A few weeks ago I had the distinct pleasure of sharing the stage with a group of incredible storytellers for a Listen to Your Mother performance.

It’s taken me awhile to process and put to words that experience for me. And I think this is because there were just so many stories to tell from that moment.

The gratitude for ALL of the neighbors who generously took my children into their care for every rehearsal and performance in my season of solo parenting.

The support I received from both local and long distance friends who celebrated with me in the audience as well as the cheers of encouragement from those who couldn’t be present.

Catching the beaming smiles of my children and my husband–the leaders of my fan club–as I read my story, nerves calming just knowing they were there.

The appreciation for the creators, Ann Imig who envisioned the idea years ago, and Galit Breen and Vikki Reich who welcomed me into the family of Twin Cities storytellers this year with their leadership and love.

My fellow storytellers who made me laugh, made me cry, made me believe in the diverse tapestry of motherhood with their stories and their love.

The sheer magic that is bearing witness to hundreds of friends and strangers alike receiving–holding–my story in real time, a moment that is unusual to a writer used to writing in solitary, sharing in solitary.

But I think the most significant memory I will carry with me from this experience is this…

Years ago, my mom shared a small moment with me, one that at the time probably felt trivial, perhaps to my mom it didn’t feel like enough. It was just us, in a car, listening to Kenny G. But that one moment stayed with me. It stayed with me so long that I carried it into my own motherhood, gave it new life with my own daughter, and in time that moment became a story with meaning I could share with others.

So thank you mom. You taught me that these small moments I share with my children do matter. They make up a greater story, one I hope I get to listen to one day.

Also thank you for letting me wear your blazer from the 70s(80s?). I felt so bad ass in it.

Here is my story.

When I was young, my mom and I had a song. We only listened to this song when we were alone in the car, just the two of us. Maybe another mother would use this time for intentional conversation laced with motherly advice. Not my mom, though. Instead of words, she chose to connect in other ways, in this case, through the sound of the legendary saxophone playing heartthrob of 90s soft rock–Kenny G.

It would be a Saturday afternoon and we would jump in the car headed for the mall. Before we even left the driveway, I would hunt in the console for my prize–a cassette tape with a black and white photo of the hunkiest man I could name at the age of 9, chest hair peeking out from behind his open buttoned shirt, tight curly locks best described to a Minnesotan as hockey hair.

I would pop the cassette into the tape player and that familiar sound of synthesizer and saxophone filled the air. If the weather was just right, we would roll our windows down, bee-bopping to the beat while we waited for the moment to sing along to our song–“What Does It Take…”

My mom took lead vocals and then I would come in as her backup singer echoing every line into my mechanical pencil microphone, until we got to the chorus where we would both belt out our very best emotional performance of one pining for a true love in exquisite agony, as if a happily married woman and a 9 year old girl knew anything about heartbreak.

But that didn’t matter. For us, connection was the sound of boldly singing through open car windows words we didn’t quite understand but wanted to feel anyway, just my mom and me and Kenny G.

This memory bounced around in my mind as catchy as that synthesizer beat for years.

That is until that fateful slumber party.

I was 13, sleeping over with some new friends, cool girls. You know the kind I mean. The ones with real Doc Martens and properly teased bangs. We were listening to music and everyone seemed to know the words to every song.

Everyone that is, but me.

I tried to hide my shame, but that’s an impossible task for a 13 year old. And with shame, came a new feeling to me–anger. For not only had my mom not taught me how to tease and shellac my bangs, but I was clearly very much behind on the music of my time. Kenny G? Really mom?

Still hoping I’d stumble upon something I recognized, I scrolled through my friends’ CDs when I stopped at a teal and pink cover with the title Jagged Little Pill.

“Ooh Alanis. You’ll love that one,” my friend said as she took out the disc to put it in the player. And she was right. The wailing harmonica and Alanis’ breathy voice hooked me at first listen. “Do I stress you out?”

I didn’t understand half of what she was singing. But what I did understand was that when Alanis sang, she screamed, even as she whispered. Her music touched on emotions that were still new to me at 13, but ones I knew I needed to feel.

By the time I went to sleep, the sound of electric guitar and big feelings had drowned out that sparkly memory I once carried of my mom and me. I made a promise right then and there–I would never do to my own child what my mother had done to me.

And like most promises I made about motherhood, I forgot about it entirely.

Until I found myself in a rare moment alone in the car with my own daughter Caroline, also 9 then. She was having a hard week, so instead of forcing her to walk to school like other terrible mothers, I told her to hop in the car. Maybe I could use that moment for connection, to dispense some much needed motherly advice.

Except, I didn’t know what to say. This stage of parenting and all its emotions were new to me. Before I came up with any words, though, Caroline interrupted my thoughts. “Hey mom, can we listen to some music?”

Instantly my mind swirled with a memory. Slumber party, CDs, harmonica. OH NO! This was the moment I had promised all those years ago. Here was my daughter asking me to pass down the musical baton of cool girls everywhere, and I panicked. All I listened to was the same playlist I made in 2010, back before motherhood, before I stopped being cool. What were the cool girls listening to these days anyway?

But then another memory took its place. Open windows, soft rock, just my mom and me, and Kenny G.

I realized then that maybe I didn’t know about cool girl music or the right words to say at that moment. And I still didn’t know how to style my bangs. But I knew about creating a memory. And I knew who could help us get there.

I pulled out my phone, found an album I hadn’t thought of for years, and pressed play. The familiar sound of electric guitar and Alanis’ wailing harmonica filled the air. In the rear view mirror I peeked at Caroline bopping to the beat, the hint of the first smile I’d seen on her face all week.

Instead of words, I let the music fill the space between us in the car that day, both of us learning to sing through open car windows words to a new song we didn’t quite understand, but wanted to feel anyway.

And who knows, I wondered. Maybe this would become our song.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in her book Big Magic about how she believes books find their writers, how if you show up to the work, the work will find you. It’s kind of giving Kevin Costner when he heard whispers in the corn fields “If you build it, they will come.”

When Ashlee Gadd first shared she was writing a book on creativity in the margins of motherhood, I knew what Liz meant. Ashlee was meant to write this book. If there is anyone who champions the fight of creativity alongside motherhood, Ashlee is the one. I have stood witness to the ways in which she encourages, supports, guides, and commiserates with other mothers as they dare to dream creative dreams. If there is a voice for creating anyway, Ashlee is the voice to which I want to listen.

Her new book is called Create Anyway: The Joy of Pursuing Creativity in the Margins of Motherhood, and I’m so glad to have it in my hands. The book is exactly what I hoped it would be–honest, grace-filled, encouraging, funny, and so so beautiful. I found myself wanting to return to my own art with every turn of the page. 

This I believe, was Ashlee’s hope in writing it.

“This book is about looking for hope when we feel hopeless, searching for light when the day seems dark.”

In the middle of a messy week, with her words in my heart, I went searching for the light. I found it in this cocktail. I hope it sparks something creative in you, too. 

The Create Anyway Creative Spark Cocktail

First, we must start with the ingredients. 

“As I cleaned up my desk for the day, cluttered with notebooks and multicolored index cards, a quiet inner voice reminded me: you have everything you need.”

This is true, in creativity, but also you might not yet for this cocktail. :) Start with these ingredients:

2 oz clear spirit (gin, vodka, tequila, white wine, sparkling wine, etc) OR water

1 tea bags Butterfly Pea Flower Tea

1/2 oz lemon juice

Edible glitter

2 oz lightly sweetened soda water (Trader Joe’s Lemon Elderflower or Strawberry Rhubarb are a favorite but any sweetened soda you love will do. If you go unsweetened you might want to add some honey, simple syrup, or powdered sugar to balance the lemon juice.)

Lemon wedge for garnish

“If we want to create inspiring art, we have to consume inspiring art. We have to go where the light is, toward what is lovely, toward what makes us feel alive.”

Today, going where the light is might actually be literal. Find the prettiest corner in your home where the light sneaks in and make it your cocktail station. This cocktail just sparkles when the light hits it. If the sun is down, you could even light a candle. But if literal light isn’t working with you today, listen to your creative heart. Choose the flavors that sing to you. Find a pretty glass. Grab a little something from the fridge for a garnish. Or maybe you simply need to put on some music that makes you feel alive. It’s all creative. 

Begin by steeping your spirit or water with the tea bag until the color changes to a deep purple. This could take up to 10 minutes. That’s ok. Use this time to rest your creative spirit.

“Rest reminds us how beloved we are, just as we are, with nothing to prove and nothing to earn.”

Add the spirit/water to a glass with ice. Now, in the middle of the full recipe we come to my favorite part.

“We live in a culture obsessed with final products, but the middle matters greatly. The showing up, the discipline, the putting your butt in the chair–this is where the magic happens.”  It's time to make magic.

Slowly pour the lemon juice into the glass and watch the color gradually change. It’s amazing, right? Did you even know you were capable of such a creative act?

But we’re not done. Now it’s time to throw glitter. 

“I don’t know about you, but I want to choose generosity over grumbling…Glitter throwing over lint-picking…Let’s spur the women around us toward love and good deeds, and whatever beautiful work God has set before them…And who knows? Two or three weeks from now, someone might find traces of glitter lingering on the couch cushions, right when they need a sparkly reminder to keep going.”

Sprinkle the edible glitter generously over the glass then top with your sparkling soda. Let the bubbles and glitter and creativity bubble up in your glass, and in your creative heart. 

“Creativity begets creativity.”

Are you looking in your cabinet and not finding the right tea? Worried the soda you tried might not be a flavor that works? Don’t have edible glitter but you do have a fun cocktail garnish? Remember, mixology is about having fun. Be playful with what you have, even if it’s just a couple of simple ingredients. Add your spirit to your soda, curl up with Ashlee’s book Create Anyway, and let the bubbles spark your next creative pursuit.

“Play breeds imagination. And imagination breeds play. These two things are vital to living a creative life, but I also believe play and imagination are essential to enjoying motherhood as well.”

May it inspire you this day to keep going with your gift. Create Anyway. Cheers!

This lovely book Create Anyway comes out March 28. But you can pre-order the book TODAY wherever you buy your books. Pre-ordering books is the best way to celebrate an author and bring attention to the book before it is released into the world. It’s also a great way to give your future self a gift.

A portion of this essay is excerpted from a previous post. It was written as a collaboration to celebrate the book launch of The Beauty of Motherhood, coming out March 21. But you can pre-order the book TODAY wherever you buy your books. Pre-ordering books is the best way to celebrate an author and bring attention to the book before it is released into the world. It’s also a great way to give your future self a gift!

//

The knife swipes across the bread, crackle of toasted grains like a snow shovel on the sidewalk. Salted butter melts and glistens. But that’s not the best part. It’s the jelly I’m excited about.

I dig for the jar with the label in my mom’s familiar handwriting, the one I recognize from permission slips and recipe cards, birthday notes and care packages, grocery lists and chore requests. Raspberry - August 2022. Every summer my mom collects the raspberries from their garden, preserves it as jam, and then shares the reward with me.

I dip the knife in and create swirls. This simple motion lifts smells of summer sun, itchy grass, wild bushes speckled crimson with fruit, kids rolling down the hill and running off with grandpa to collect the morning harvest. It’s a smell that invites and delights. Until it haunts and taunts.

Will we touch summer again? Will we hear it, see it, smell it, taste it? My mind tells me, of course we will, summer comes every year. But my heart weary from the weight of a long winter isn't so sure.

I look at the jar, half full, or is it half empty? I freeze. This is the last jar in the freezer. What happens when it is gone? Will the memories go empty along with the jar?

Motherhood feels like this sometimes. We slather the weight of worry and overwhelm with the sweet joys of our children. Just when it becomes too much, their light, like a warm summer’s day, fills us up with grace. But as each milestone ticks by, we wonder, is it enough?

I’ve been reading through the devotion written by my friends Kim Knowles and Erin Strybis The Beauty of Motherhood. Through bitesize words of encouragement, moments to practice, prayers to hold close, each of their devotions walk through a mother’s journey from expecting to growing up. They, too, wrestle with questions about staying present as a mother, about savoring the fleeting moments.

“If there’s no picture,” Kim asks in the chapter “God Remembers,” “will I remember?”

In Erin’s chapter “Enjoying the Crumbs” she recognizes “I don’t think God is asking us to savor every moment, but I do think there’s wisdom …in attending to the ‘crumbs’ that define our kids in this season, and seeing their sacredness.”

Chapter after chapter, each of the writers give reflection on the challenges we all face as mothers, and then point us back to the grace of God that is always present, always close. As they say in their blessing at both the beginning and closing of the book:

Let these words remind you 

as you grapple in faith

you’re never alone,

you’re drenched in God’s grace.

I’m so grateful to have their stories and their blessings in this beautiful devotional book. Like the jar of my mom’s jam, I want to savor every word, read them slowly, and I can. There is a chapter for any season of motherhood that should come along. I also recognize these are words I can come back to again and again, at any stage of motherhood, and find it to be just as sweet as the first read. 

I’m thinking now of their words of grace as I prepare my breakfast. Maybe I should ration the jam. Dole out the drops one at a time. Only one PBJ for you this week. Sorry, just butter for your toast today. But what is a nutty slice of bread without the fresh taste of summer?

I scoop the knife into the jar, this time as a spoon. I dollop a more than necessary amount, cover the slice in the sweet juice. There is more than enough here for this breakfast.

I take a bite and savor it–abundance tasting a whole lot like grace. 

//

In honor of the sweet reminders of summer, I created a mocktail for us to savor the taste of abundance. This drink is made with simple ingredients you might have leftover from making breakfast. It’s the sweet dollop of jam mixed with the creamy scoop of yogurt. It’s the brightness of lemon and the sparkle of bubbly water. Want a little more time? Don’t we all. I can’t give you time, but I can give you thyme, which is just another reminder of the bright days of summer ahead. 

Mix it all together with some hand crushed ice (because let’s be honest, bad days need to be crushed somehow). There you have it–something to savor in the afternoon while you read through The Beauty of Motherhood, reminding yourself of grace just as sweet and abundant as summer’s bounty in a jar. 

Cheers to Erin and Kim as they celebrate their book The Beauty of Motherhood. And cheers to you, mother, in finding the sweet abundance of grace. 

The Mother Mocktail**

1 T favorite jam*

1 T yogurt (plain or sweetened)

1-2 T lemon juice (adjust depending on level of sweetness)

2 oz. sparkling water

Fruit and herb for garnish*

Shake jam, yogurt, and lemon juice with 1-2 small ice cubes until ice is melted. Add to glass of crushed ice. Pour sparkling water over, gently stir, and garnish. 

*I used raspberry and thyme but other combinations could be:

Strawberry and basil

Peach and mint

Blackberry and sage

** If you want to turn this into a cocktail just add 2 ounces of your favorite spirit. Cheers!