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I read that when Kate DiCamillo got the call that she'd won the 2014 Newbery Medal for her middle grade novel, Flora and Ulysses, she cried; and said jokingly through her tears, "But, it's about a squirrel!"

I know how she felt. Well. . . sort of. This was maybe not quite on the level of a Newbery Medal, but for me, as a writer and mom, it was a huge honor to receive the email telling me my story was chosen to be a part of Listen To Your Mother.

And a similar phrase went through my mind. But it's about a fish, I thought. They want me to read my story about a dead goldfish? To borrow my castmate Daphnee Renfrow's word. . . Really?

I'd watched several of the videos of last year's perfomers in cities across the country. These women wrote raw and from the heart. They wrote about losing their mothers, losing their children, illness, addiction, heartbreak, redemption. Powerful stuff.

I had tried, after seeing their brilliant performances, to write about my mom, gone not quite three years, to cancer. My mother: a beautiful, intelligent woman, who stepped into the role of "Grammie" to my three daughters with the same grace, strength and humor she'd shown raising me. I couldn't do it. She's a part of me, and everything I write, but to write and read aloud a piece about her and what she meant to me, and deliver it to a crowded auditorium of people? I wasn't ready.

The only requirements for a Listen To Your Mother essay are that your piece be original, not yet published, and on the theme of motherhood. You needn't be a mom to participate, but your piece must reflect something to do with motherhood.

So, I wrote a funny little story about a pet fish. Because that's the essence of my journey through motherhood: the follies. Moments big and small. I hoped it wouldn't seem too silly or insignificant.

On the night of the show, I stood on stage with a group of fabulous women who, in a very short time, became friends, bonded by the Listen To Your Mother experience. And I told my story.

I realized that it wasn't insignificant. It was authentic. People seemed to like it. I was proud of myself, and of the whole cast. I'd shown my two older daughters that I was funny—and brave.

I didn't write an essay about my mother, but I did something I know she'd be proud of. And for now, that's enough.

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An Unremarkable Square of Dirt
by Anika Denise (Copyright, 2014)

The first days in my garden remind me of my mother. On Mother's Day, we'd plant the flower bed at the front of her house--a small, unremarkable square of dirt just to the right of her front door; but to us, it seemed a grand garden. It was the first place she'd lived after moving out of New York, and it had a flower bed that needed flowers.

Busy hands allow my mind to wander. As I sift through soil with my fingers, I remember a conversation we had when I was seven years old. "Mom, what will I be when I grow up--will I be a mom with lots of kids, or a lady who goes to work every day like you?" I asked. I think you'll do it all," was her answer.

I wish she'd told me it would not be always be a perfect balance.

I pull weeds from between the iris bulbs and listen to sound of my breathing. Now my mind travels to when my first daughter was born, red-faced and howling, tiny fists clenched. I remember how she didn't stop crying for three months. And how tired I was. I remember how often I fell short of doing it all.

I rake the bed, evening the soil, and and part a tiny space to place the plants.

I am wiser now, after child number three. I know that all is a fantasy, and it's okay to settle for some.

I wonder, Am I doing a good job? Does she think I'm a good mom?

And then I remember the unremarkable square of dirt by my mother's front door, and how now, in this moment, there is a flower bed that need flowers.


I'll be joining a cast of thirteen remarkable women this Saturday, May 10th, at the RISD Auditorium for Listen To Your Mother, Providence. Tickets for the show can be purchased online here.  If you are in the area, I hope you'll come.

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