To my Fellow Cast Members.... and anyone else who is listening.

Like pulling teeth- I wanted to write the past two days. Felt like I needed to. But, somehow, at the same time, I’ve been avoiding it. Felt like I was afraid of what might come rushing out. Afraid of what I know is inside me and what I feel may have been “tapped” in the last few days. So many stories, so much information, so much pain, so much- so much pain, so much gratitude, and so much love. 

I have, as you well know by now, been chosen to speak at Listen to Your Mother. Sunday was our first "read through." It was beyond words.  

Henri Miller once wrote- “Writing, like life itself, is a voyage of discovery. The adventure is a metaphysical one: it is a way of approaching life indirectly, of acquiring a total rather than a partial view of the universe. The writer lives between the upper and lower worlds: he takes the path in order eventually to become that path himself.”


That is how I feel about this journey. Like I am discovering myself in each and every line I write and even in each line I hear read through these lovely women’s voices. I can not explain to anyone what this is. What this “show” is. It’s beyond description. It’s beauty can not be contained by words. When a wordy girl like me says words will not do! YOU BETTER LISTEN. 

Now I need to write to each of you. To each of you my fellow cast members.  I have a special things to say. I NEED to say these things. I MUST say them.  

Erin, of your story. I was struck by your love and your respect for your mother. I was moved to tears when you described her. Thank you for allowing me in. Thank you for being the definition of Grace.

Lisa, of your story. My GOD! We are sisters of the soul. You may just as well have been telling my story. I truly related to you. You bared yourself and took me from crying with you on the ground to standing up and standing strong to say “fuck you!” I loved it. 

Michelle, of your story. I related to so much. I can’t explain without giving away to much. But you were to me, like a little girl there on “stage” just asking to be put first over all else. I loved that. I loved FEELING you. Not just hearing your words but really feeling like I wanted to hold you. 

Dani, of your story. I was on the edge of my seat. How would it end and a lump in my throat. Thinking in my head the whole time; How is she this calm? Could I stand or would I collapse under the weight of what you’d gone through. Brilliant writing.

Rita, of your story. Happy and sad. As it was meant. Making me think about my life and where I am and more importantly where I am headed. Making me think of the lives of women I have loved who have already gone and wondering if they’d felt they’d done enough with their time. Warm and loving as it was meant.  

Laura, of your story. Made me smile so much. The universe is always teaching me new things, and I truly believe it brought you and I together. I know that I will know you until the day I die and I can’t wait to have you on my journey. 

Ashley, of your story. Your’s may have been the hardest for me to hear. Brought up for me things I’m not even ready to talk about STILL. Someday soon I will share with you things about my little Finn. He’s the baby ( 4 now), my love for him now makes it so hard for me to talk about the days after he was born. So thank you so much for your story. 

Greta, of your story. You are so strong. I have hugged my husband a thousand times since yesterday. I’ve told him how much I appreciate him. I’ve told him how much I admire him as a father. I have been so grateful for his love. I thank you for giving me that reminder. 

Molly, of your story. I had no clue where you were headed when you started. Where it ended was so beautiful, so transformational, that I was in awe. And man don’t we all need the reminders to be grateful. Don’t we need to be reminded of the miraculousness of the world we live in everyday and how very little “coincidence” is in this life. 

Jen, of your story. You rock. You are so funny and so cool. You made me laugh and even today I had several moments of uncontrollable giggling at the thought of the “victims” in your story. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for giving me something to live up to! 

Sarah, of your story. My children are my life. They are not perfect by any means but they are perfect for me. I feel exactly about them as you described. I cried so hard to hear your words because I wondered if they really understand that, that’s the way I love them. Someday they will I suppose. 

Julie, of your story. While so uplifting-I am so not there yet! Jealous of you though… ha ha! I know I will be soon enough but mostly I kept thinking about all those lasts. Thinking about how they are all slipping right past me un-noticed. Today I talked to my kids about them. We laughed and we remembered. Thank you for that.
 
 
This is my point. Every one of you had such different things to say. But somehow there is this tiny thin little thread that weaves all these stories together. That thread is motherhood. It’s one that stretches back in time and one that crosses continents. It brings us together in this life. It levels our playing field. It makes us one. I will be so proud to stand hand in hand with each of you telling our separate stories- but as ONE.
 
To all the rest of you reading this. Take note! I really can not stress enough this one point.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE. You have felt it before, there are things that you have gone thorough that you may have thought no one else had. But you’d be wrong. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. These women will show you what good company you’ve kept with out even knowing.
 
You are each so lovely and I am honored to share this with you. 




Beautiful photo above by the very talented Laura Seymour

The Pretty Project- the birth of an idea?

I watched those ad spots that Dove created. As I told you, they made me cry. They moved me. I wondered all day about how I view myself once again, coming back to that place. Thinking about my own mother and also the mother I now am. How the life she led shaped me. There are two things my mother can be counted on for. The first is that she always has some new diet scheme; a pill, a book, a magazine article, a juicer, a hormone.. whatever. She was never fat, never even slightly pudgy. She always looked great. Still does in fact, but it was always clearly a concern for her. The second thing is that she always has a new self help book. There is really nothing WRONG with that. Always trying her best to better her mind and soul. She is always suggesting I read one or another of them and some of them have actually been pretty amazing. I feel pretty thankful for the fact that my mom taught me to seek to be a better person than I am today.
     However, if you remember in that ad, the lady who talks about how her mom always said she had a big jaw? or was it chin? I'm sure her mother meant no harm. I'm sure it was never with the intent to cause pain or shame. I don't think we as mother's ever really intend harm to our daughters. But I have said before that there will be a day of reckoning. A day when my Charley says to me all the things I did to her to "screw her up." In all honesty I can probably name like three right now. Nothing that I have ever done was meant to cause harm but in hindsight I can see where it may have. It's this job, motherhood. It's nearly impossible to be a complete success and boy you better be careful how you measure that! But I digress....
     I think my own mom's constant focus on weight may have caused me to be so out of control with my weight. NOT HER FAULT. That is ridiculous, I own my flaws. They are mine to love and to heal. But I wonder if down deep in there somewhere it lurks. Just as the obsession with self evaluation does. I've also said a time or two that I'm no psychiatrist (If I were there'd be Xanax in the water people!) But I have to ask myself if it's there? Those things just below my surface.So there is the first part of how it started. The egg meets the sperm, the idea begins to split into cells.
     Then as luck would have it the "Breakfast Club" came on. in the beginning of the movie and again at the end. A letter is read. It's as follows. "Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong. What we did WAS wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write this essay telling you who we think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us... in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning. We were brainwashed."

BRAINWASHED

It hits me. (Man I love that movie!) I also have to insert here that my mom has made me read this new book called "The Four Agreements" by Miguel Ruiz.  See I told you! Again with the self help books. But this IS one of the better ones. This link is to a website based around the book but it's a great overview. It talks about right on the first page of the site what the book calls "Domestication." The idea that as children we are our true selves and we allow all those around us and our world to change us into what it needs us to be instead of who we are naturally.

BRAINWASHED

Now the embryo is beginning to take shape.

BRAINWASHED..... Not in a cult sort of way... well not exactly. But similar I suppose in that we sing out loud as a child and maybe it's off key but it's beautiful and fun and full of life until another says. "Wow, don't quit your day job." Then we sing only in private and all the while doubting ourselves. We feel pretty and excited about a new hairstyle, until your friend says you don't have the face for short hair. Then we hide and feel ashamed. We believe what all those around us say subtly or otherwise, instead of what we FEEL inside of ourselves.

The kids in the movie believed they were the labels they'd been given, and they believed it to be true of those around them. I believed things about myself that I know in my heart and in my soul are not truths. So how do we undo it? How do we change our perceptions?

I wish I had all those answers. What I do know is that it has to start somewhere. So that is where this idea came from. The Pretty Project. The idea that I will move forward on this day to recreate my own image of myself and to help other women recreate theirs as well. That pretty will no longer mean to me what is reflected in a mirror but instead it will mean ALL THAT I AM and not one thing less. The idea that I will use words only to lift others and thus elevate myself. The idea that I will spend time watching others and trying to see their truth and then telling them how amazing it is. The "label" they will receive is PRETTY.  But it will encompass so much more than is shown on the surface. Everyone of us has this beauty in us. We all radiate our truth. We all send off this beautiful energy- ALL OF US. It's there and this cultivation of it needs to happen. Its a radical shift in perception, but I know if you give it a chance you will see what I see. PRETTY all around you. That's how the idea was born.

I will write more soon. It's late. I will tell you though that I have already begun. I will also share this with you- It's one of the most wonderful things I have ever felt. I can't wait for you to feel and share it too.

Dove- a soap or a revolution???? I say REVOLUTION!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hibyAJOSW8U

I am posting two links here... I'm bad at the technical side of this blog thing so forgive me if I get it wrong the first go around.

This first one is called "evolution" and it's a Dove spot. Created by their ad team.

It's eye opening to say the least!


http://mashable.com/2013/04/15/dove-ad-beauty-sketches/

 The second is also by the same team. It made me cry my eyes out today upon watching it.


 It's so true.. I have said a thousand times... I am not reconciled... in book keeping terms it sort of means.. things add up.... two columns are equal an balanced... in my head I am not reconciled. I in my head am a different person than I see in a mirror.... I love this company and I love what they are doing for women... helping us reconcile..


I need this.. I need a revolution in my own soul and we need one in this world. I need to be able to show my own daughter that I can look in a mirror and say that I am "pretty." 


I see myself on this "cliff" this precipice in life.  I need to jump. to take that chance to make that leap of faith an to believe in me if not for myself than for my own daughter. So that she can look in the mirror and see someone reconciled; someone "pretty" staring back at her. 

Charley doesn't believe in the Easter Bunny anymore= my heart is completely breaking

So this year Charley let me know she doesn't believe in the Easter bunny any more. No matter how much lying and finagling I tried to do she was not buying it. Here is how the conversation went.


Char: Mom is the Easter bunny real? (said with a menacing smirk)

Me: Yah! Why?
 
Char: Well we have that whole box of plastic eggs and our baskets down in the basement.
 
Me: Yes, well I keep those things for the Easter bunny and he then fills up the eggs and the baskets when he gets here. What you think he can carry around all that stuff to every kids house?
 
Char: Well, then using your same logic how can he carry around all that candy and stuff to put in the eggs and the baskets?
 
Me: Uhhhhhhhh.. Maybe it's like on Tom and Jerry where they have like a little pill and they add water and poof all the stuff pops out!
 
Char: Like dehydrated food?
 
Me: Yes, sort of.
 
Char: I don't think you can dehydrate Easter grass and hollow chocolate bunnies.
 
Me: I don't know that shit is magic! Don't ask me to explain magic! That's like asking me to explain a shooting star.
 
Char: That's easy. That is an asteroid or other space particle that hits the earths atmosphere and burns up as it's entering.
 
Me: Yes... you are right but isn't it nicer to imagine the magical star shooting across the sky and making wishes and what not?
 
Char: Yes if you are a child! I'm not a child!
 
Me: Don't get all analytical and jaded on me already!!!!! YOU ARE NINE!
 
Char: Yes, but I'm no child.
 
Me: Well then what exactly are you?
 
Char: A young adult!

Me: Oh Lord help me... I'm' going to be drinking heavily when we get home! This is the saddest conversation I have ever had.

And it was not until later that night. She caught me trying to stuff  three baskets into our suit cases since we were headed out of town for Easter weekend. I knew that the jig was up then and in an effort to control the damage I decided to give her the following letter. I could not bear the thought of her possibly discussing her new found information with her little brothers.



Dear Charley,
Thank you for our talk the other night. It was a very very good question: “Are you The Easter Bunny? Is he real?” I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.
The answer is no. I am not The Easter Bunny. There is no one Easter bunny.
I am the person who fills your eggs with candy and baskets with presents, though. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)
I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Easter morning. You will love seeing their small faces lit with excitement.
This won’t make you the Easter Bunny, though.
He is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch, He gives them hope and lights them with magic.
It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.
Magic things like the Easter Bunny are our teachers, and I have been a student of this magic. Now you will know the secret of how he fills all those baskets and eggs across the world, and now you will learn this magic, you will help others believe in this magic. The Easter Bunny has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.
With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping the Easter Bunny do a job that would otherwise be impossible.
So, no. I am not the Easter Bunny. He is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too. Together help me guard this magic. Please help me keep it alive for little Finn and Juder Bug too. I hope they believe as long as they can. It’s important to hang onto that magic.
I’m proud of you and I love you and always will.- Mom and Dad

I adapted it from another I saw like it on the Internet about Santa.  When we read it together she simply smiled a wry and self important smile. One of some kind of pride at being "let in on the secret."

      All the while I bawled my eyes out. Yep- leave it to me to be the one crying and not her. She actually comforted me. She really is the more mature one in this relationship anyhow you know? But I just sat there feeling crushed. Feeling like I was looking at a 20 year old who'd just told me she was having kids of her own. Feeling like I was no longer looking at my innocent child but instead looking at this girl, this pre-woman, this mature,kind, and smart little lady. And well- I was.

Today I feel a mixture of happy and sad. Sad at my little girls growing up and happy at how it is happening. I don't think we give ourselves enough credit as mommies. Always second guessing our decisions. But today I feel good about this one thing. She is me- she is a reflection of me and what I am teaching her to be. Kind, compassionate, loving, smart, and mature. I feel such pride in her. So for today I will feel that same pride in what I am doing here raising these kids. Good kids, because I'm a good mommy.

Tomorrow I'll go back to flogging myself.

Shhhhh Don’t tell the others….

I was watching the video Ann Imig did for Listen to Your Mother and was suddenly reminded about the “validation” we lack as mothers. I wish I’d have written more way back in the day when I was new at this but as I have heard so many moms say, I just did not feel comfortable in my own skin yet. I did not feel safe or that I was doing the right things in my journey of motherhood. I felt for sure I was doing some major permanent damage to these babes. Ha, little did I know -9 years later- that clearly the damage has been done to ME!

Permanently disfigured, serious loss of brain function, limited memory skills, and endless exhaustion is what I am left with. Jaded, bloated, and frumpish (yup I made that word up.)  And I have to ask… Why do none of the others  tell us, WARN us that this would happen?  They know (I think)? I will give them this small leeway that there is in my opinion a slight bit of Mom-nesia going on here but the rest? Well that is just blatant lack of disclosure.

From the start- “Hey, I wanted to warn you that since this is your first pregnancy, one afternoon very soon you will be out walking across a parking lot and will be unable to take one more step as your hips will actually dislocate and begin to spread so that the babies head will be able to fit through. And by the way it will hurt like a mother fucker but don’t worry, it’s totally normal.” Ummm okay? Or how about this… “Yes, well I wanted to give you a heads up, people will tell you that you are glowing and that pregnancy will make you radiate beauty, but in fact you will be bloated, swollen, completely off your meds bat shit crazy with hormone flux. You will fart like a fat bean burrito eating dog. You will have horrific acid reflux, nightmares that’d scare a vampire, and will get no sleep because you will feel so uncomfortable all the time you want to chew off your arms.” Do they tell you that stuff? No! Oh yeah! How about that if you don’t do some major work on stretching out your vaginal opening that you will most likely tear from the head coming out, or that you will probably poop all over the table as you are birthing? Little sweet factoids like these are politely left out and why I ask??

This is only where the lies begin. They seem never ending to me. Lies lies lies… “Oh my kids never watch TV.”  “We don’t cuss in our home EVER.” “My laundry is always done.” “I get along so well with my in-laws.” “My child was completely potty trained at age 2.”  All lies designed to make us feel as if we are keeping up with the Jones’s but in fact we are all lying about just how impossibly hard it is to get it all done. “These cookies are baked from scratch.” “I hand sewed her communion gown.” “I made all the party invitations myself.”

Like we just want to make it all seem so perfect so that when we recruit some other poor sap into motherhood we can somehow feel secretly better knowing that she is now a part of the quiet suffering too.

Well I’m going rogue ladies. Here’s what’s up. From now on when a mommy says to me, “Oh I don’t know how you do it all?” I’m going to tell her this- Xanax is your friend- quick get some. Then that my laundry is piled to the ceiling. That at least once a week I will open the washer to the sour smell of clothes left in there for a few days. That I scream at my kids until my throat hurts, my bathtub needs scrubbing, my landscaping is non-existent. My “craft table” should be called my “crap table” as it’s piled with junk from unfinished art projects and class party leftovers. I shave my legs only once every two weeks and that “made from scratch” in my house means I took a box of something and added a few extra ingredients that the label did not call for.

".. yike a poop swirter!"

Like living with completely wild animals sometimes is what it feels like living with children. I can not tell you how many times the phrase.. "What the What???" has crossed my lips. The things I have seen and experienced thus far in life would amaze, bemuse, and bewilder the intentionally childless and the yet to have children folks I know. So today is no exception.

BFD (That lovingly stands for Big Fat Daddy): "Oh my God Leslie help me!! Help me!!"

This is what he shouts from the shower. Hmmmm... within seconds I deduce the following. #1. it was not the sound of a terrified or mortally wounded man. #2. Ummm that phase uttered by a naked man can mean nothing good. #3. 1...2....ummmm where is the third child? and why would he be with my naked husband in the bathroom.. What the What? (tempered only slightly by the fact that we have only one bathroom in a five person household!)

So I get up from my comfy spot reading a book to go into the abyss and find out why it is I have been so urgently summoned. Knowing nothing good can come of this.

Here I find a scene I can only describe as utterly unexplainable and DISGUSTING. Fi Fi- who is 4 is straddling the toilet with no pants on and approximately oh I dont know 8-10 spots of nasty yellowed brown diarrhea poo on his legs. Across the throw rug in front of the shower is a squirt pattern of same said diarrhea  that appears to come from the direction of the tiny butt-hole pursed over the toilet. I try with all my might and for a good maybe five minutes to understand how he missed the toilet entirely and how the poo ended up shooting across the room practically and onto the throw rug. I have only ever seen one other thing quite like this. Once when Charley was a baby she had Jaundice and the doctor took her temperature through her tiny baby butt and when he pulled out the thermometer poo shot across the exam room about six feet. Our doctor was a funny guy who only said "Huh... well she wins the record for distance." And thankfully I did not have to clean that up.

I think that because Finn was leaned slightly back and pushing him self up with his hands his tiny butt was aimed forward. I dont know. Why do I even bother to try to understand how this happened. Oh! I know because it takes more time away from the realization that I am going to have to clean this up!

 BFD is like hiding behind the shower curtain and when I ask what happened he says through his hand over his mouth and nose to keep out the smell: "I dont know. I did not see it happen!"

So I ask Finn who responds in his sweet four year old language all L's are pronounced as Y's and the QU combination comes out as a W: "Sowwy mom! I dont know. The poop just shot out my butt yike a poop swirter!" 

Why I find this so hilarious I do not know. But between my husbands snickering behind the shower curtain and the utter poop-tastrophe I have to clean up it just seems hysterical. I laughed until I peed.

I mean that literally as I have three babies with giant heads and well things just have never been the same in that department since childbirth. And there you have it too much info about life in the old Kohlmeyer house. Peace out. Hope your Friday night was more fun filled than mine.. or at least less poo filled!

It's a GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

     I am giving birth right now.

     Deep long sobs.

     The kind of sobs that rock you.

     The kind of sobs that make your eyes puffy even the next day.

      I am giving birth to me.

     Ok so it’s a bit metaphorical but try to follow me. I have said in the past many times that Leslie is dead and her rotting corpse lies on the kitchen floor while everyone in the family keeps stepping over her pretending not to see all the flies. It seemed true at the time. It was my truth. I think it is the truth for many mommas. We die a little when our children come into the world to make room for all the nurturing love and painfully deep selflessness we have for them. It’s okay. We do it and we never look back. We never regret but we give up that thing that made us who we were in order to help them grow into who they will become. Now while it is far from over, at ages, 9, 7, and 4, they can stand on their own two feet (literally.) I only pick them up when there is a fall or a bruised ego. They can think for themselves. While not always making the best choices (a velvet tufted kings crown to school or a popsicle for breakfast) at least they are attempting and don’t need me to hover. They can brush their teeth, eat their own food, dress themselves and use the potty. Finn still needs the occasional but wipe…ha ha. But they are becoming self sufficient little people. Beautiful self sufficient little people, and here I am empty arms. I have always been one to need to fill them in one way or another- so here I am arms outstretched and ready to give birth. I am giving birth to Leslie. My next incarnation. The new me, and I am sobbing so deeply it hurts. I welcome her from inside of me, with these open arms. I grab her, and hug her and I sob in her shoulder. Welcome back new-old friend, it’s so good to see you.

     What is the catalyst? Today… today is the day. I have worked hard my whole life in one way or another. Had odd jobs and gone to college but one constant has remained. I have always written. Occasionally, frightfully, I have put myself out there for folks to see and hear. I have accepted the criticisms and the praise. Yet always in me there lurked the doubt that I was not good enough. To call myself a writer and artist was a scary thing, but it’s always been there hidden in my gut. Sometimes it pours out of me and other times it’s been evasive and a struggle. I think most truthfully it hides behind the fear of success rather than failure. If I succeed at this then I will be out there with no cover, no shelter, no armor. While those of you who know me may think I’m tough. Truthfully I am fragile and have the insides of a marshmallow…  Today is the day and I think it’s time. I’ve heard it said that at 40 we are given the gift of WTF. We care less and less about the image that we portray to the world and FEEL more and more the selves we are truly on our insides. I FEEL that. I FEEL like this strong beautiful talented Leslie that is in my head and less and less like the timid, scared, overweight one I see in the mirror. I welcome that. In honor of that I took a chance. One that I might not have taken before but one that I believe in and one that I’m so deeply grateful that I did. I submitted a piece from the blog to “Listen to your Mother.” If you don’t know what this is, I suggest you Google it right now. Run don’t walk. It’s amazing. “Giving mother’s day the mic,” they say. They are giving this mother more than a mic. Unknowingly they have become my birthing coaches. Yelling from my side as I push. “GO GO GO YOU GOT THIS…” They are helping me deliver this new self into the world.  I can’t thank them enough for this chance to shine, to grow, to share this new me, the chance to be reborn. I’m so excited at the possibilities. 

 This new journey, this next phase of Motherhood will be one where I get to be this mom to my kids but also where I get to be some of me again. I will spend some time nurturing and mothering me. Motherhood takes on so many shapes, so many phases, so many truths. Today is the day-It’s time. My bags are packed and I am ready for this journey. 

 Please visit www.listentoyourmothershow.com for details on my upcoming performance and for a listing of events around the country.