Category Archives: Family and Friends Blogs

Eyelash Curler: A Cautionary Tale

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From my world o’cold I’m swimming in, I must depart this word of warning for the multitasking mom. My sister Cecily was curling her lashes Thursday, getting ready to meet us out for a girl’s dinner. She decided to multitask, also known as sitting on the can while curling said lashes, but she stumbled. The result? Half her eyelashes are now gone from her left eye. A clear chunk o’ lash is missing. When will it return? Who knows?

(Here’s Cecily with Vivien, eyelashes intact.)

She said it doesn’t hurt, but sometimes it’s better to take the 3 seconds to complete things. When something like that happens to me, I always think I dodged a bullet. That it could have been worse; I could have been distracted and in a hurry and plowed my car into a tree. So, don’t stop making yourself pretty, just do one thing at a time. That’s my takeaway.

Hiding From Your Kid

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So funny, I realized today I was doing this and wondered if I am the only mom who does this? Then I see a comment from Saloni where she said when her kid makes baby noises she wants to run in the opposite direction. Now, she didn’t say she did, but I am here to say I have. I wouldn’t leave her stranded. I just saw an opportunity. Vivien was in the back yard with my husband when I realized, “Hey, I’m tired and would love to quickly watch some adult TV. Or read a few pages of Barbara Walters memoir.” So I dashed into my room and had about 6 minutes of chill before I heard, “Mommy!” When she came in she said she wanted to watch cartoons. I didn’t cave, “No honey, I want to watch some mommy TV and rest.” Thankfully she said. “Can I rest with you?” And she did for a little while. I just needed to recharge. Does anyone else hideout

Even Fun Makes Me Tired

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Here is Vivien in a dress that hasn’t been worn since the ’60s, as we were walking to dinner in Chelsea last Friday night. My brother-in-law Mark’s sister was in some kiddie beauty pageants and would get dresses as prizes. One dress was presented to her by none other than the girl who played Buffy on “Family Affair.”

Vivien in NYC

When I go to NYC, I always love it. The excitement, the energy… to a point. I have about 6 or 8 friends I really like to see out there, so even trying to see a few of them takes up some time and it’s stimulating catching up. Plus, I am often doing press for whatever TV show I’m on at the time–which is fun. This trip, most of my press calls were for Cool Mom. Also, I usually do a 48-hour child-free trip… yeah, I’m free and not gone so long I feel guilty.

This trip, I had 36 hours solo and then Mark and Vivien arrived. By the third night, I started to slow down. Mark went bar hopping with friends as Vivien and I met up with a friend at a nice restaurant, walking distance from where we were staying. (Sidebar: instead of a crazy-expensive hotel room we were lucky to be in a two bedroom apartment in Chelsea of friends who were out of town. The best.)

As we walked to dinner, Vivien said, “Mommy,” pointing to the sidewalk, “This is dirty.” I’m sure she was wondering, “When is the clean-up time?”

Um, that was Giuliani, I guess, and he only got so much done. I still saw not one but two gentlemen brazenly peeing on the street. And mind you, not homeless guys with shopping carts, but people who probably had an option.

Sadly, I figured out why I am still dragging even now that we have been back home for a bit. 1) I’m not a spring chicken and 2) I have to exercise. It does help my energy level. But if I don’t do it before 9 am, forget it. I like the recreational exercise of being home, not that constant walking-in-shoes-that-hurt NYC thing. It makes me so tired.

Hanging with Clifford The Big Red Dog!

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Remember when you were in elementary school and you got to order your Scholastic books? Well, they are so much more than those sweet little anticipated books in your first-grade hands. They have a big, rad store in SoHo. Who knew?

Daphne at the Scholastic store in Soho

Next time you are in NYC, forget the tourists traps and go there. The beautiful, modern building is probably courtesy of Harry Potter, since they had a piece of that which has accounted for about 50% of their revenue. But, of great interest to me is their part in Clifford the Big Red Dog. They have a coin-operated Clifford. Which sadly wasn’t working. But it’s a big, beautiful, child-friendly book store.

Vivien and Mark reading at Scholastic

I had a meeting upstairs while Mark and Viv scampered downstairs. Nice to do something for Vivien before I dragged her to a few stores to shop. But I ended buying more stuff for her, per usual. It was an honor to wear a tag with Clifford on it. But that Chloe, she is such a pushy little dog.

Travel You Pay For

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Not in the money sense but in the exhaustion, dirty house, cranky child way.

We got back to LA from NYC late last night. God, was I glad to leave. Love NYC, but when the urine on the street mixes with a heat wave, the smell fills your nostrils and makes you wonder why people pay so much in rent to live there. (More later on plane travel with a toddler. Oy vey.)

I got up early for work today and was looking forward to that nap with Vivien. Prior to her nap she was in a fit state I have rarely seen. As I was trying to deal with her, my stepson was watching TV and I thought, hmm, no wonder he rarely brings friends over here. You know when your kid is really wound up and you can’t figure out why? Except for the fact that her time clock is off? And there it is, yes, snot out of the nose; Viv has a little cold. It made me stay calmer. I didn’t lose my cool.

Finally got her to sleep and I drifted off to sleep for a few glorious minutes. Then the phone rang. Twice. I understand murder.

Ladies’ Night!

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Better not to be the last girl left at the party. Remember toward the end of “Sex and the City,” there was an episode where Carrie is at a party and the last hardcore party girl is there? Party girl is bummed there’s no one to do drugs with her anymore. She says, “New York is so boring I could die.” And then she falls out the window.

Ladies\' night of Scrabble

Tonight I proved I am NOT that girl because I was so excited that I got to host my mom’s Scrabble night. The second Monday of the month, my mom and her best gal pals from church play Scrabble. I’m serious, I was psyched. I love games. Love games. And I like being social, but hate to leave my house or my daughter so it was a win, win, win.

Some highlights:

1. Drinking champagne and praying. When I was in college, I was usually hung over on Sunday mornings, trying to be one with The One. But at Scrabble night, a very respected church minister kicked off the game with a wonderful affirmation. I should have partied with these ladies years ago!

2. The cheating. Maybe it’s sanctioned, but Mom and company use these little Scrabble computers (they look like a calculator). You put in your letters and the machine gives you words you can use! No wonder my mom’s first turn she scored 112! I would score about a 20. I think they felt sorry for me.

I didn’t win, but I had a g-o-o-d t-i-m-e.

Ballet Mom: Have I Gone Too Far?

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Vivien the sad ballerina

Just one look at my forlorn beauty has made me question the upcoming ballet and recitals. Should I have stopped at one class a week, or the two classes we take (“we” because I take her to them)? OR should I have gotten the cute outfits, but not had her perform in the recitals?

She always enjoyed the class. Well, she started when she was 22 months and the first few weeks she sat in my lap, but then she got into it. She takes one class on Monday with Miss Meredith and one on Wednesday with Miss Sophie. Now they both have recitals. Miss Meredith’s is tomorrow night. It’s more rehearsed.

I know I’m more hardcore than other ballet moms. The other day was a typical rehearsal, where they stared blankly at Miss Meredith and only followed a few steps. The moms all clapped and Vivien rushed into my arms, “I did it, I did it!”

I said, “You did do a lot of it, but we still need to work on the curtsies and the p-ks.” ( I can’t spell the French word, but that’s what it sounds like.) The other moms chuckled. I should be honest, right?

This picture is for her Miss Sophie dance recital. That class is a little looser, but the show will be at a big theatre and that costume cost $50, and tickets are $20 a piece. I bought $300 dollars worth for the family, the $20 DVD, and there have been photo sessions for the big night. Vivien was so excited at home to put the outfit on. But once we got to the studio she folded like a deck of cards. The teacher and I were making faces and saying, “Vivien, look here,” as she went more and more in on herself. I can’t blame her; I was the same way when as a child, I got to go on the set of “Medical Center” and meet Chad Everett. I was all excited till I was face-to-face with Chad. My face is down in that one, too.

This ballet thing seemed so cute, but is she too young to have expectations and goals? I don’t think so. And I’m going to do another go around on the photo session this weekend. Just in case I can get the happy ballerina picture for the hallway.

Photo credit: Al Unger

A Mom Stood Me Up

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A mom brain moment? I was on the receiving end of this one. Vivien and I were eagerly anticipating the company of our friends DJ and her daughter Charlie. We’d both get a girlfriend to hang with. I thought ahead and got a nice plate of Italian cold cuts, cheese, and fruit during the day. I had doctored up the pasta dish from last night (a night my chef husband Mark was home so it was good) and had pizza for the girls. I bought them both lollipops, even though I couldn’t remember if this was a mom who was weird about sugar. I uncorked the bottle of white and let Viv watch another Go Diego Go and waited. And waited.

Now, Mark works five nights a week so most nights I’m a single mom. Most gals aren’t as available as I am since they feel they need to spend the evenings with their man. Lucky for me DJ is a single mom. So we waited.

I was really burnt from work and the impending move. Boy, was it going to be nice to talk to an educated woman while my daughter ran around the apartment happy with her buddy. Vivien picked the plates she and Charlie would eat off of. She even set her little table. Finally after an hour of waiting I called. DJ thought we were getting together the next night. This wasn’t my brain fart. They were in their jammies and done for their night. She apologized. Vivien was upset so I put her on the phone with Charlie where she asked in her cute little voice, “What happened Charlie?” My friend emailed later and said, “tomorrow can mean whatever that mom thinks it means.” Which is kind of funny.

I went to go cut the pizza for Vivien and couldn’t find the pizza cutter. Feeling that this hidden utensil was one more ding to my day and remembering the bit about being a subversive mom I had read on City Mamma, I picked up the scissors and cut the pizza with it. A pizza cutter can mean whatever that mom thinks it means.

Hello Knuckles, My Old Friend

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Our snake Knuckles died today, and I am the only one that cares. Knuckles was my stepson Oliver’s snake; he bought him when he was a little boy. But since I’ve been in Oliver’s life, he hasn’t cared much for Knuckles.

Vivien and Knuckles the snake

A few years back, Knuckles shed his skin. Oliver looked at him and said, “This is the most exciting thing Knuckles has ever done.” Snakes don’t fetch or cuddle or lick. A nice Albino corn snake, Knuckles just wanted to be warm and hang out. Don’t we all.

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My Dream Neighbors

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I almost chuckled out loud at the comment on Dooce about dreaming about your suburban neighbors. Since moving, I have been scoping for a child in the ‘hood to befriend my child, and a perfect cool mom that I can borrow sugar from. That is not my upbringing, though.

Brea, a Suburb in Orange County
Creative Commons License photo credit: frandango24

Back in my childhood I knew a few neighbors up the street who loved mixing their cocktails together. They were on either side of our “not in the group” house. I’d see them walk back and forth – either to the Tashers’, who had a luau lounge in their backyard (I know, fierce), or the Lasleys’, who had a bar upstairs with a balcony that overlooked the street. They seemed to have some good, rum-soaked fun. They seemed like the “Love, American-Style” kind of glam, fun, Marina del Rey, early ’70s, frosted lipstick, carefree bunch

Our family was either polite or hostile to our neighbors, in general. Partly because my folks weren’t drinkers, and mostly because of my dad’s involvement in small town politics. When he ran for re-election, some neighbors put up signs for his opponent. They are still dead to us. Some actually are dead, but we aren’t forgiving them either.

Recently I had the chance to enter the homes of the swinging neighbors and was shocked to see how small and ordinary their homes were. One, like us, only had one bathroom. All that drinking and only one bathroom.