Is This an Intervention?

I had twenty-five days in which to apply for a forty-five day special occasion permit from the Washington State Liquor Control Board. No problem.

Two days before the Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between) event, I didn't have a bartender. The morning of the event, I still didn't know if one of my acts was even going to show up. No... problem.

Twenty minutes before the show, my sound guy hadn't shown up yet, the fencing materials for the wine garden had gone mysteriously missing, one of the acts asked to combine her two performances, and gusting 98-degree winds threatened to cancel my sword dancer's act, since the looming hurricane would seriously impede her ability to balance a sword on her head. No... prob... lem?

We started exactly thirteen minutes late, but things rolled right along. Our first act, a trio of divalicious singers, wowed the crowd with their show tune extravaganza. Then, it was time to read my first piece, "The Curse of the Mothers." My mother, sadly, was unable to make the show but, I suggested, maybe it was for the best, since I didn't know how she'd feel about me sharing the family secret.

"I'M GONNA TELL HER!" came the heckler's cry. Thanks, Dad.

We had some singing. We had some reader's theater. We had Mommy-Muse Christy belly dancing. We had Mr. Wright reading "Frederick's of Halloween," from Gonzo Parenting's Text-osterone issue. We had roller dancing. I read "Good Fences Make Good Voyeurs."

So far, so good.

At some point, Riot Mama told me that her second piece was missing from her printouts. "No problem," I said. It had become my mantra. "You can read the piece I printed in the last issue of Gonzo Parenting." I handed her a copy of the zine.

I assume her first reading went well, but I can't be sure, since I was stripping in the public bathroom at the top of the hill, furiously tugging my belly dance costume over my sweat-soaked body. "I hope I wrote enough extra plugging and stalling into the emcee script," I whispered to my instructor/dance partner as we tied on our coin scarves and ran down the hill to the amphitheater, winded but ready to dance. For once, I didn't miss a single step or turn, but the heat was beginning to make me dizzy and the migraine that had started the day before was steadily increasing.

Hydrate. Electrolytes. Hydrate. Wine.

We had a reading by the other Mommy-Muse co-founder, Linda. Her mic died halfway through and had to be switched out. No problem. We had more reader's theater.

Mommy-Muse Christy read from The Belly Dance Prescription and belly danced some more. Riot Mama read her second (substitute) piece.

By this time, my head was really beginning to give me trouble. Some horrible, invisible, sadistic creature was tightening a tourniquet around my skull, and it didn't feel nice. Not one bit.

The sun was setting and it was finally cooling off. I pressed my head into the cool grass and watched the sword dancer miraculously keep the weapon balanced on her head...

As the emcee announced my third piece, I reluctantly pulled myself to my feet... and felt the vomit coming. I know this migraine symptom well; my least favorite of the "migraine attack" phase. I frantically began waving my hands at the emcee, wordlessly begging him to stall, and ran behind the boathouse to puke my innards up. N-uh-uh-uh-o p-p-p-pro-uh-uh-bleeeeghm!

Wiping my mouth, I took the stage and, somehow, shakily, read "Forget Gitmo." I was seriously beginning to wonder if I was going to make it through the rest of the show. My insides were churning, my head was preparing to implode, and I just wanted to go home, thank you very much.

More reading, more reading... My last piece, "I Hope Jesus has a Sense of Humor," was read so quickly and manically, I'm sure no one caught a word - which, considering the subject matter, might have been a good thing.

Mr. Wright finished with an awesome drum solo, Christy did closing comments, and it was finally, blessedly over! I sank back into the grass, closing my eyes. We'd pulled it off! People came! They enjoyed themselves! No one got booed off the stage! I didn't pass out!

My mental celebration was interrupted by a woman's voice. I cracked an eye open. There she was, standing over me, looking earnestly at me. I sat up.

"Hi," she said. "Great show! Listen, I coordinate resources for women in crisis. I wanted you to have my card..."

Photo credit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/25802865@N08/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Bad Gratitude Monday (Even Though...)

1. Even though one of my acts canceled for the Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between) festival coming up on Saturday, I am grateful for the amazing women (and men) who are committed to making it a great show.

2. Even though the three-person belly dance that I'm performing in on Saturday has turned into a two-person dance, I am grateful for my instructor's amazing guidance and dedication in adapting it. We'll be phenomenal, I'm sure.

3. Even though my SUV is still in the shop, I am grateful that I have this car to use as a loaner:


Hot, huh? That's a Dodge Stealth, and the only reason I see for Mopar existing.


What are YOU grateful for?

Top photo credit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/goldberg/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

The Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between) Tour in Chelan, Washington!

The talented mamas of Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between) (ME2Z) are heating things up in sunny Lake Chelan, Washington on August 1st! ME2Z is a literary and arts performance tour of moms, grandmas, and would-be moms whose mission is to celebrate motherhood and passionate creativity of women.

Pack up your beach blankets and festival chairs, because the mamas are bringing their “mamapalooza” to Chelan’s Riverwalk Park Pavilion. Presented by the Historic Downtown Chelan Association, the outdoor venue is free to the public and has plenty of lawn to lounge on while you take in the show.

This summer’s event will open with music by Two Wannabe Divas and One Real One, the “divalicious” trio comprised of CherylAnn Ellingson, Jeannie Kappple and Kathryn Castrodale, starting at 6:00 p.m.

From 7:00 to 10:00 p.m., enjoy readings by Corbin Lewars of Reality Mom Zine, Rosie Weagant Norton of Riot Mama, The Gonzo Mama’s Christina-Marie Wright, Christy Cuellar-Wentz of Mommy-Muse.com, and more.

Writer/actor/director Laura Leon Freeman will perform reader’s theater segments, and attendees will be treated to the indie folk rock stylings of Ilka Haley of Small Town Girl Productions.

Dance has been a staple of ME2Z performances since the group’s creation, and the Chelan tour will offer belly dance performances by Christy Cuellar-Wentz, Heartfelt Fitness belly dance students, and special sword-dancing and roller-dance segments by Laura Folsom of Heartfelt Fitness.

The Historic Downtown Chelan Association will provide a wine garden with wines from Hard Row to Hoe Vineyards and is planning for a fun mix of vendors during the event. More performers are being added to the program as confirmations roll in, so keep up to date by visiting MotherhoodEggtoZine.com.

For more information, call Christina-Marie at 509-670-8823 or email motherhood@motherhoodeggtozine.com.

Bad Gratitude Monday (on Wednesday)

I'm just getting around to blogging today, but I couldn't forget about gratitude this week, because I have a lot to be grateful for.

This week, I'm feeling oodles of gratitude for:

1. The amazing mamas affiliated with Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between). These hot mamas are helping to pull everything together for our upcoming performance on August 1st in Chelan, Washington. It's going to be an amazing mamapalooza!

2. The Historic Downtown Chelan Association, who has generously agreed to sponsor our event. That means we'll have two additional hours of performances, vendor booths and the possibility of a wine garden!

3. My great friend, Mommy-Muse, who just moved to my town. She went to the pitch meeting with Historic Downtown Chelan Association with me, and was invaluable in her contributions and persuasive comments. You can follow her on Twitter for wonderful, inspiring tweets!

What are YOU grateful for?

The Dumbing Down of America

For those lucky enough to know The Gonzo Mama in real life, it comes as no surprise when she refuses to vote for a candidate whose campaign literature appears to be crafted by someone who failed to pass middle school English.

Routine, too, is the sight of her red-lining a direct mail piece and sending it back to the offensive junk mail monger with editorial notes... in his own postage-paid envelope, no less. That's right - the illiterate pile of moose droppings gets to pay for the pleasure of reading The Gonzo Mama's list of reasons why he sucks.

Call it a severe case of "grammarphilia," if you must. The fact remains that The Gonzo Mama has a very low tolerance for poorly-constructed written material and perfunctory use of the English language.

In her essay, Education Limbo: How Low Can You Go?, Mama clearly outlines why our nation's schools are to blame for this widespread and offensive epidemic.

It's the latest installment of her column over at Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between). Check it out, and rant along!

So, You Think You Can Belly Dance?

As the new year begins, I am more determined than ever to attend my weekly belly dance classes. I’m not delusional. I know I’m not getting any better. The thing is, I am way more competitive and stubborn than I am devoted, and one of my fellow mamas is preparing to shake her hips for all the world to see. Well, all of the 206 area code, anyway.

Christy Cuellar-Wentz (Mommy-Muse.com) is not only a talented author and counselor, but also a fearless belly dancer. When Christy, Corbin Lewars (RealityMomZine.blogspot.com), Monica LeMoine (ExhaleZine.com) and I founded the literary performance group Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between), Christy offered to belly dance at our January 24th premiere in Seattle, “to keep the energy up.” When she found out I’d been taking classes, she invited me to perform a dance, as well.

I planned to keep my own energy up through the afternoon and evening performances with a series of triple-shot soy lattes from Starbucks, but Christy’s offer left me feeling a little wimpy. I routinely whine and complain my way through my beginners’ belly dance class, and I’m nowhere near ready to go public.

I’ve heard belly dance is a great way for mothers to reclaim their bodies after new motherhood; that it helps women see themselves as sensual, creative creatures; and that it can help improve body image. Sadly, none of those benefits apply to me.

I have no interest in reclaiming this body, with its Mississippi Delta stretch marks and loose skin that will never, ever shrink back to its proper place. It’s a pathetic sight, watching my four-count shimmy last exactly twelve counts by the time everything stops jiggling. As for the Chest Lifts… let’s just say that, absent an extended vacation from gravity, my chest is not going to lift in any meaningful way anytime soon.

Anyone who has actually seen my attempts at belly dance would ever, ever describe the activity as sensual. Admittedly, there is a great deal of creative movement involved on my part the day after class, when basic activities like sitting and walking are elevated to new heights of pain as every muscle in my body throbs.

My husband imagines that my belly dancing looks something like the graceful, fluid art that takes place on the instructional videos I’ve been collecting. He is disappointed that I won’t perform my new “talent” for him. Obviously, this is a man who did not witness my high school cheerleading career. It will be a very sad day for him when he comes home early and sees me trying to emulate Snake Arms while teetering in Egyptian Basic pose, looking like a stroke victim. There is absolutely no grace in the left half of my body.

I’m resolving to continue, though. Even though I have yet to gain an elementary level of coordination, I’m gleaning positive results. For an hour each week, I get to be a woman, alongside other women. In that hour, there is no family to tend to, nothing on the stove, and no crying babies. I can focus on something that is exclusively, indulgently, just for me. The bonus is that I’ve dropped a pants size since starting a few months ago.

As added incentive, I’ve purchased a silver-white gown for an upcoming event. Although at the time of ordering I was unfamiliar with the color “silver-white,” I now understand it to be the color of masochism, as it reflects light off every bump and lump on my tummy and thighs, grotesquely magnifying them to science fiction proportions.

So look out, Christy! Come this time next year, I’ll be ready to take you up on your offer to belly dance in public. As a preventative measure, I’d like to bar any neurologists from attending my performance, lest my art be medically mistaken for seizure.