When I auditioned/was accepted into Listen To Your Mother Austin I somehow did so under the false impression it was all about me.
The child was little (six) and while she was excited to come and hear me read the *real* highlight of the event for her was there were gummy worms involved (I still have no idea from whence those came).
I thought the day was all about me and for me.
The royal me of mothers and motherhood and men & women sharing stories and connecting on a level I’d not experienced before with people I didn’t (fingerquote) know (unFQ).
I thought she wouldn’t remember how I told our tale.
About adoption and waiting and paperwork and moving and people thinking she was the Buddha.
But she remembers.
And it is she who asks each year around this time to listen to my read our story again.
And so I’m sharing here, again, as well.
It’s our story.
It’s a universal story.
It’s a story for anyone who has experienced loving a child who wasn’t born to them.
It’s a reminder as mothers/mother-figures so much of what we do (the good and the bad) may appear to go unnoticed—but it’s noted.
Listen To Your Mother shows are happening all over the country this weekend.
Listen To Your Mother has now become a book.
Motherhood is amazing, complicated and fraught with conflicting emotions.
I thought it was all about me/motherhood when I shared my story through them.
The older she gets the more I realize it was, in fact, a Mother’s Day gift to her.