look at this essay I found in a drawer.

I did a cool thing once. It was called Listen To Your Mother.

On May 5, 2017, the fifth and final year of Anne Imig’s Listen To Your Mother, a live show featuring stories about motherhood.

I was lucky, not only did I read my own story (below!) that year but I was the official photographer for the first 4 years. It’s legitimately one of the coolest things I was ever a part of in my entire life.

It was such a big deal to me at the time that I didn’t even miss photographing it on year despite having a newborn baby. One year’s cast has continued to meet for over a decade which unheard of. How rarely do we see our friends in real life these days? How about a dozen people, more than annually? One of my other favorite parts was how often cast members used images I took of them as profile pictures on social media.

Here’s the piece I read that night. I remember that I got a lot more laughs than I had expected. Turns out, I kinda love the stage.

P.S. This piece aged fairly well in some respects. It’s even more relevant today as it was then. Plus it was pre-coming out and pre-disability. The 3 and 4 year olds referenced in this piece are 10 and 12 now.

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The boys circa 2016: Halloween costumes and photo by me.

This past year, our country has unraveled before my eyes. I’ve watched in horror as our government has stripped away basic human rights for immigrants, women, LGBT individuals, people of color, and Muslims. I was always a casual, every other year voter with feminist tendencies but now? I’m a vocal activist who has quit worrying about who I might offend.

This transition has been swift.

The two little humans who have had to adapt the most have been my two sons, ages 4 and 3. The one reality of being a stay-at-home parent is that during the day, the kids are always....how do I put this??

There. That means they almost always go with me.

I wasn't sure what sort of materials one takes to her first protest but with my parenting experience, I knew I didn't want to cut corners with the kids in tow. I packed a bag with snacks, drinks, cars, wipes, coffee, books, parking meter change, warm clothes, mittens, hats, sunglasses, and of course, the iPad. I convinced my boys to be enthusiastic by labeling this an "adventure to the legislature" because a) they don't know what a protest is and b) telling them it would mean sitting still and being quiet would be the opposite of a selling point.

We arrived at the legislature and the only barrier to entry was signing our names in a special book. No metal detectors, no "government building bouncer," no one asking what we planned to do there. We climbed the fancy carpeted stairs and found ourselves a seat in the gallery, which was growing more crowded by the minute.

It was so boring watching the lawmakers do law-making sorts of things. One guy pontificated while the rest of the assembly typed on their keyboards or checked their phones. Another guy rebutted after a surprisingly complicated process of asking permission to speak.

Where was the protest exactly? Was I doing it wrong?

When suddenly...a stylishly dressed man came to the balcony and began shouting, "All political power belongs to the people!"

It was a ballsy move but he seemed down for the consequences up to and including being arrested, which he later was. In zip tie handcuffs too. That was new to me.

The boys looked up from their iPad at me for reassurance. I smiled, feigning confidence. The chanting was loud and unnerving. The members of the gallery were streaming out the door as they collectively chanted "All political power belongs to the people!"

I kept quiet and stayed put, obeying the legislator who was banging his gavel uselessly, screaming "ORDER, ORDER!" Soon after, we were all tossed out. Eli, my older son, asked politely for a fourth time if we could go, but he stayed without complaint after I handed him a granola bar.

Chanting.
Police yelling.
My kids asking to go.
Repeat.
We left 15 minutes after that.

It felt useless. But hey, I peacefully protested! How American? I didn’t feel much, other than feeling a little bad that I had dragged the kids there for two hours. They were just too little to understand what anything meant.

Later that afternoon, while I was napping with the little one, Eli comes into my room and starts stroking my face softly. He curls up with me and gently plays with my hair. We lay there in the quiet of the afternoon, silent, just enjoying the closeness and togetherness. It's one of those moments that parenting feels so close to perfection that the stress of it all just melts away in an instant.

The silence was interrupted with a whisper. He said, under his breath, "All podibidal power belongs to the people. All podibidal power belongs to the people."

He remembered. He heard us. I have to believe he understood the gravity of an entire room chanting the same message.

Maybe, just maybe, we'll all will be ok. Until then, we protest.