It Was a Good Day

Photo courtesy of Balee Images.

Back in February, I mentioned I was lucky enough to be cast as a reader in the 2014 Listen To Your Mother lineup.

Well, the show happened last weekend, and YOU GUYS—
I waited a whole week to start writing this post, which is forever for me to get “pen to paper.”
(No actual pen or paper, because, HELLO, it’s 2014.)

I wish I could sum it all up in one sentence—one that’d make you want to buy tickets for next year’s show right now.
(You can’t buy tickets yet, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.)

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It was honestly the coolest thing I’ve ever been part of in my entire life.
No exaggeration.

The crazy part? I didn’t even realize how cool it was until I was walking off the stage after reading my piece.

It felt like wading through a pool of Jell-O pudding.
SWISH. SWISH.

As I walked, all I could hear in my head were those wah wah wah sounds from Charlie Brown whenever the adults talk.
Wah wah wah. Wha ha whah wha.
You know exactly what I mean.

If I were to do a proper recap, I’d have to break it into paragraphs with titles.

Because otherwise, it would just be:

HOLY CRAPBALLS, THE FEELS!
OMG, wait—I forgot the nervous stomach and dry mouth drops!
I didn’t sweat.
Graffiti on a house.
THE PIZZA WAS AMAZING.
Tree.

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My parents were unbelievably supportive through this whole process.
So when they told me in February they were driving all the way from Chattanooga to be there, I was beyond excited.

Then, on Wednesday night before the show, my dad called to say my mom had the flu—think H1N1-level flu.
I was pretty upset.
Devastated feels too dramatic, but yeah, it really sucked. Big time.

When this huge bouquet of flowers arrived Saturday afternoon from them, I literally sobbed.
Because it confirmed they definitely wouldn’t make it.

Sure, they’ll watch it on YouTube in July, but it just isn’t the same.

I will say the “devastation” was definitely lessened because I knew my people would be in the audience.
I hate how possessive that sounds, but I think you know what I mean.

Everyone has their people—immediate family, close friends, or in my case, friends who have become family.
I had so much love in that room.

Knowing they were there, supporting me and cheering me on, made that day incredibly special.
You know who you are.

Thank you for being my surrogate mommies and daddies that day.
It meant so, so much to me—and I know to my parents too.

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WE HAD A DRESSING ROOM

Like the old-fashioned kind — with the big bulbs and everything!!
DUUUUUUUDE.

Not gonna lie, I was nervous starting a week before.
Every time I thought about it or read my piece, my palms would sweat.
My feet would sweat.
My boobs would sweat.

But once I got to the theater, I actually felt calm.
Being around all these amazing women was so calming and unforgettable.

I might forget walking to the podium, the feeling as I left the stage, or even what type of pizza I ate afterward, but I will never forget the conversations I had with my castmates before going on.

Oh, and I will never forget this—Secret Clinical Strength is LIQUID GOLD.
I’m a nervous perspirer. I didn’t sweat the entire day, smelled fresh as a daisy, and all was right with my armpits.

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Like Bobbi Brown. Only better. And cuter.

When I found out I made the cast, one of the first things I fretted about was,
“What in Pete Rose’s name am I gonna wear???”
Because, hello, I’m known to rock Capri pants… to important events.

Then came worry number two:
“What in Pete Rose’s name am I gonna do about makeup???”
Because I don’t wear makeup… to important events.

Then I remembered—I have a 14-year-old daughter training to become the next big makeup artist!

(By the way, it’s Bobbi Brown, not Bobby Brown. There’s a difference.
One will make you look pretty. The other will rock witcha.)

When I asked her to do my makeup, she was totally surprised—in a good way—and agreed right away, maybe threw in an “OMG, Mom,” and I think I heard something like, “Do you even know what a brow brush is?” The answer: no.

Was I worried about my appearance?
Not once.

If you know me, you know it’s totally uncharacteristic for me not to fret or freak out about things like this. But I didn’t. I had total faith in her.

And it was the best I looked—like, ever.
Even better than my wedding day.
Probably because I did my own makeup.

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Maybe I can wear culottes?

What I loved most about the Listen To Your Mother Facebook group was all the pre-show wardrobe banter.
I wasn’t in full crisis mode about finding a dress like some of my friends, but I did have an A-Ha! moment.

I bought my original dress back in March at the Gap Outlet for $11.88.
It was black, simple, but honestly—meh.

Then, three weeks before the show, I wasn’t even looking for a dress at Old Navy when the dress found me.
Green, perfect shape, looked pretty good on, and was marked down from $25 to $19.99.
I snagged a coordinating necklace for $9.95 while I was there.

Shoes? Bought last summer at TJMaxx for an embarrassingly low price.

Done.
The whole LTYM outfit for under 30 bucks, top to bottom.

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That’s what she said.

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Is anybody out there?

I’m not gonna lie, when I stood at the podium, it felt like I was talking to an empty theater.
The lights were so bright—oh, so bright—that I couldn’t see a single person in the audience.
And trust me, there were plenty. Think 500-plus plenty.

But I just couldn’t see them.
Which honestly made the whole thing way easier.

It was like reading my piece in my living room, with a laugh track.

It was amazing, awesome, and honestly, like an out-of-body experience.

I don’t remember how I read my piece.
Don’t remember if my speech was slurred.
Or if my upper lip was sweating.
Or if my boobs were saggy (BTW, totally wore the bra).
Dry mouth? Dry eyes? Dry skin? Probably all of the above.

I think I even gave gang signs on my way out to the podium.
Allegedly.

That’s all I really remember.
It was surreal.

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Putting together a show like this is a labor of love, but oh, it’s so worth it.
The feels. THE FEELS.

After the show, I wanted to go home with my cast mates.
I didn’t want it to end. It was this amazing, electric experience that only 14 other women in that moment could truly understand. And the 24 other Listen to Your Mother alumni in the audience, too.

But none of this would have happened without the talent and hard work of my incredible co-producers, Melisa and Tracey.

Here’s something not many people know—I was actually a little unsure about my piece.
It was a personal confidence thing I’m sure a lot of people can relate to—especially when you’re about to read something so personal aloud in front of hundreds of people.

I cried the whole way home from the first rehearsal because I thought I was going to bomb.

The week after, I was in a serious confidence funk. Then my mom—among a few others—said something like, “Trust in them. They picked you for a reason.”

They saw in me what I couldn’t see in myself.
For that, I am eternally grateful.

Sometimes, we just need a push.
Thank you for the push.

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It’s been a week now, and I’m still flying high. I’m still full of confidence, soaked up from the energy of those 14 incredible women in Chicago on May 4th. I’ll never forget this experience—how it made this stay-at-home mom feel like a rock star for just one day. I am forever changed by it.
And if you live near a city that hosts Listen to Your Mother, you will be too.

My takeaway?

More confidence in myself as a writer.
Stepping outside my comfort zone.
And learning that yes, I am worth standing on a stage for 5.1 minutes to tell the world my little piece.

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