"Haven't found me a man yet, have you?"

"Nope, Mom. They're either too old, too young or too... dull."

She nods in agreement, knows my father will be a hard act to follow. Yet, still, she longs for companionship.

We lay side by side, a short arms reach apart as I know she had lain for 51 years with my father on many a morning and evening (and, in their later, retired years, many an afternoon, too) talking about everything and nothing, the easy rhythms of intimacy.

I know this well in my own life, with my husband (though in these frantic years of young and special needs children, our quietly together times are much fewer and farther between) and with my son Ethan who jealously hoards his bedtime talking time with me, needing so much to process his day before releasing it to slumber. (Not an easy sleeper, that one, not at all.)

I held my mother’s hand. We talked of this and that, and then we drifted off to sleep; took a little nap, side by side, our fingertips a bridge from daughter to mother.

"I'm going to be 89 soon," she had said, "Imagine that."

"I can. I do. I'm no spring chicken myself, you know."

"I plan to make it to 100." Then, shaking her head, "Not likely."

"Why not?" I’d asked "Why not?'

She’d smiled.

We napped.

I woke first, slipped my hand from her now lax fingers, stepped into the kitchen to do a little cleaning up after my formerly fastidious mother who now sees no dirt.

I came back to wake her, to say goodbye. (There was so much to be done back across town, in my own life: groceries to purchase, children to retrieve, encroaching chaos to beat back.)

But first I sat softly on the bed, gently clasped her hand once again, leaned over to gaze at her barely lined, still beautiful face; whispered quietly, beneath the threshold of her dimmed hearing:

"Why not, 100? Why not?"

Tomorrow!

Tomorrow I will be rising early (hopefully having slept)...

getting dressed (probably changing my outfit five times in spite of spending hours today trying on everything in my closet and making my "final" wardrobe decision)...

kissing my children goodbye and commending them to the care of others (with instructions: "do not call unless your next call is 911")...

and heading off to the JCC to get things ready for my show.

My. Show. (Just typing those words sends shivers down my spine.) 

Yes, tomorrow is THE DAY!

At 2 pm, Listen to Your Mother will be performed for the very first time in New York City, and I am both the producer and a cast member.

And even though I will be speaking words about being a mother and a care-giving daughter, tomorrow (and for months leading up to tomorrow) I will be being more than "just a mom," more than the care-giver-taker person that has been my core identity these ten long years.

It's the start of... something.  I don't know exactly what, as unfortunately my perfect-future-vision glasses are on the fritz. Damn. (If they were working I know I could sell glimpses through them to every special needs parent on the planet.)

But I do know it feels good to be working again.

And lord knows my return to work is long overdue, our finances have been stretched beyond their limit for so long I have forgotten what not constantly worrying about money feels like.

But all that will come.

Today I am tying up loose ends. Lining up those last pesky little ducks. Spending time with my kids (haircuts!) Reading over my piece, hoping my words will resonate. Trying on every blouse in my closet.

Tomorrow will be magnificent. (I must remember to breathe.)

We have the most wonderful group of people coming together to share stories from their hearts and guts. It is nothing short of amazing, and if you were lucky enough to score tickets before we sold out you will see for yourself.

(And for those locked out - so sorry - next year we'll be in a bigger venue. Promise.)

I have had the BEST partners in this endeavor (Amy, Holly, Betsy and Ann I mean YOU!)

I love our cast and want them ALL to be my new best friends.

I am anticipating serious postpartum depression to settle in on Monday, as the high of doing this show has been so high I can't even see over the hump of tomorrow.

Tomorrow. 

TomorrowTomorrowTomorrowTomorrowTomorrowTomorrow. (Breathe!)

Thanks for the vast outpouring of well wishes and "break-a-legs" you've been sending my way. Really, without the support and encouragement of you, my friends and readers, I would not have had the gumption to attempt this.

I take all of you with me as I step onto that stage, tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Still Aware and Still Accepting

Today is the last day of April, now the official month of Autism Awareness and Autism Acceptance.

But of course, for those of us either with, or in intimate relationships with someone on the autism spectrum? It's not a month. It's a life.

A good life. But different.

I am still, more than ever, swamped by my duties as producer of the Listen to Your Mother Show, which is happening THIS upcoming Sunday. So I barely have time to type even another sentence about anything else, let alone the meaningful post about autism I should be writing today.

So even though yesterday's post was stream of consciousness (to the max) and I usually try to follow that with something well thought out and structured. Not possible to happen today. It's just another brain-dump people, with apologies.

Jacob has spring fever or spring mania or something and is bouncy and happy but also bouncy and LOUD, with his all-the-time talking at a new high. It's probably time for a visit to the psycho-pharmacologist for adjustments, and that is time and money I don't have. (Putting that call on my already floor-length to-do list for tomorrow.)

Listen to Your Mother is going to be amazing and our rehearsal yesterday truly inspiring. But it has definitely taken a toll on my family, with Ethan once again declaring that "You love your computer more than your kids, your computer is more important than ME." Sigh. I hope some day he'll understand.

Yesterday I actually said to him "I am more than just your mother, you know." And I kinda, sorta meant it.

I have to assume some of Jacob's over-the-top-ness is his needing more from me than I have been giving lately. He wants to play, to talk, to show me everything he is doing, which is truly, truly wonderful, but the timing couldn't have been worse.

So I am juggling three full time jobs - LTYM, Special Needs Mom, Elder Caregiver - and well, it ain't pretty.

There is an important conversation going on right now, that you should be reading if you care about autism. It's over here:

It's an answer to someone finding their blog using the search words "I wish I didn't have Asperger's." They want everyone typing those words into a search engine to find THIS site - and hear words of positivity and encouragement.

How utterly awesome. I wish I could have participated, but Asperger's is not the flavor of autism I have any real intimacy with, Jacob being of a different stripe altogether. 

But it's wonderful stuff, a lot of great posts by a lot of my autism-mom friends written and linked up there. You should go and read!

And that's really all I have time for today. Almost not a post, but better than nothing. (At least I'm sending you somewhere full of the wonderful.)

Now I have to go do another hour or three worth of work on Listen to your mother, and then plan the kids' weekend.  Do some paperwork for my mother.

And sleep, oh, yeah that "sleep" stuff. I think I vaguely remember what that feels like.

SOC Sunday: reallyreallystreamofconsciousness

This one is really really stream of consciousness, folks, not those fake SOC posts that I;ve been thinking about for hours and planning in my head so only the actual monkey-typing part is real. Let's pretend it's really Sunday and not wee early in the morning Monday and I'm going to back-date this sucker, okay, just pretend with me. I am flat out flat out right now between producing Listen to Your Mother - show goes up on SUNDAY - yikes! - and then trying to actually BE a mother, and a care-taking daughter. and feeling like I'm failing miserably at BOTH right now - haven't seen my mother in a week too busy busy busy. Got a call from my aunt Marilyn's nursing home yesterday morning that she'd had another toe infection - nothing to be alarmed, just keeping me in the loop - and I'm all stabbed with guilt because I haven;t brought my Mom to see her sister in over a MONTH now but it always makes her so sad to see her sis so far gone, but then she feels guilty when she doesn't go, dilemma, dilemma.

Jake acting up a lot lately repeating "Timmy is a Stupid Kid" over & over (his own lovely take-off on the cartoon show Fairly Odd Parents theme song). I think he KNOWS it annoys me - because he's looking right at me and smiling his "I got you" smile while he does it - & is doing it because he's not getting enough positive attention from me as I am balls to the walls (yes metaphoric ones) with this LTYM show which is way more work than I had bargained for in the beginning but it feels so good to be working and being more than just mom but I know I am not being a quite good enough mom while I am so busy and mostly just DISTRACTED.

And thank GOD for wonderful neighbors who actually took Jake for 3 hours yesterday when my sitter had to leave early and my rehearsal was still going on and my husband was working at a convention and couldn't leave early because he was on a late panel. They're actually the most amazing people on the planet, kind and generous and smart and funny and fun to hang out with and I don;t know what I did to deserve them but whatever it is THANK GOODNESS. and then I feel guilty because I don;t know what i can ever do to repay them for all the slack they pick up for me other than occasionally picking their boys up at school.

ANd the LTYM rehearsal was today and so fabulous and the show the show is going to be WONDERFUL and I wish the theater were bigger because we are so sold out and so many of my procrastinator-y friends didn't think to buy tickets until it was too late even though I TOLD them it would sell out a month ago. le sigh.

And my poor neglected blog - I tried to do Momalom's 5 for 5 linky but only got to 3 for 5. even started the last post - "Listening"  - really wanted to write that one & had a lot to say there, but only got four sentences into it when had to put out another LTYM fire. lesson learned for next year - expect very little elsewhere in my life during pre-show month of April. But April April April is Autism Awareness/Acceptance month as I was supposed to be writing writing writing about autism all month long and I so didn't. I stared with a bang and then fizzled out and don;t let me get started on how that's a metaphor for so much in my life. And now I need to go try to get a little more sleep so BAM it's over, stream shut-down. goodnight.

@@@@@@@

 
New to SOCS?  It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump.  Want to try it?  Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spell-checking. This is writing in the raw.

You can do it, too!  Click on the picture link and let's hear your 5 minutes of brilliance...

NO PLACE TO GO

There's something new and different here today: I'm doing a review post, really my first. And, shockingly, it's NOT for The Hunger Games, which it seems everyone else is writing about today. It's about theater. I am never one to go along with the gang.

Last Thursday my friend Holly, along with her MamaDrama partner, Erin, brought some magic into my life in the form of an invitation to The Public Theater to see their latest offering, playing in their cabaret, Joe's Pub - the one man (plus band of 3) show: NO PLACE TO GO.

To call it brilliant and entertaining would be just to repeat the wonderful reviews it's been garnering in the press, including both a feature article and glowing review in the New York Times. Ethan Lipton, the playwright-singer-actor whose creation this show is (along with his collaborator, director Leigh Silverman) roundly deserves every accolade that is currently being heaped upon him.

If you live on a desert island, or anyplace other than NYC (= basically the same thing, right?) and haven't heard anything about this play, it's a semi-autobiographical work.

Based on Ethan Lipton's own experience, the show is about facing unemployment when the company he has worked at for ten years (on a part-time, perma-lancer basis) is relocating. We get to be inside Ethan's head as he revisits his history and feelings about this company and work in general, and as he contemplates his options and choices, and those of his co-workers, as the relocation proceeds.

And because Ethan is a musician, as well as a writer and actor, the story is told in a mix of prose and song. So while it's a play with music, it's not a musical in the traditional sense of the word.

For me the show struck home in so many ways, most especially as a blogger, because this play has so much in common with the best of blog writing: confessional, seeming raw truth, but in reality so carefully shaped, refined; and written by someone clearly in love with language.

It does what good blogs do: takes reality and makes it more real; in this case, making the truth even truthier by adding a bit of fiction - because in this story, the company is relocating not just to another part of the country, but to Mars.

This absurdist twist somehow makes Ethan's story more compelling. While keeping all the details, the ironies and petty indignities of his situation no less specific, real and relatable, it simultaneously elevates it to a plane of universality.

Thus it is no longer the story of his one man's job loss, but rather a tale invoking the tectonic shift of displacement we are all experiencing as the economic freefall in our current time requires us all to reconsider our lives and careers, to contemplate moves we might not have otherwise, ones that seem like, well, moving to Mars.

I would love to give you many more specific details from this show, share some of the many gems found therein, but I really can't.

I knew I was writing a review, knew I was supposed to be furiously scribbling notes during the show in order to jog my memory and write this review. But I just couldn't. I was transfixed, in the moment. I didn't want to take my eyes off his face, didn't want to remove myself from the experience, to take that step back you need to, to write notes for a measured review. I just wanted to go along with him on the ride. To be transported.

So I jotted down just three measly phrases - 8 words, of the many astonishingly fresh, biting, funny, brilliant things Ethan said:
Gooey malaise - a turn of phrase he used to describe reactive depression, that struck me as perfect.
Shitstorm coming - the refrain from a darkly funny song.
Words first, then meaning - what could easily be the mantra of all those of us who are in love with language.

These will have to do.

An old theater professor of mine, Richard Trousdell, one whose wisdom well I find myself going back to again and again, used to talk about how we go to the theater to recognize ourselves, to see ourselves in others' stories and be transformed by the experience somehow. Or at least that's what happens when theater works, when it gets it right and the magic happens. (This aspect of theater that is sometimes called catharsis, but to him was even more than that, deeper.)

And this play? Yes. It gets it right. Very, very right. This is what storytelling does, when it does it best.

And while this is possible, can and does occur in the best of movies, it is fundamentally different in theater because there is the added factor of actual presence, of live human beings in front of you, not distanced by the intermediary of cameras, screens, editing; not displaced in time and space. Someone may record this, turn this into a film, and it may well be brilliant. But it will never be the same as being in that room with Ethan Lipton, the man, feeling his emotions as they pour off of him, in the presence of his presence.

And Ethan's presence is powerful, is tremendous, precisely because he is merely life-size, not larger than life. He is an appealing everyman while remaining very, very specifically himself.

And what he is, mostly, is a wonderful storyteller.

So if you live in or near New York City, run, don't walk to see this show. Magic like this doesn't come along very often, and it's only up for a limited run.

And, for my readers, a little discount to the show:

Use code NOPLACE for $25 tickets!
By Phone: 212-967-7555   ONLINE: click here
 IN PERSON: The Public Theater Box Office, 425 Lafayette St.

And if you can't come see it, here's a little glimpse at one song from the show, 3-Tier Plan, not live but a lovely little animation, nonetheless:

Thank you, Holly and Erin of MamaDrama for this wonderful opportunity.
Disclosure: I was provided complimentary tickets by MamaDrama, but all opinions are my own.

Looking for comments? To read or leave a comment, click on THIS post's title, or HERE, to bring you to the post's page view. Comments should appear below.

Tales from the LTYM Rehearsal

On Sunday, March 11th, waaaaay too early in the morning (especially considering Daylight Savings Time had JUST sprung us forward an hour!) we gathered the tribe and held our first rehearsal in a small theater on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.

While Amy, Holly and I had met and spoken with each member of the cast, for everyone else it was their first time laying eyeballs on each other, a first date, as it were. And in spite of it being rather much of a blind date for most, it couldn’t possibly have gone better.

Except for the part about standing in front of the building, waiting in the cold for the theater owner to realize it WAS Daylight Savings Time and he had to be there to let us in an hour earlier than he’d THOUGHT he had to.

However, it seems that shivering together helped to create an instant connection (the bonding powers of shared adversity?) as when we repaired to a local coffee joint to wait in relative comfort, a cohesive unit was already forming.

After taking care of introductions and practical business at the coffee shop, we were able to enter the theater and begin to read our works aloud. And then, there was magic.

Even though we were our own audience, reading just to each other, the power of our words shone through.

We were all different, our stories were all unique, our own. And yet in the telling and the listening I could see, could feel the glistening thread bonding and binding each to the other. The quilt of our show was being stitched together, each story a square of specific beauty, creating a wondrous whole that is much more than the sum of the parts.

I’m not going to tell you what our stories were. That’s the wonderful surprise, folks. You’ll hear them on May 6th, if you can come in person, or soon thereafter on the ‘net.

But I can share this: we laughed, we cried, we were moved in all the ways storytellers can move us. And when it was over we left so impressed by the company we were keeping, by the power of our words, and the brave people who are willing to share them.

I was beyond proud to be a member of this troupe, and I know for certain that everyone else in that room felt the same way.

<^>^<^>

And if you want to hear specifically how others felt about the first rehearsal?
Read our director Amy’s blog post: how do you stop the whole world?
Read Kir’s blog post: Just Be Enough: The Circle

(And yes, this is the SAME post here and on the LTYM-NYC site. Call it being efficient, not lazy, please.)


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LTYM-NYC has made a busy bee out of me.

Noticed it was a fairly quiet month on my blog this February? Yeah, me too. Sorry. I’ve actually been very busy, just not HERE.

I’ve spent a lot of time THERE, working on the NYC Listen to Your Mother Show, gearing up for its first annual appearance this upcoming May. (The 6th at 2pm at the JCC. Go HERE for details. Tickets on sale soon – but not yet.)

This week? Three glorious, wonderful, exhausting, grueling, uplifting, wrenching days of auditions. Sitting in a little room with my wonderful partners - the director, Amy of When Did I Get Like This and associate producer Holly, The Culture Mom - being amazed and humbled by the outpouring of stories brought to us.

And, of course, this being New York City where space is at a premium, we held our auditions in a big professional casting and rehearsal studio. Which was… interesting, as big Broadway shows were being cast and / or rehearsed all around us. Which meant that big Broadway voices were belting out showtunes accompanied by boisterous piano plating throughout the audition process.

You’d think a place like that would have better soundproofing wouldn’t you? Well, think again.  But we got really good at tuning out all the distractions and tuning in to our people.

And I do think for some of the folks who were not performers (maybe especially those who had traveled in from distant ‘burbs and beyond) it was a thrill to be waiting for their auditions in the same halls as professional actors and dancers with Broadway credits to their names.

And now? Auditions are DONE!

And now, the very, very painful choices need to be made. 

We saw over 50 writer/readers. (What were we thinking?!) Wonderful stories flooded our ears and eyes. Woman after woman - and two men - came in and laid their hearts and kishkas on the table (that’s “guts” for you non-Yiddish speakers).

We could probably just drop all of the auditioners names in a hat and pull out a dozen or so and have a great show. But you know we’re not going to do that, right? We’re going to think and talk and agonize; and think and talk and agonize some more.

And sweat blood, as we move names from yes to maybe and back again, our hearts breaking a little each time, as we sacrifice an individual piece we love in order to make the show stronger, as a whole.

Creating flow, creating a beautiful quilt in the pattern of motherhood, one lovely square at a time. (Full credit to Amy for this metaphor. It has been very useful as we work together to choose the big and little stories that we’ll stitch together to create our show.)

Thank you so much to everyone who bravely came forth to share your stories with us. We appreciated each and every one of you. We loved hearing your stories. You truly were ALL stars.

And if you were thinking about coming to audition and didn't; if you thought "Why would anyone want to hear MY unimportant story?" -- please think again.

Come see our show on May 6th. If you live in another city or area of the country where there is a LTYM sister show, by all means go see that one! If you can't come in person, watch the videos when they come out shortly thereafter.

And next year?

Grab your story.

The one that scares you because it is so honest, because you are so "out there" when you tell it.  The one about which you think "Can I really say this?"

The one that makes you laugh or cry, yourself, when you read it.

Bring it to us.

Stand up and read it out loud.

We're giving motherhood a microphone.

The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

We want your laughter and your tears. We want your unvarnished truth.

Yes, YOU.

Bring it on!



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Listen To Your Mother-NYC's Call to Audition!

Y'all may recall my announcement this past fall, that I was going to be a key part of the team bringing LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER - the national series of live readings by local writers in celebration of Mother’s Day - to New York City for the first local production here, right? OK, if your memory needs jogging, here it is: Listen To Your Mother!

Well, kids, things are now heating up big time...

We have a date and a space and a charitable cause, and now we need a cast. So that means... AUDITIONS! ... and that means YOU! Yes, you! No, don't look over your shoulder, I'm not talking to them (well, I may be talking to them too, but that's not the point here!) I am talking to YOU, my friend...

If you are a writer, and you write about mothers (being one, having one, or any mom-role person who has been in your life) then come audition to be in the show. While many of us are also bloggers, you don't have to be one to participate (but if you are it's a great way to promote your blog!)

Here's the skinny on auditions:

The show is on Sunday, May 6, 2012, at 2 in the afternoon, at the Goldman-Sonnenfeldt Family Auditorium at the JCC in Manhattan (on the Upper West Side).

Auditions will be held on the following dates by appointment only:

Sunday, February 26 th    11am - 2pm

Monday, February 27 th     6pm - 9pm

Tuesday, February 28th   10am - 1pm

To schedule an audition, email listentoyourmothernyc@gmail.com. Please include your name and your availability during the time slots listed above. Auditions are being held at a convenient midtown Manhattan (west side) studio. The exact location and other details will be sent with your confirmed appointment time.

Choose a piece you really love, and that takes about 3 to 5 minutes to read.  While you don’t have to be a mom (or even a woman) to participate, your piece MUST be primarily about motherhood in some way, and the words must be your own.

I really want to hear your stories of MOTHERHOOD, the good, the bad and the ugly; the funny and the sad; the profound and the profane. (Yes, you can curse, this isn't a kid's show, it's for US!)

That's it! Easy! (And if you want to see what sort of pieces have made it into the show before, you will want to watch the past Listen To Your Mother shows.)

The time commitment if you are chosen for the show? Not that much: two rehearsals TBD in March/April, a pre-performance run-through at the JCC, and the 2 p.m. performance itself on May 6^th. Also, while it's not REQUIRED that you come out for a celebratory drink with us after the show, I'll be damn disappointed if you don't.

All that said, I am warning you in advance that there are going to be readers and works that I absolutely LOVE that will not make it into the show this year because:

a) it's not my decision, alone, to make; I am but one voice on a team, and

b) we need balance, to represent a wide spectrum of mothering voices and experiences, and sometimes the specific wonderful has to be tossed to serve the show as a whole.

Please don't let the possibility of rejection hold you back from auditioning. At the very minimum you'll get 10 minutes of my undivided attention and a hug at the end (if you want one). 

Also you should know that even *I* - the PRODUCER - am not guaranteed a spot on the final roster. Like everyone else (with the exception of our MC and Director, the amazing Amy Wilson), I am also going to be auditioning, and might not make the final cut. 

Finally, if you're feeling at all nervous or anxious about (gulp) standing up and reading your work in front of (horrors) live human beings? You should read a wonderfully encouraging essay by my friend Stacey Connor of the blog Is There Any Mommy Out There?  This year she's reprising her role as the Director/Producer of the Spokane, Washington LTYM show, and wrote this about the experience of being a writer, reading: A word on stage fright and storytelling.

Also, if you want to read the more formal (more informative, much less chatty) version of the call to auditions, come to our local Listen To Your Mother - NYC Website, and read the official post, here:
NYC Listen to Your Mother show CALL for AUDITIONS!

I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am to begin this audition process, to be sitting in front of you, meeting you, and hearing all your stories. Bring it on!

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Five days of empty nest

At camp welcoming ceremony with Jake

Well, the boys are both at camp and we haven't gotten a phone call to come scoop them up yet, so I've got my fingers crossed that nobody gets injured and the phone call never comes, and this experiment will turn out to have been a whopping success.

I'm still stunned, and reeling. Delighted by the freedom and missing them fierce, all at the same time.

I got home yesterday at about 6 pm, after driving Jake up to camp in the Berkshires on Sunday and then staying overnight up there with friends, not wanting to do the round trip all in one day.

I was supposed to leave in the morning, but I was having so much fun being a grown-up, socializing as me and not as "mom," I stayed through lunch. It was the most vacation-like 24 hours I'd had all summer, and it was glorious.

Last night my husband had plans to go out to dinner with friends and I spontaneously called up a dear friend and had dinner with her, myself. Did you catch that word "spontaneously"? Been missing from my vocabulary for, well, nine years now.

Walking out the door yesterday evening without making plans for children, hiring a sitter, calculating how long to stay out (the "is the extra hour of fun worth the extra hour of sitter" quotient)? Glorious. And strange.

Strolling with my husband down Riverside Drive on our way to our respective dinners, I was positively giddy.

But today, I've felt a little un-moored all day. "Mom" is so at the core of my identity, I don't know who I am if I'm not caring for or planning for the care of little ones.

Even when I was across the country at BlogHer, I was still calling, getting texts, still the one "in charge" of arrangements, even if the execution of them was in other hands.  I had even gotten a 3:30 AM call from my husband one morning, California time, needing to know where to find the boys' lunch boxes. (Scared the bejeesus out of my roomies, too.)

But this? This is hand them over and then pick them up. Totally out of my hands. Totally unprecedented.

But the instincts, they don't just go away, even when the brain says "stop."

Tonight at about 6 pm, at the time when even if the boys had been out and about all day they would surely be home and needing to be fed, I was jumpy. I just couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to be doing SOMETHING for SOMEONE. Nope.

I am going to try my hardest to enjoy my last 2 days of freedom. I have a lot to do, busy, busy days planned, but I will be sleeping in Wednesday and Thursday. 6 AM wake-ups, 7 days a week for years on end has been brutal.

And I'm going to try to quench the little back-of the-mind voices that are worrying about my boys. Especially Jake who seemed so barely ready for this, about whom I went back and forth, and back and forth before deciding to go through with it.

It's so hard with him, to know how much he actually understands about what is going on around him. I have often both under- AND over- estimated his comprehension of situations.

I'd been doing my best to prepare him: writing social stories, reading Arthur Goes to Camp together. The whole ride up I talked about how long a week was, reminded him I'd be leaving him but would definitely, no matter what, be back to pick him up the next Sunday.

We had arrived at camp just in time for the opening ceremony, and as we sat together through the songs and heartfelt, cheery welcomes, Jake turned to me every few minutes and asked "Are you leaving now, Mom?" So, yeah, I guess that part had sunk in.

You know you're at ASD camp when someone stands in front of the group to introduce himself "Hi, I'm Dan..." and a voice from the peanut gallery pipes up "You're short!" Luckily Dan had a sense of humor and we all laughed.

You also know you're at a special needs camp when there are large kids screaming and crying and carrying on about separating from their parents. My heart went out to those kids and moms while I secretly thanked every supreme being I'd ever heard of that it wasn't MY kid.

Jake was amazing, giving me a warm hug and kiss and saying goodbye... and then going off with the group, like he did that every day. He never ceases to surprise me.

Ethan was nervous about fitting in, but as he's at camp with three good friends, I'm sure he's having a great time. And even if he's miserable, it's only five days, right?

On Friday morning I leave early (6 AM wake-up again. SIGH.) to go fetch Ethan. And he'll have a day with me, Jacob-free, which should please him immensely. And then Sunday we drive up to get Jake, and then it's full-time family time once again. For the two more weeks until school begins.

The moment I see their faces once again, I know how much I've missed them will come flooding over me, and I'll try not to embarrass them too much with my tears and kisses.

Within hours of their being home, I know these five child-free days will seem like a fever dream, a distant memory... like lazy Sunday mornings, or having a waist.

But for now I'm going to try to lay the strangeness and anxieties aside, and milk this time dry. Go to the movies - spontaneously! Eat something Ethan loves - and NOT have to share it with him. Shout something to my husband from one room to the next in the late evening and not worry about waking a sleeping child. Sleep naked. Step out at midnight, just to look at the moon and the stars.

Glorious.



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