who’s the daddy?

Good news, my life has meaning again.  Or rather, something light, superficial that I can fixate my mind on and not worry about real life stresses.  I’m talking about the Mia Farrow BOMBSHELL that her son is not Woody Allen’s, but Frank Sinatra.

My first reaction to the headline, Oh, that Mia, I get that she is still very pissed at Woody, who can blame her.  But, obviously that’s just a way to needle him from afar after he married her daughter ( yuck, gross).

Then I saw the picture.

C’mon, either that’s Frank’s son, or Mia had him all by herself, because that kid did not spring from this guy.

more likely

Sure the bone structure could be his mom’s, but the young blue eye’s could have gotten it from ole blue eyes.  My guess is even if he is not Frank’s son, he is not Woody’s either. Maybe he came form HandsomeNordicSperm.com .

Now, “Annie Hall” is my favorite move of all time.  However, I have been a Sinatra fan since I was a kid. My first time on radio in college was as “the Sinatra expert.”  I have more cool Sinatra stuff then I know what to do with.                                     I have a pair of his wive’s shoes.

Framed.  Yes, yes I do.

So, that the idea that Frank could be living in in the form of young, hunky, Rhodes scholar who works for human rights, well, I’m in!   If he gets a show on MSNBC  I will be watching.

As a mom I have to say to Mia Farrow, you done good mom.  That kid could be nutso with all that went on, but what a nice boy he is!  Funny and smart.  Look at his twitters

Yes, I’m a new follower.

Freaky Friday

Weird things happened today. A mob hit?  An ominous warning?  Or just random funky stuff going down?

Awoken about 5:30 by pungent smell and damp feeling.  Ah, Rex had crawled in next to me and his pull up had sprung a leak.  I replaced it, flinging the wet diaper on the floor as I was so tired I couldn’t get up again.

Rex; “momma, I smell something.”

Me: “It’s your dirty diaper.”  I’m a class act.

After a few minute of trying to fall back to sleep with the pee smell wafting over me  I suggested we get up. Rex was thrilled.

Okay, so no big deal, just a moment of parenting.  I walk outside in my robe to get the paper.  As I walk back towards our front door I’m startled by what I see.

There lying in my garden, by the driveway near the front tire of my car is a cat.

The cat is sleeping. No, cats don’t sleep out in the open, in the cold The cat is dead.

It’s a calico cat with damp fur.  Probably doused by the sprinklers.

There is a thin brown blanket underneath it.

Different thoughts: Is someone sending us a warning?  Like a mob hit.  Did someone hit this poor cat on the street last night, thinking it is ours brought it to us in a kind ‘oops, sorry we killed your cat’ gesture?  It was creepy and I worried that it was one of my neighbors cats.  I went next door and woke him up.  He came out.  It wasn’t his cat.  It didn’t have a tag.

“well, it’s trash day”.  he said.

I really didn’t want the kids to see this.  It would have really upset him. It upset me. I ran to get Mark.  Really glad I am married as I knew my husband would ‘take care of this’.

After breakfast…which was a tad hard to eat… I was running around trying to get Vivien out the door to school. Rex was going to stay home with dad.  Mark was on the phone.  I knew he was talking to a relative about another relative who has had mental health issues.

“hey honey, will you be home by 11?”

“probably, well, not sure, why?”  Oh, just that they had decided this family member needed to be committed and he wanted to be there.

“I’ll take Rex with me.” I offered.  My trudging with a stroller a couple blocks didn’t seem that big of deal anymore.

I drove the kids while I tried to sort the placid routine of life with the bombshells life throws at you. The large socks full of horse manure, to paraphrase a Woody Allen line.

On the one hand, make sure Vivien eats breakfast and is taken to school, on the other hand someone close to us is having a breakdown.

The kids heard the word “hospital” so they were asking questions.  I didn’t lie, but tried to make it seem matter of fact.  Then Rex worried about other people in the family and started asking about them.  I told him they were fine.

“But, where is Oliver?” he asked with stress.

“He is at school”

“what are the names of his teachers?”  A few blocks later Rex came up with this:

“mommy, when I have my new daddy, he will be my new daddy.”

Me:  “Rex, I admire that you are going to be so adaptable should something happen to your father, but your daddy is fine and he is and will always be your only daddy.”  Vivien and I tried this line for a while, but Rex kept talking about his new daddy.  I gave up and went to distraction.  Played knock knock jokes. It got a new line of thinking going.

Poor guy. I’m really glad he didn’t see the cat.

It’s was 8am.

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You Can’t Trust Your Parents

Though it’s hard to choose, I am 90% sure that Annie Hall is my all time most favorite movie.  It worked on one level when I was kid seeing it for the first time. Then, as I got older and got all the adult jokes, it worked on another level.  I have seen it about 35 times (yes, I have seen Gone With the Wind more, but Annie Hall has bit more relevance and realism).

One of the many great lines is when Woody Allen’s character, Alvie, says to his friend played by Tony Roberts, “Everything our parents told us was good for us is bad: Sun, milk, college.”

This is another reminder that we can’t trust our parents, which means our kids can’t trust us.