CLOSED! due to illness

I'll be back. 2 kids and one boyfriend plus a kitten getting fixed is taking all of my damn attention. meh.

I'm the daughter of a mother and the mother of a daughter. Guess I'm lucky I'm not a son of a bitch...

Lemme tell ya, it ain't easy. I wouldn't trade it, though when I found out I was having another child and that child would be a girl, I was scared shitless. To put it mildly, my mother and I did not get along when I was a teen, I'd say from about 13 until right around 34. Things have changed, I adore my mother, and we get along quite well... with momentary turbulence here and there. It helps that we live well over 7,000 air miles apart. Skype is great. We heart Skype.

So, you can well imagine what I thought my future would look like. It still may end up being treacherous. However, my relationship with my daughter is wonderful. She is 5 1/2 going on 45, and she is beginning to be a good listener. For now, I'll take it. She is hilariously funny and I mean like pure, natural comedic timing. The child is whip-smart and I am already practicing my "Smart Girls have more fun" speech. She also happens to be lovely to look at, although to be quite truthful... she had to grow into it. She was not the cutest baby girl, but I tend to cut her lots of slack; she was ill even in the womb and had to have a major surgery at 2 months old. We were simply happy to have her, hair or no hair. In short, she is a handful and quite a character. I wouldn't take her any other way.

When she was asked by the agency I freelance for to go out on auditions (I'm a makeup artist) it didn't really come as a big surprise. It came about so organically, since as a single mother I have had to bring the kids to the studio on occasion, Gigi tends to be the life of the party (while my son, would rather hide in a corner) Gigi was born to be an actor. If this is what she chooses to do with her life, it wouldn't surprise me one bit. However, she has stayed strong and steady and swears that when she grows up she will be a veterinarian... and pizza dough thrower (although the side jobs change from time to time)

I took her to her first audition, only nervous that I would somehow fail her. She was fine. She was the belle of the ball. I heard a collective groan as we walked in to the waiting room from the mothers of the other girls... if looks were all they were going for, Gigi had it nailed. She did not get called back, nor did she look back... I still think she has no idea that the goal is anything more than to show up and be cute.

I was surprised when I got a call today, asking her to go on another audition for a different commercial. They said 'they' asked for her, although her picture is not on the website and she has never been in ANYTHING. Immediately, I began to fret. Gigi said "Ok, when? Where?"

Meanwhile, I question myself as a mother, if I ought to allow her to do auditions. And if she gets cast in something, do I even want that for her? There are all the obvious reasons but my biggest concern is screwing up my kid - if this actually GOES somewhere. I do not want the next Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan, no matter how successful she may be. No amount of money could justify having my daughter turn into a monster.

After a lot of consideration and plenty of asking for advice, I've decided we'll do it until either she decides she doesn't want to anymore or I determine that it is no longer in her best interest. Everyone seemed to think the same way about it, but the advice I wanted to hear most was from my own mother. You see, I was in the exact same position when I was 3, although I had a pretty heavy-weight family member who could have gotten me the job. I was sent to do commercials, to get practice for the role they wanted to cast me in on a major daytime drama (aka soap opera). I practiced the lines for the Carls Jr. commercial. I was gonna nail it. The casting people called me in, without my mother, I froze and refused to speak. So much for my big chance. I told my mother I didn't like it and wasn't going to do it. We only look back to laugh at how funny the whole thing was. C'est la vie.

Tomorrow we'll go to the audition. Gigi will feel no pressure from me (or anyone else) and I hope she has fun. She enjoyed the attention last time, particularly from me. We got to have fun and be girly, without her pesky older brother. If for that reason alone I'll keep taking her, as long as she wants me to.

Why can't I be elegant too?!

Ok, so I just read this fantastic excerpt my mom sent to me, by Fernanda Eberstadt (daughter of Isabel Eberstadt) named aptly enough "Am I turning into my mother?"

I, too struggled most of my pre-teens on into my early twenties to NOT be my mother, at all costs. People said we look alike, which we truly do not see and that we sound exactly the same on the telephone... and I would recoil in horror each and every time. I thought her too well dressed, too spontaneous, rather narcissistic and entirely too unreliable for my liking. She swore like a sailor, embarrassed the hell out of me and acted coy and proper at even the slightest hint of 'impropriety'. And she could be a real bitch. You know, all the reasons everyone who came within 100 feet of her thought made her so enthralling, and fantastic, and fun, and worldly. Oy vey.

And yes, I am many things my mother is and was, as well as nothing like her. I am not however an organizer (although I swear to you, as she has gotten older, she simply moves shit around until she is exhausted and ultimately, has not organized nearly as much as she thinks she has) nor am I an elegant dresser. My mother was like a Queen in my eyes, as a young girl... frothy ball gowns and beaded ones, too! St. John Knits to the extent that the salesladies all knew her by name, a tower of high heels and a 6 door mirrored closet to store it all in. I was in awe. I myself am a clothes horse however, I can guarantee that 97% of them are not suitable for a fancy meal in a good restaurant. My mother had frickin' cashmere 'leisure' sets, knit loose pants and adorable twin set or hoodie to match!! And yes, her fabulos-ity was directed at me, as well. Gray velvet and pink lace dresses, smocking galore, knee socks and patent leather Mary-Janes... Hell, I had a butter-yellow linen suit at age 10.

We also ate escargot, grenouille (aka frog's legs) hearts of romaine salads and yes, I even took caviar sandwiches to school for lunch... more than once. My own children refuse to eat peanut butter and jelly... not because they have been burdened with such exquisite culinary tastes but because it has too many ingredients... My mother hosted dinner parties, they went to other peoples dinner parties and on cruise ships where dressing for dinner was simply what you did (they of course sat at the Captain's table). Yeah, I'm not that girl...and not for lack of trying at different stages of my life. I guess it's the tattoo's, although I think in reality it just smacks too much of Mom.

I will never be elegant, but I appreciate my mother so much more now that I am a mother... because she just made it all look so damn simple and effortless and elegant that I had no idea how hard she must have had to work to make it look that way. And plenty of other reasons, too.

I guess I ought to apologize right off the bat.

Apologizing. Boy, we women do a whole lot of that. To each other, to the cat, to the guy who accidentally smacked us at the door. So, here goes; I am sorry that I am terrible at grammar and punctuation. Ok, moving on.

As of this day, January 16th, 2011, I sit here contemplating writing a book. All my friends have been saying I ought to. So I suppose this blog is my typical, I'll give a half-assed attempt at something not quite what I wanted and watch, it won't work.

I also sit here, cooking homemade vegetable soup, or is it minestrone? I don't know how one would differentiate. My apartment is a mess, but I swept and put away the clean dishes. My grocery shopping is done but I have about 9 loads of laundry staring me down and the kids come home from their father's this evening, for the next two weeks. He travels, a lot. We're divorcing. We are setting the record, in fact for the longest, drawn out, semi-amicable divorce in history. Or at least if feels that way. I'll get into the why's later.

My lover sits in his rather tiny office working away, while I seem to fritter away my time aimlessly. I honestly don't know how he doesn't get angry at my complete and utter inability to manage my time, priorities, money and pile of clothes lying on the floor of our already cramped bedroom.

And I pause now to look back over what I've typed thus far and am certain I have either over or under used commas in a way that would make many cringe and not want to read on any further.

I ought to mention that I have ADD. Not the good ADD where you twirl and spin and run and DO. No I have the other one, the one that makes turning the light off (the one right beside your head as you lie in bed exhausted) nearly an insurmountable task. The ADD where you know you MUST send that bill right away, get to the dry cleaners, put gas in your car and so on and so forth... but can't draw up the motivation or sheer will to make it happen. But you MEAN to, you truly do. That's the ADD I have. I love it and hate it, all at once. I know it has gifted me with the creative abilities I have, but it is the same thing keeping me from doing all of those great things I conjure up in my so called brilliant mind.

However, today is a good day. Today, I made soup. Today, I WILL do laundry. And today, I did brush my teeth and sweep the floor. It's a pretty good day.