The last time I was onstage, it was the summer of 2008. I was a newlywed- playing a newlywed during the zombie apocalypse- who got to star opposite my very real and (thankfully zombie-unafflicted) husband. And it was a great show. After performances, P.J. and I would wipe the drool off of each other and ride our bikes from the theater to the Dairy Queen, stick around the theater and have a chelada beer, or do whatever else we wanted during that ridiculously amazing and unfettered first season of marriage.
Things have…changed, slightly.
A little over a year later, I had our first kid. Two years later, I had our second. And two years (and two months) after that, our third. Not only did the arrival of those smallish people completely kill the ability to go out and audition anymore, it also killed the desire to want to audition. Or to be away from them at night, on weekends, over holidays. Besides, I had my playwriting gigs and plenty of opportunities to write, which made the transition way easier than it otherwise would’ve been.
But now it’s 2014. I’ve felt something akin to actually missing the stage. (Slightly.) And I’ve been enviously eyeing online writer friends who’ve taken part in this phenomenon called the Listen To Your Mother Show. (Learn more about this incredible process here.) Seeing hordes of talented playwrights and bloggers step into the spotlight to “give motherhood a microphone” made me wonder if I could contribute, if I had a story worth sharing. (P.J. might gently suggest that motherhood has a rather strong voice ’round here, but we’ll leave that alone for now.)
Me, emoting. (With hands.)
Photo credit: Balee Images
So I auditioned for the Chicago cast. And I made it. Which was shocking and thrilling and a teensy bit terrifying. It’s one thing to write on the interwebs. Still another to perform onstage with someone else’s words and stage directions. But it’s a whole new thing to craft a super personal monologue and then read it in front of a [hopefully] packed audience at the Athenaeum Theatre.
Jasper is an integral part of my rehearsal process. (That, and flashing my chestal region at inopportune times.)
Photo credit: Balee Images
But I’m going to be joined by a supremely talented group of women, all with incredibly diverse stories and backgrounds and laughs. (I love them already.)
Join me, won’tcha? Celebrate your mother, honor your mother, revel (and commiserate) in your own motherhood, and be thoroughly entertained and enlightened by this rather divine crew of storytellers.
I’ll prolly make this face a lot.
Photo credit: Balee Images
Seeya on May 4th, friends. I’ll be the one Ugly Crying/Unattractively Laugh-Snorting onstage.
Which only differs from my usual day to day by the “onstage” part.
“Yeah, Mom. Shocking.”
Photo credit: Balee Images
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