Connection, Positivity & Good Hair--A Drybar Review

The world feels overwhelming. Not just my world, our world. The level of bad news online and on TV is exhausting and so upsetting. It seems strange to write a blog post reviewing a new business that focuses on drying people's hair. But maybe it isn't that strange because when I visited this new business it felt more about community, connectedness and positivity than hair, and boy do we need more of that right now.

I had the opportunity to go to the new Drybar that opened in the town next to me. All I really knew about Drybar before going was what I learned on celebrity Instagram feeds and Twitter--they loved it. Getting the chance to go to the grand opening celebration and getting to feel like a celebrity sounded pretty awesome to me.

The only problem was the grand opening was on the same day as my kids' last day of school. It meant I might not make it back to see them get off the bus and hug them and do the happy dance while saying "happy summer vacation!" I mean I'm not sure the high schooler and middle schoolers would miss me all that much, but my second grader might. I scheduled my appointment early enough so that I could race home and hopefully do the dancing and hugging with Wade.

On the morning of my appointment I called Tim and said, "Maybe I shouldn't do this, I mean it feels excessive and I should stay home and make a summer vacation cake and be there for the kids." He reassured me that it was okay and told me to have fun. I said a reluctant "ok," parked my minivan in the parking garage, and followed the blinking light on my phone navigating me to Drybar and my shot at feeling like a celebrity. "Arrived," my phone told me. But there was no Drybar in sight. I walked up and down the street frantically looking for the salon and checking the time, watching my appointment time slip away. I walked and walked but couldn't find it. Not going to lie, I started crying just a little bit. In my defense I was probably crying because the last few weeks of school are insanely busy and tiring, I felt stupid and like I was letting down Drybar and the PR firm who asked me to review it, and I hadn't done my big project for my college class, I started worrying that my stylist would be mad that I had planned on going here I mean is it cheating on her?, I was low on gas, and well bad stuff is happening everywhere and ahhhhhh. Right when I was about to say "forget it" and go home, I saw yellow balloons swaying gently in the breeze. "There it is," I said. 


I walked in and was immediately greeted by friendly people everywhere. Many of them wearing the coolest yellow earrings. Music was playing, hair dryers were blowing, and people were talking and laughing. 

The salon is all white with cheerful and sophisticated yellow accents everywhere. 

I went straight to the front desk and apologized for missing my appointment and told them I would write a review about them anyway. "No worries, we'll fit you in," a woman said smiling. "Would you like water, coffee or a mimosa?," another woman asked me. "Yes, please, thank you, ahhhh," I said.

Drybar is based on the simple concept of focusing on one thing and being the best at it: Blowouts. Here's the lowdown straight from their website: "The idea was a natural one for curly haired founder Alli Webb, a longtime professional stylist, who constantly found herself overpaying for blowouts at traditional salons. In addition to 100+ locations throughout the US and Canada, our growing product line (created specifically for the perfect blowout), is sold through our own shops, as well as Sephora, Nordstrom, Ulta and Bloomingdale's."

I sipped on my mimosa (which was given to me with a napkin that said "feeling crumby, I can help" like they knew exactly how I was feeling before I walked in!), sat in a comfy chair by giant windows and exhaled.



I looked at the Lookbook to pick a style I wanted. It's so fun--all the styles are named like drinks at a bar, get it? There's the "Straight Up" and "Dirty Martini" and the  "Mai Tai" to name a few. There are also braid and updo options.

My stylist, Cindy, came over to where I was sitting and asked me what I wanted. I chose the "Mai Tai" which was a blowout resulting in "messy, beachy hair" according to the lookbook. 

She washed my hair, massaged my scalp, asked me about my life. Then she did her magic. As I sat under her cheerily bright hairdryer I looked around and saw so many women talking and laughing and supporting each other and affirming each other with kindness and positivity. When I was done, I took a boomerang selfie with my stylist because duh, that's what I do.  We hugged and I said I'd be back (because I'm totally coming back and bringing friends and my daughter!).

It was actually over so fast I wanted to do it all again. But I looked at the time and realized I could make it back home to hug the kids after the bus. I said goodbye, took a last look at the smiling women and yellow accents everywhere and walked out into the world feeling pretty darn great about people, and my hair. 

It turns out it's not just a good idea to do something for yourself sometimes, but it's also a good idea to go be a part of a positive environment at a business that cares about making you feel good. Even with good hair the world is full of things that are upsetting, things we need to care about and be mad about and worry about...it's important. Connecting with other other women, supporting women-owned businesses, laughing together, finding community with people other than online...it's important too.

I made it home for the last day of school hug!

For those of you that live near me, the Drybar is located at 137 W. Maple in Birmingham (not 137 E. Maple like I typed into my phone navigation app! ugh). They have great hours, 2-hour valet parking for clients, and the blowouts aren't that expensive, $45.  They also offer monthly memberships and sell products at the store. 

Click here for information about Birmingham's Drybar.
Click here to find a Drybar near you. 



I participated in grand opening event at Drybar and was provided a blowout to review my experience, all opinions are my own.

Bigger Than A Show-- Listen To Your Mother Detroit

313 --- Detroit!

The first year I co-produced Listen To Your Mother I had no idea what I was doing. Zero. And I felt like I had a lot to prove. I sort of felt like that the second year too. But the this year was different. It was more hectic because I was working full time and that was pretty intense.  This year, I had less time but I had more of an idea of what to do and what I wanted to do. The whole project became less about what I had to prove and more about providing an amazing experience for the cast and the audience. 

Before the show started.

It's kind of like I grew up a little bit as a producer...I became less the insecure teenager who mutters I'll show you but at the same time wanting everyone to like them; and more middle-age woman who has lived some life and wants to help create opportunities for people to connect and be inspired and feel more alive, a woman who confidently strides through the room un-apologetically inviting people to the experience.

The screens before people walked into the show room say it all. Two previous years of LTYM Detroit casts.
We are building something. 

The stories, the LTYM alumni, the generous sponsors, the cast....it was amazing. But not without hiccups and problems. Our photographer had a medical emergency two days before the show, a couple sponsorships didn't come through and our ticket sales were lower.  If even one of those things had happened in year one, or even year two, it would've thrown me off so badly. I would have freaked out and lost focus. My insecurity and desire "to show you" would have crushed my ability to bounce back or work through problems or see any kind of bigger picture. But this year? There was only a little bit of freaking. 

Maybe it's because I'm older and wiser. Maybe it's because I just get it more now. 

This year was about making sure the cast felt appreciated and safe. Safe to tell their stories and be brave on stage. This year was about honoring and including the women, and man, that were a part of the other Listen To Your Mother Detroit casts.

This year it hit me more than ever before, we are building something here more than an amazing show. We are building a community. A community that feels like family and supports each other and lifts each other up. A community where people can network and reach out to each other for creative inspiration and connection. A sisterhood (with a one brother) that feels like home--full of "remember whens" and good hugs and "we got you's" and "what do you need?" and love and connection and understanding.

This vibe of inspired connectivity hopefully radiated out to the smaller yet passionate and supportive audience. The stories were full of love and gratitude and hope. At first we worried that we needed more angst, more pain, more grief, but then we realized that maybe a show full of gratitude and hope is just what we needed right now. Maybe there's enough angst, pain and grief in the news and online and so many places. Maybe a show about being authentic and living with intention and appreciating motherhood in all forms is just what we ALL need.  

Just chilling, eating lunch from Avalon and talking before the sound check and the show.
Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

The cast got their make up done in the Green Room. So fun!

Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

Sound check.

Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

Champagne toast in the Green Room before the show.Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

Toasting to us with a "hell yeah! we are going to do this!"

Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

Big Al, one of our sound guys at St. Andrews. He was so funny. And kind. He brought us waters backstage and reminded us to watch our step, and after the show he said "I love the stories!" 

Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

Photo by Monroe Fox Photography 

THE 2016 cast of readers in the Detroit Listen To Your Mother show.

Photo by Monroe Fox Photography

Telling everyone to take a deep breath and have a zen moment before we go onto the stage. 

Picture by Monroe Fox Photography 

Photo by Monroe Fox Photography

Picture by Chris Ahern Photography.

Picture by Chris Ahern Photography.
Stay tuned for the videos of the stories to come out this July!!!!!

Photo by Monroe Fox Photography

Photo by Monroe Fox Photography

The bow! Picture by Chris Ahern Photography.

If you want to be a part of the Listen To Your Mother family--audition for or be in the audience of next year's show!  Go to the Listen To Your Mother Detroit website and sign up for the newsletter to stay updated.  If you don't live in Detroit go to this site to find a Listen To Your Mother show in a city near you!

Community and What I Know For Sure

This past Saturday morning I took one of the dogs for a walk on the trails near our house.  The sun was shining brightly, the air was crisp and felt new.  My mind was reeling with the news of the attacks in Paris the night before and my heart was heavy.  I was weary already from all of the worry over Peyton's injury/surgery/hospital stay and all of the hovering over his return home a few days earlier.  I had gone to sleep feeling completely drained and vulnerable and feeling like everything everywhere was fragile.

As a I walked outside the next day, I breathed in the fresh, crisp, new morning air and soaked up the sunshine. Then I came upon a sign that said "community" (it was part of a community garden sign).  It was hard to see because of the bright sunshine, but it was there and it mattered.  

Community matters.  I saw firsthand what a difference having a community can make with so many people helping me with Peyton.

When Peyton got hurt on the football field a couple of weeks ago, I was lucky enough to have people looking out for us, taking care of us before he was even loaded into the ambulance.  Two friends were by my side asking what I needed. They got my purse, they hugged me, they had my back.

After I posted information about Peyton's injury on social media, more people had my/our back. People that knew us a little bit, people that knew us a lot; people that are a part of our football world and people that are completely against having their kids play the sport; people from our neighborhood and people that lived in other states...they sent well wishes, made dinners, said prayers, sent text messages, came to visit us, bought us groceries. 

One friend called and said "what do you need?"

"I don't even know what I need," I told her in a completely frazzled out of breath way. I'd barely slept and Tim and I were juggling life and kids and worry and ahhhh.

"Just take a deep breath and think about it for a minute," my friend told me.

"I need toilet paper and milk," I laughed because I was embarrassed.

"Okay, I'll drop it off this morning," she said without one ounce of judgement. And then she did and then I cried because we had toilet paper and because I didn't have to run to the store and because people are so nice.

The kindness of people has truly blown me away. It's made me want to be better, do better, pay it forward, have someone's/everyone's back.  

When I think about our little corner of the world, I cling to the belief that there is a bigger world community full of love and empathy and goodness.  People that have each other's backs especially in times that can feel sad, scary and/or uncertain.  A community that cares for one another. Just like that sign, it may be hard to see sometimes, but I truly believe it's out there. And it's in these times of vulnerability and uncertainty that we need that loving community the most, I know that for sure.  



Here's what else I know for sure this week:

• Dogs are also good to have around when life gets all scary and sad. Rufus is the best cuddler.

• Good storytellers are some of my personal heroes. They are magical and beautiful and I love them.  I am so honored to personally know one of the best.  My friend Satori Shakur is so good.  Listen to her talk about her breast cancer and her body and her power. 

http://wdet.org/posts/2015/11/12/81915-08-the-end-of-pride/

• Speaking of stories, I am so excited to announce I am co-producing the third year of Listen To You Mother in Detroit this spring. Woot! Woot! Here's a little video I made about last year's show and the announcement of this year's. Check it out.

LTYM 2015 from Jumping With My Fingers Crossed on Vimeo.

• Dude, I feel old. After months of holding menus and books at arm's length I bought my first pair of "readers." My kids call them my granny glasses and that's cool.  I kind of love them. And most importantly, I can read again.

What do you know for sure this week?  Tell me here or on my Facebook page.

And come play with me on Instagram-
https://instagram.com/jumpingwithmyfingerscrossed/

We're All In This Together

Yesterday was a big day--it was election day and my very first time having jury duty.  I voted and I served.  Most of the people I voted for and wanted to win didn't. That usually happens where I live...I am in the minority here in what Madonna once famously called my "provincial town" (she is from here and was in the minority when she lived here a million years ago).  I expected the poll results.  But I did not expect to fall in love with jury duty and leave with my $25 voucher and priceless life lessons.

When I first got my summons, I felt annoyed. Annoyed because I haven't worked outside the home in over a decade and now I get jury duty? I mean how, why, what? Luckily, it turned out that my jury duty date was on a day I wasn't scheduled to work. However it turned out to be a day my kids didn't have school. Ahhhhh! I decided that if this were 1980 no one would think twice about leaving their newly 14-year-old son in charge of the other kids. I mean think about ET, those kids were trick-or-treating alone and Gertie was a pretty independent little kid. Right?

So, I left a list of rules for my kids like "feed your brother" and "no wrestling" and "don't eat all of your Halloween candy" and "for the love of god don't be on electronics all day."  Then headed to serve my call of duty.

"Welcome to Jury Duty!," said a man wearing a bow tie and holding a microphone. He was enthusiastic but not silly. He was serious but not intimidating. He was a circuit court judge warming us up for our day of service. He was the opening act, if you will, and he was good. (If I'm being totally honest, this whole get excited about history and jury duty and have a microphone is a gig I'd totally be interested in having. I mean there's a microphone!)

He recited the Declaration of Independence. He talked about truth, justice, the pursuit of happiness. The judge told stories about past trials he'd been a part of, why jurors didn't want to be a part of it and how it changed their lives and their beliefs. He gave us all a history lesson. He interacted with the group, asking questions, engaging. He was good.

At the end of his act/speech/introduction, I wanted to stand up and yell "I believe!"  I didn't. But we all clapped and most of us looked ready and possibly a little excited to be a part of the process.

Then there was a lot of waiting. A lot.

It was a big room full of people.  A few of the older gentleman talked about when they were in Vietnam. Two women did a puzzle together. People read books, daydreamed, paced, made small talk, told stories about their families and made repeated trips to the vending machines.  

When we were finally called they called us all, the whole group.  We formed lines and went to the courtroom. Inside, it looked exactly like the courtrooms on TV (Judging Amy and The Good Wife are two of my all time favorite courtroom shows and I half way expected to see Amy Brenaman walk in the side door, um it would be a total dream come true!). Seated in front of the judge were the attorneys and the defendant. The defendant was a young man, we had walked by an older worried looking woman I presumed was his mother in the hallway. It was a criminal case, whoever was picked to be on this jury would decide the fate of this young man and that worried mother. It felt heavy and intense. I wished the hopeful judge with the bow tie and microphone would pop in for another pep talk. He didn't.

The judge in this courtroom was all business and totally good in his own way. He exuded a sense of fear and warmth at the same time. It was a serious drug case with serious implications. Juror numbers were called and jurors were interviewed.  Each juror had to answer personal questions about their lives. One woman said she couldn't be a part of the trial. When the judge asked why not, there was a long silence. It was so quiet we could hear each other breathing. "Because I am a drug addict," she finally said, her voice cracking when she spoke. This woman had been one of the most friendly women in the big waiting room, I remembered her because of her big laugh. But there she was in front of 60 people, attorneys, a judge and cameras not laughing at all, revealing her most vulnerable self.  She was indeed excused from the jury after the judge thanked her for her honesty and candidness and realness.

One after another, people shared their truths. There were stories of great loss and struggle, physical abuse, fathers who were drug addicts, childhood abuse, domestic abuse, unemployment. People confessed their pain and shared their strength. I cried as I listened to their stories.  Some of the people were dismissed from the jury, others were not. We all smiled at and several people squeezed the hands of the dismissed jurors as they left the courtroom.

It took almost four hours to complete the jury selection and I was never called upon. I was disappointed but sort of changed forever.  

I was a witness in that courthouse, a witness to these people's stories, lives, pain, their big laughs, their memories of Vietnam, their sadness, their joy, their stress, their worry about their son the defendant, their annoyance with waiting, the smiles when people talked about their kids and grandkids. It was that old saying that everyone has a story right there in front of my face. It was the idea of we are all in this together, because we really are.  

We vote, we are on juries, we are defendants, we are mothers and fathers, daughters and sons; we worry, we judge, we complain, we suffer, we rejoice, we make mistakes. We support each other, celebrate each other and care for each other. It's not about agreeing or always winning the election or getting selected for trial, it's about listening and feeling compassion and reverence. It's about honoring the process and the humanity of everyone involved. It's about telling the stories and being honest and candid and real. It's about redemption and forgiveness and being a community and being patient and empathetic and grateful. 

I get it, the justice system isn't perfect, elections get really nasty, people and courts can be corrupt. BUT striving for justice and peace and happiness; having the freedom to run for office, get a trial, share our stories and have our voices heard and have witnesses and community, you bet I'll celebrate that.

So, today even though my candidates didn't win and I will forever wonder what happened to those jurors and that defendant...I am grateful to have been a witness to hard-fought campaigns and long days in the big room and hearing the stories; and taking comfort in and feeling hopeful that we are all in this together.

I wore my Abe Lincoln socks to jury duty because it just felt right. He is one of my personal heroes. I became obsessed with him this summer.  I love how he is known for his storytelling and his empathy and his toughness. From one of my favorite reads about him, Team of Rivals, "Though Lincoln's empathy was the root of his melancholy, it would prove an enormous asset to his political career." He was candid and honest and real. Boosh!

Creating More Spaces

What the hell world?

I pulled up to my gym and the whole front row of parking spots had been repainted with diamonds.  There were signs that said the spots were now for Diamond Members only. 

"Look at all the open spots right in front," Wade said from the backseat excitedly.  "It's our lucky day."

"No, we can't park there, that's only for people with diamonds," I told him all of a sudden feeling like a Sneetch without a star on my belly from the Dr. Seuss book.

Here's the what, I am not complaining about not being able to park in the front of the building.  I am complaining about a gym, a society, that rewards money and privilege.  I would have respected the gym so much more if they would have blocked off the spaces and converted them to all handicapped (instead of having just the legal amount of handicapped spaces they need).  OR if they blocked off the spaces for senior citizens or expectant mothers.  In fact, I would have scraped my money together to pay extra for that. Because I want a gym, a society, that rewards kindness and community and helpfulness.

Everyday I feel more and more like I live in a Dr. Seuss book.  From the diamonds to everyone biggering and biggering (their homes, their strip malls, their cars, their egos). I feel like the annoying little Lorax screaming and no one listening.

Last night, I was having dinner with my children on my front porch.  We live in a pretty junky rental on a street full of pretty nice homes. While the house isn't something that would be featured on a "you would love to live here" web site from a design standpoint, I'm proud of the chaotic, messy, beautiful love-filled home we've made here. And I love our front porch. As we sat and ate dinner on the abnormally warm-ish evening, we heard a man yelling. He was yelling "bullshit," "swipe the screen and get rid of the icon," "fucking do it."  This man was walking his dog while yelling at some employee or family member on the other end of his Blue Tooth. He was angry and didn't care that there were kids everywhere.

What the hell world?

Here's the what, I am not complaining about people swearing and getting angry. I get it, I've done it. I'm complaining about this man not waiting until he got home. (I mean seriously, pick it up to a jog and get home THEN yell if you need to do that.)  I am complaining about a man that didn't care about the kids around him, his community, enough to have a little respect.  His problem, his ego, his world was more important. He must be a diamond member.

I don't have all the answers. But I have trouble. I have trouble reconciling people's hypocrisy and denial, and that we live in a society that strives for the diamond spots. I have trouble that sometimes people with a little money and privilege don't seem interested in looking out for others and truly being part of a community.  

People on Facebook like to post articles about entitlement and how people need to get real. I wish they'd post articles about being the change and having character and encouraging kindness, and THEN go do it and be it.

I want the world to be more about creating parking spaces for people who need help; a world full of more people who look around and see who is listening and who is watching, people (and companies) who want to be role models of character and kindness. A world where people create spaces to raise awareness to encourage compassion rather than simply to raise prices to encourage privilege and status. 

Missed Opportunities

"Appreciate the democratic process!," I screamed out of frustration to my used-to-be-a-tween-but-now-a-teen son.  "Isn't this amazing?"

He rolled his eyes at my enthusiasm.  I mean I sort of understood that parts of the process weren't that amazing.  At that particular moment we were standing in the cold rain going door to door in a neighborhood full of strangers and reminding people to vote. 

But honestly, despite the puddles and the constant, cold drizzle, I was still amazed.  I can't help it, I think the process is fascinating.

After every election, no matter the results, I am filled with enthusiasm for the process coupled with frustration for people that don't get it.  I want to scream "appreciate the democratic process!" at all the people that don't volunteer and/or don't vote.  People that passively sit back and watch elections, and life, happen.  I can't wrap my head around it.  How? Why? 

This past Wednesday, I asked my kids if their teachers talked about the election results and both my elementary school age kids said no. No?!  It was a gubernatorial election in our state, it was a big deal and they didn't even mention it?  I am dumbfounded.  

Missed opportunities--that is the fallout of elections and this year's midterms.  Missed opportunities to get in involved, to teach, to learn, to build community, to connect, to make a difference.

I love getting involved and rolling up my sleeves and doing something.  There is an energy to being a part of a group, a community working together for a common goal.  There is a respect among fellow volunteers--there's a fist bump of solidarity at the campaign office, a nod and a knowing glance when you meet a fellow canvasser.  There is so much to learn from all of it--how the polling works, why canvassing and going door to door is important; and so much to learn about people and our neighbors and even ourselves.

As I walked through the rain with my kids during the 11th hour on election day this week, I was confronted with my own prejudices.  We were in a neighborhood that had abandoned homes and homes with families living in them but no glass in the windows.  We were in a neighborhood in a town right next to ours.  At first, I was afraid and uncomfortable.  I wanted to just leave a flyer on a couple doorsteps and get out of there.  But I didn't want to expose my thoughts to my kids, so we did what the volunteer coordinator told us to do.  We knocked on doors.  And we met some very nice people.  People greeted us with smiles and talked to us about the weather and the election.  JT walked up and knocked on the doors and rang the doorbells and wasn't afraid...he hadn't prejudged like I had.  

Watching the results later that night, I was sad that a few of my candidates lost.  But I felt like I had won so much--time with my kids, insight and inspiration from them, solidarity with new friends, admiration of people who devote their lives to service and put themselves out there to run for office, and a desire to help all those nice people I met have better, safer neighborhoods.

So, I will keep screaming to appreciate the democratic process.  I will keep screaming to get involved in elections, and in life.  You don't have to be angry and debate or even go door to door if that makes you extremely uncomfortable....you just have to do something, start now.  

My rowdy crew of volunteers having a little fun in the rain.

Living Rooms--Mothers In The Hood Part Three

"Thank you for coming along on the ride that is my mid-life crisis," I said as everyone found a seat in my living room.

"Some people may call it a mid-life crisis, I like to call it growth," my friend (and professional counselor) Joelle thoughtfully explained to all of us.

This was the scene at my third Mothers In The Hood party the other night.  A party where we talked a lot about growth and breaking and bending and grace and authenticity and identity.  And how motherhood effects all of it.

Last year, I started having these parties to get a group of mothers of all ages and backgrounds and political affiliations and situations together to connect.  I wanted to talk about more than managing our kids, and worrying and loving them.  I dreamed of conversations about issues in our neighborhoods, projects that we could get involved with to make a difference and also, my mid-life crisis.  Or I mean growth.

I dreamed of conversations that would challenge, support, inspire, encourage and affirm.  I dreamed of a living room full of mothers laughing together and caring about each other.  The other night, it happened.

For Mothers In The Hood Part Three I wanted to focus on all my "who am I" issues that I'm feeling as my children get older.  I wanted the vibe to be sort of like Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide," you know the whole "the children get older, I'm getting older too." So, I asked my good friend Joelle, the professional therapist I mentioned earlier, to come and run the show.  She told me she would "facilitate and validate" and I asked her if she could come over everyday.  

I asked my other good pal, Liane, to display her pictures, her artwork.  She is an amazing storyteller with her pictures.  Her selfies aren't what you typically think of when you hear the word selfie...they truly tell a story.

She was reluctant.  But I am so glad she decided to share her art and her self.

The party was also the perfect place to share copies of my favorite magazine, mamalode.  Especially because the magazine and the web site started as a group of moms in Montana sharing stories and connecting, just like my living room dream.  

The magazine is full of stories about the journey of motherhood and identity and love and support and creativity.  Inside the issue we looked at, Space, is a story about a woman, Amy Turn Sharp, who loves poetry, who writes poetry, but never told anyone she was a poet.  Then she started writing a poem a day for a year, she started to share and tell people that she was in deed a poet.  She writes "I never realized that you could just announce to yourself one fine day, what it is you want to be, and then become it.  It's been liberating, really."

This was the perfect message for the party.

The women in my living room were friends from all over--the gym, my street, my kids' school, church, volunteer projects--mothers in my hood.  Many of them had never met.  I invited  a mix of mamas and wasn't sure what was going to happen. What happened was, all of them showed up, I mean they SHOWED UP.  Some of them shared stories that were personal and raw.  Other women listened with compassion and heart.  We talked careers, climbing ladders, change, giving up, giving in, evolving, breaking, bending, losing ourselves, finding ourselves.

Joelle and I thought up questions before the party to get everyone thinking.  Questions like:
Who did I think I was when I was 20?
Who did I think I was after my first child was born?
Who am I now?

"Life forces us to look at ourselves differently all the time," Joelle explained to the group.  "It's the evolution of ourselves, it's growth."

Then she asked all of us what we would do/be if a magic wand waved away all limitations.  

"Travel the world, making headbands out of flowers, singing and making crafts," was my answer.  And I'm wasn't kidding.

One mother said "to be a writer." Another mother said "to find a job that I love." Another said "I'm so happy with who I am right now, I hope I stay me."

We talked about appreciation of where we are now in our lives, finding purpose and how learning new things makes people happy.  Joelle asked us what we wanted to learn in the next couple weeks.  The answers varied from how to knit to how to share more, to be a good grandmother to how to reupholster a chair.

Everyone brought a book to donate to the nonprofit organization Charlotte's Wings (CW). CW is dedicated to supporting ailing children through donations of books to the children and their families in hospital and hospice care.  And it was started by a group of passionate mother friends in my neighborhood. 

The discussion ended with ideas and inspiration about learning and growing and accepting ourselves.

My hope is that the women in my living room realize that they can just announce to themselves one fine day, what it is they want to be, and then become it. Whether it is an activist, a writer, a photographer, a poet, an attorney, a chemist, a grandmother, a therapist or some badass combination of all of it.  I hope the women find value in themselves and the other women in the room no matter how different they are.  

I hope my mom friends write, share, take pictures, learn to knit, reupholster and find passion and purpose in their every day. And maybe someday I will indeed travel the world making headbands out of flowers.

Got a living room?  You should totally invite your mama friends over to have discussions that challenge, support, inspire, encourage and affirm. Seriously, it's kind of amazing. 

For more information about mamalode, click here.

For more information about Charlotte's Wings, click here. Or watch this:

Charlottes Wings 2013 from Jumping With My Fingers Crossed on Vimeo.

And because I mentioned it above, I have to link to it, duh.  Here it is, Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide."