Deepest Worth

I Saw Her

May 21, 2013 By Shannon 7 Comments

I saw her as I sat at a very long stoplight on Main Street. There are lots of trains running through our little town and it is not unusual to wait through several cycles of red lights, depending on the time of day.

I saw her standing outside of the ice cream shop holding the hand of her little brother as he held a cone in the other. Maybe it wasn’t her brother, but my guess is that it was.

I saw her face when they passed. Two other girls, about her age. They giggled together, and walked side by side in unison, as middle school girls tend to do.

I saw her shy smile – her head turned slightly downward but her eyes darting to their faces and away. She gave a slight wave as they walked on past, chatting and laughing to themselves, then quickly tucked her hair behind her ear and hid her unreturned greeting behind her back. I don’t think they purposefully ignored her. Maybe they did. But it appeared more likely that they simply didn’t notice her.

She was invisible.

I saw her peer behind her ever so slightly, through the corner of her eyes, to see of they would turn, to see if their giggles were at her expense.

I saw her expression, brief as it was, and I recognized it, for there was a time when I had worn it, too.

I saw her let out a sigh and crouch down to her brother, napkin at the ready. His smile was blue, thanks to the Cookie Monster ice cream he wore on his face…and shirt…and hands. Before she set to cleaning him up, she took the phone from her pocket.

I saw her smile – her true, pure joy – as she snapped a photo of her little brother, before setting to clean him up.

And I saw his smile, too. He reflected her joy and adoration. It is likely that later that night he annoyed her, or earlier that day she ignored him. But for that moment outside the ice cream store, she laughed with him and he soaked in her loving attention.

After a few minutes of burning fuel at this stoplight, I finally pulled off on my way. Though this was just last week, I do not remember where I was headed. But this brief scene has stuck with me. I wondered as I pulled away, what will this young girl remember about her excursion to the ice cream store? Which message will leave a more lasting impression upon her heart?

You are invisible.

Or,

You are everything to me in this moment.

I’m really hoping for the latter.

Symphony

May 15, 2013 By Shannon 21 Comments

“Mom, can you bring your laptop outside and keep me company?” Cheerio asked as she walked through the living room, sidewalk chalk in hand.

“Sure.” I went outside and plopped onto our porch swing with my computer on my lap. She started with a sunshine in the corner of the sidewalk square.

I clicked over to Facebook and found, at the top of my newsfeed, a link to Amanda’s newest blog post. I read her always brilliant words about “letting go” of the things running through our minds and releasing ourselves to the here and now. I was starting to leave a comment when I looked out to the sidewalk and the long legs and chalky fingers, and I paused.

Hmmm…

“I’ll be right back,” I said to her as I popped inside to set down my laptop.

When I stepped back out and jumped down the steps toward her, she looked surprised.

“Are you going to draw with me?”

Her glow brightened. She was happy before, just to be outside with me in shorts and flip-flops, enjoying the sun in quiet harmony. But now she was elated. From quiet harmony to blissful symphony. I started with a blue bird, she added the baby and the speech bubbles.

“I’m flying,” says the baby.

“Good job,” says the Mama.

Then on to matching butterflies.

Soon her sister emerged from the house with a blanket and her school books. She spread the blanket on the grass and settled in nearby to study. Then, her brother sauntered down the sidewalk, coming home from Track practice. She said to them both,

“See what Mom and I drew.”

I spend a lot of time with Cheerio. I walk her to school everyday. She is beside me in the stands at her brother’s sporting events. She sits behind me in the car as I shuttle her sister from place to place. I sing her a song every night before bed. There are many conversations. There are some battles. There are hugs and smiles and “hurry ups” and “shhhhs.”

But what I realized when standing up from the sidewalk and brushing the chalk dust from my hands (and my shirt and my pants), is that these moments of symphony are too rare, often drowned out by the comings and the goings and the to-dos and the… too much.

She’s still just ten years old. Though she enjoys time with friends or with her devices or with a book on my bed, she still wants to play… with me. She still wants to work together to create something new.

She still wants to make music together.

We will be leaving in a few weeks for a ten day vacation. Just the five of us. We are all very excited to hike new trails and eat new food and see new sights. But it is with equal anticipation that we look forward to those ten days together with no school, no homework, no work, no practices, no distractions. There will be back seat battles and “hurry ups” and “shhhhs.” There will be “oohs” and “ahhhs” and walks side by side.

And all of it together, the sounds of their chattering and battling and laughing and asking and telling, will be music to my ears.

*If I had not clicked over to Amanda’s post at that moment on the porch swing, I think I might have ignored the call of the sidewalk chalk. This is what we do for each other by sharing our words and our experiences. This is but one small example of the power of story. I offer my gratitude to all of you who have shared your voices with me.

Filed Under: Cheerio, Family, Parenting Tagged With: #IPPP 21 Comments

And That’s a Wrap

May 9, 2013 By Shannon 19 Comments

So this happened on Sunday.

Image Credit: Sabrina Persico

I took the stage – no falling or stumbling or burping. I read my story. The audience laughed in all the right places and applauded when I was finished.

And I loved it.

My husband told me that when I walked into the lobby after the show, my smile was so big and I looked so happy, that I was glowing. He said the glowing held for the entire next day and that it was so neat to see. He’s a keeper.

I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed being on the stage and reading words that I wrote. The writing is always the best part for me, but hearing an audience react was way more invigorating than I expected. Nerve-racking, but invigorating.

This whole experience has etched itself into my memory and left its permanent mark on me and who I will be from this point forward. It’s changed the way I will view myself and what I am capable of doing. It has changed the way that I view other women. It has given me a lens into the lives of other mothers, and let me tell you, their stories are plentiful, brave, and true. Their stories, their truths, are so very different from my own, and so very much the same. I speak not only of the stories that were shared on stage in our show and shows like it across that country, but also the stories that live inside of every woman and mother that we, you and I, encounter.

My favorite parts of the day, however, happened after the microphone was turned off.

… like the part when the other cast members walked off the stage after reading their pieces. They all shared a similar look of relief mixed with pride and accomplishment.

…or the part when we took our final bow together, hand in hand, and I located my people in the audience and my mom gave me a little fist pump, because she’s cool like that.

Image Credit: Sabrina Persico

…or when audience members, some of them total strangers, would approach me and tell me how much they enjoyed my piece, how it made them laugh, or how they could relate.

…or how I almost passed out when I walked through the lobby looking for my family only to find my Dad standing in front of the NBC Nightly News camera and crew, pointing to my name in the show’s program. *

…or the warm embrace of my husband, my mom, my dad, my mother-in-law and their whispers in my ear telling me that I did good.

… or the sight of my 16 ear old daughter, the look of pride in her eyes, the wide smile across her face, and the realization that I have, indeed, “done good.”

I will end this post, this journey, with a thank you to those who came to the show and those who held me in their hearts from afar (and to my father-in-law, who stayed back at my house and shuttled my other two kids around and kept them well fed, I’m sure).

But most of all, I thank and honor these women. I thank them for their words and their warmth. They will be a part of me, always.

Image Credit: Sabrina Persico

* NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams was present at our show, filming an interview with Ann Imig, the founder of Listen To Your Mother. It is set to air on Friday at 5:30 CDT/6:30 EDT. Tune in and who knows? Maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of my dad.

**All of our readings will be available to view on YouTube later this summer.

Filed Under: Life Tagged With: Listen To Your Mother 19 Comments

I Think of You

May 4, 2013 By Shannon 25 Comments

As Mothers’ Day approaches , and as the hour of Listen To Your Mother nears, I find myself turning my thoughts to the mothers in my life.

I think of my paternal grandmother, of her wisdom and resilience, of her genuine spirit. I think of her as a young widow with three small boys to raise on her own. I think of how, if she was still with us, she would stride into The Athenaeum tomorrow wearing a fancy hat upon her head held high with pride, pride in me. I think of how everyone in the theater would know that I was part of her, from her, a Duffy.

I think of my maternal grandmother. I think of her kindness, of her brilliant, mysterious mind. I think of her hands and the books they held, the many meals they prepared for me, of them folded together, rested against her cheek. I think of how, if she was still with us, she would enter the theater quietly and unnoticed, just as she liked. I think of how the corners of her lips would turn up in a subtle grin, a grin that would tell me how pleased she was to bear witness to my words, my words.

I think of my husband’s mother. I think of her acceptance and her encouragement – of me – as the wife of her son, as the mother to her grandchildren, as her daughter and friend. I think of her laugh and her ready smile, of the ease with which she loves. She will be in the theater and she will laugh and cry and feel all of the words, mine and others.

I think of my aunts and all of the other mothers who have come before me, before us. Who have shown us how, who have fought battles and, in turn, made it possible for us to fight our fight and to celebrate our victories, who passed the microphone to us and said “Be Heard.” These mothers that came before, will fill that theater, some in body and some in spirit, and its fullness, the fullness of them, will surround our words and give them a safe place to land.

I think of my sisters-in-law, cousins, and my friends, most of which are mothers, too. I think of us raising a generation together. I think of their words, their stories, so many stories, and the truth and strength held within them. I think that, if they were able to be in that theater, they would smile and laugh and cry and nod their heads, because these stories are their stories, too.

I think of my cast mates and this journey we have found ourselves traveling together – the journey to the stage, but, more so, the journey to each other.

I think of my daughters, and how, someday, I will pass the microphone to them.

But, mostly, I think of my Mom. I think of the excited spirit she carries within her and shares easily and generously with those around her. I think of the look on her face when she sees me, a look of pure love, pure motherly love. For almost forty years, I have been loved by this woman and I have felt every single day of it. It, this love, has been impressed upon me, sealed within me, blessing me, and building me. I think of how grateful I am that her eyes will be shining in my direction as I walk onto that stage tomorrow.

I think of you.

Filed Under: All about me, Family, Life Tagged With: Listen To Your Mother, motherhood 25 Comments

My Day In Numbers

May 1, 2013 By Shannon 5 Comments

My writing muse is missing in action. I plan to look for her later today. But, for now, since words have escaped me, I am choosing to express my thoughts in numbers. Don’t worry. There is no math involved. Though, I really do think math is fun. Maybe next time.

It is almost eighty degrees outside and the sun is shining. Unfortunately, it brought the tree pollen along for the ride. I have sneezed no fewer than eighteen times today. Thus, our windows are closed and our air conditioner is running.

Cheerio has zero more book report projects to finish this school year. What’s that I hear? Is it a choir of angels singing? Why, yes, it is. And if you’ve ever had to deal with fourth grade school projects, I’m pretty sure that you hear the angels, too.

I just cleaned and/or cut up one pineapple, two green peppers, two pounds of carrots, four pounds of strawberries, six ounces of blueberries, and one watermelon. It took me forty-five minutes and will be gone in less than five days – along with the sixteen apples in the fridge, and the four bananas and one avocado on the counter. Add in ten boxes of cereal. If you see me in the grocery store, rest assured I am there for either cereal or produce. Or toilet paper (see sentence about produce).

I realized the other day that in eight short years, we will be empty nesters. I know that I shouldn’t be startled by this fact, seeing as how I always knew my children’s ages and have been able to add and subtract for some time now. But, damn.

There are twenty-two school days remaining. This is a good thing. I’m ready to see the kids jumping in the pool or painting on the porch or running around with their friends. Pretty much anything but sitting at the table doing homework. I’m looking forward to weekday picnics and walks to the Farmers’ Market and to freedom from the strict school schedule. That being said, the summer chore schedule is already printed and hung. They can give me thirty minutes a day, am I right?

Boy Wonder caught the winning touchdown pass this weekend in his seven on seven football game with zero seconds left on the clock. When he came out from under the pile of four guys holding the ball high over his head, his smile stretched across his whole face. Someone caught it on video and I hope to share it soon.

We leave next month for our ten day family vacation to California. The day that we leave for vacation is routinely my favorite day of the year. My inability to contain my excitement about this should make me fairly annoying to live with for the next five and a half weeks. Family, consider yourselves warned.

It’s only four more days until I take the stage for Listen To Your Mother alongside these sixteen ferocious friends. I’m hoping I can make it through my piece without sneezing (see aforementioned tree pollen).

Image Credit: Sabrina Persico

Cheerio’s braces were removed yesterday, instantly aging her at least three years.

I stepped out into the sunshine today to take some photos of the flowers and blue sky. When I came inside and transferred the photos to the computer, there were zero sky photos, only two decent flower photos,

and a dozen pictures that looked like this:

Yes, she is smiling.

Well, that about sums it up . How’s your day adding up?

Filed Under: All about me, Family, Life Tagged With: Listen To Your Mother 5 Comments

My Cells Are A-Hummin’

April 26, 2013 By Shannon 11 Comments

Hello everyone! Long time, no see.

I’ve been absent for a while. I guess I’m still new to this whole blogging thing and need to set up a schedule or routine or something. I’ll think about that later.

I’ve had a very good week, filled with friends, old and new (in terms of time known, not age) and family. So, I’m here today to spread the joy.

Our first country house in Kentucky had a sun drenched fence row. A perfect place to plant dahlias. Their blooms, as big as my face, were plentiful. Perhaps, a perfect symbol of abundance.

My mother asked what I would do with them all.

Spread the joy.

I bought many, many glass vases and filled them with dahlias to bring to friends and neighbors.

Here’s one for you:

I spent most of the weekend with a dear friend whom I haven’t seen in thirteen years. She flew up from Florida on Friday to visit me. Chicago greeted her with wind and snow. She was actually delighted with the snow and cooler temperatures (which made me want to slap her a little). We ate and drank and laughed and ate (wait did I say that already?) and picked up right where we left off those many years ago when she would sleep on the floor of the bedroom. And, I didn’t have to slap anyone because Saturday looked like this:

Sunday brought her departure and our final Listen To Your Mother rehearsal. I felt filled to the brim with love and inspiration by my fellow cast mates. Their stories and their laughter, the vulnerability of their words, weave around me and pull me into a place of comfort and purpose. (Don’t forget to get your tickets here.)

And it was a crap ton of fun.

Image Credit: Sabrina Persico

On Monday, I heard from another friend from afar, whom I haven’t spoken to in years, and we are planning on meeting up in person this summer. On Tuesday, I shared drinks and laughs with a dozen women united in the fact that we are raising teenage sons.

I guess it’s true what they say about the raining and pouring.

Wednesday was a non-attendance day for Rosebud so we went dress shopping for the show, and I did more dress shopping with my mom on Thursday. Here’s a sneak peek brought to us by Cheerio, as I reached to snatch the phone from her grasp.

I assure you, it looks better in person, but you will have to come to the show to see for yourself.

Yes, abundance, indeed.

There are days that don’t feel so full. Days when I question my purpose. There are days that are spilling over with tasks and to-dos; days full to the point of emptiness. But the good days? The ones that have all of my cells humming and my heart bursting, are the ones filled with my people. As much as I treasure moments of solitude and silence, as much as I require moments to think quietly to myself, those moments will never be enough to sustain me.

I need my people for that.

And my dog, of course. I can’t leave her out or she looks at me like this:

Wishing you all joy today. May your weekend feel abundant, may your cells hum, and may you have a crap ton of fun.

Filed Under: Life, me Tagged With: friendship, Listen To Your Mother 11 Comments

On Beauty

April 17, 2013 By Shannon 18 Comments

I have this red dot on my forehead. It hasn’t always been there, and I don’t like it. I’ve use makeup to cover it and have “erased” it from photographs. During a conversation with my husband, I mentioned getting it removed. My ten year old daughter interjected, “But why? It’s part of you.”

She took this picture of me the other day. My first impulse was to delete it. My eyes go to the saggy neck and the dark circles and to the lines beside the smile. She liked it. When I asked her what she saw, she said “Mommy.”

So, I’m publishing it here. To honor what she sees.

Yesterday, I watched this video with my daughters by my side.

I recognize this as the heavily edited marketing tool that it is, but I still like its intended message. Be kind to yourself. If you are quick to notice the beauty in others, why are you so slow to see it in yourself?

The video led to this conversation:

Cheerio: What do you notice first about the way other people look, the good or the bad?

Me: I think that depends a lot on their behavior. I guess if they are behaving with anger or meanness, I notice the bad first. If they appear sad, I notice that and wonder why, but don’t really recognize it as good or bad. If they are smiling, I would say I notice the good.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best answer, or the right answer. But it was the honest answer.

I went to the dermatologist last week for a skin check. The nurse practitioner informed me that, though it posed no risk, they could laser the red spot off of my forehead easily, painlessly, and affordably. I decided to keep it for now. I’m not sure if that is the best decision, or the right decision. But it feels like the honest decision.

I’m not sure what the lesson is here, what I’m meant to learn from these recent randomly aligned confrontations with my own appearance. I’m a woman who struggles, at times, to define beauty and to see it in herself. Maybe that’s the problem – that our culture strives to narrowly define beauty and happiness and success, when there are so many different angles and perspectives from which to view these ideas.

Maybe that’s the lesson. Widen your lens. Even when it’s pointing back at you.