What a girl wants

Kira turned thirteen last week and I vowed a week of posts about her, but as you can see that hasn't happened. Not that it would matter to her, since she would be perfectly happy if I never mentioned her on my blog, ever. Apparently there are some people who just don't like having every little detail of their life splattered across the internet for strangers to see. Strange, I know. I would say she's no daughter of mine, but if you saw her tear through a sale rack at Macy's you'd know otherwise.

A few weeks ago Rigel bought Kira an early birthday present. She already knew what it was, but that didn't dampen her excitement as she started to unwrap it. She did it slowly and deliberately, and when she finally had the prize in her hand she looked like a kid who just found out school had been cancelled forever.

"OMIGOD, isn't it beautiful?" She cooed over it for a few minutes before she let any of us touch it. You would have thought there was something priceless in her palm, like the Hope Diamond or the world's last piece of bacon.

A tiara? A shiny new iPod? A bar of solid gold? No, what she was hyperventilating over was her brand new capo, a device that clamps onto her guitar and allows her to change its key. I had no idea what it was, and when I first saw it I thought Rigel had made a horrible mistake and had just given our thirteen-year-old daughter some sort of gynecological instrument.

While she's still determined to go to art school, one of the things that has become very evident is that Kira has a natural gift for music. Where I took seven years of piano lessons and came out of it barely being able to play a chord, Kira spent only a couple of summers taking guitar and has already taught herself how to play a lot of her favorite songs just by using the 'tabs' she finds online. My musical future ended when I played an off-key, mistake-laden version of the theme from 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' that nearly caused my teacher to come at me with a crowbar, and here's Kira plucking away to her beloved Ting Ting's tunes, strumming a few pieces from the "Juno" soundtrack and jamming along to a song from some band called The Kills. So it's safe to say that all of her musical genes have definitely come from Rigel, although the way she curses under her breath and kicks the table when she gets a note wrong? That's totally me.

She's been wanting to learn how to play the piano as well, so our 'big' gift to her for her birthday was a Yamaha keyboard. She doesn't start her lessons until next week, but she's already managed to teach herself the theme from her favorite show, Fringe. I have to say it's so exciting to see her so inspired about something, and I'm hoping she remains this passionate about music as she grows up. This whole thing is a bonus for Rigel as well, since picking out Kira's gifts at Guitar Center is definitely preferable to having to shop for leg warmers at Claires.

And while she's forbidden me to videotape any of her recent performances, I still have this video of her playing guitar to Green Day's Boulevard of Broken Dreams when she was 10. (I can sell it to MTV one day when they ask me for early footage of Kira once she becomes an international recording sensation. I guess I better hang on to that capo - it could pay for my new kitchen someday.)



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tags: teens | teenagers

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LA Moms Blog: I wouldn't know a celebrity if they moved in next door to me

I know I promised a week of posts about Kira, but that'll have to wait until next week since I'm busy preparing for the 20 teen girls who are going to descend on our house tomorrow for her 13th birthday party. So my current post on the LA Moms Blog will have to do. Besides, I thought many of you would probably rather check out a half-naked picture of my good friend David Boreanaz anyways.

Almost thirteen years ago, right after I had my first baby we were living in the Hollywood Hills. Like most new mothers, I spent a freakish amount of time pushing my newborn daughter in her stroller around the neighborhood, partly to let her get some fresh air but mostly to pull myself away from endless hours spent on the couch crying and watching Roseanne reruns.

A couple of times on those walks I ran into a neighbor, David, who had recently moved into a house around the corner from us. He mentioned that he was an actor but I didn’t give it much thought until one day when my nieces, who were tweens then, were at my house watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer and while changing a diaper I happened to glance up at the TV and saw my neighbor on the screen. “Hey, that guy lives two houses away,” I pointed out, gesturing towards the TV with a poop-smeared wipe in my hand. Obviously I had never watched the show and had no idea who this Angel character was, but judging by the ear-piercing, alien-sounding squeals coming from my nieces this David Boreanaz guy was a big deal...Read More...

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tags: celebrities | celebrity sightings | david boreanaz | bones

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Let me tell you about Kira

Kira turns 13 this week, and in honor of her becoming a teenager I'm going to do a week of posts about her. I'm also thinking of relaxing the No Reading My Blog rule, so that she can see what people are talking about when they walk up to her and say things like, "That was so funny what your mom said about you," and "If my mom said those things about me in public I'd DIE." Also, I'm hoping it'll have the exact effect I'm hoping for: after reading a few of my posts she'll never, ever want to to read my blog again. Sort of like the aftermath of seeing your parents push their way onto the dance floor at your cousin's wedding; thanks for the glimpse into your life, but I can really do without ever seeing you two do the Electric Slide again, thank you very much.

I remember years ago watching a show on MTV about extreme fans, and they were featuring a thirteen-year-old girl who was obsessed with Gwen Stefani. One segment showed her parents taking her to get her hair dyed pink, just like Gwen, and I remember getting all bent out of shape as I was watching it. This was back in my early, first years of parenting, those idealistic years when you tend to say crazy things like, "My kid will never watch TV," and "I'll never pick up my kids from school wearing my pajamas and then lie about it and try to call them my workout clothes."

I mean, what kind of parent lets their minor child change their hair color? Why not just give her a stripper pole and a pair of lucite heels? As far as I was concerned, this was just one step away from a life on the streets. Sure it's just a bottle of hair dye today, but tomorrow you can bet they'll be smoking crack in a back alley and showing up with their 50-year-old boyfriend and your new 'grandchild.'

At least that's what I thought. Until Kira told me she wanted to bleach her hair for her thirteenth birthday, and Rigel and I thought about it for all of two minutes and then said, "Okay." Because here's a kid who gets straight A's, does her homework without having to be told, is polite and respectful and a joy to be around. And in light of all the things she could have asked for as she plunges into teendom, a new haircolor was the least of our worries - we were just happy that she wasn't asking for a ride to the free clinic to pick up some 'supplies,' or asking if some guy she saw perform at a club could come stay with us when he was in town. (Oh wait - she did ask us that one. Stay tuned for Wednesday's post.)

In fact, my thoughts about that MTV show didn't even cross my mind until I was in the salon watching Kira getting her head lowered into the shampoo bowl. It made me think of a few things that I'd want to say to the mom I was back then: Not to worry, that haircolor doesn't make the girl, and Kira is going to grow into such a great kid you'll be happy to let her dye her hair every color of the rainbow.

Oh, and another thing I'd tell myself back then - everyone knows those are your pajamas.

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tags: teens | teenagers

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Happy Easter!

This Easter greeting is brought to you by Kiyomi and her Easter Bunny brownies with the almond ears and whipped cream tails.

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I don't mind if you just look at the pictures

The current issue of Genlux magazine with my interview with Mischa Barton is on the newsstands. I just want to take this opportunity to say what an awesome experience it's been working with Genlux - such an incredibly talented group of people, putting out an extraordinarily beautiful magazine that I would certainly buy even if I didn't get mine for free. Of course, then I might not be able to afford my weekly People, and who knows how long I'd last without being able to read about Tori Spelling's liposuction.

The spread is based on the 60's British movie Blow-Up, and is shot by renowned photographer Marc Baptiste. Even if you don't read the article, you should check out the photographs which are amazing. Then, when you get tired of looking at Mischa's legs that go on forever or the smooth, nicely toned abs on all the half-naked men, you can drift on over and read my interview.

You can see the pictures and the article here.

Me, I've already read it and am moving on to this week's People - I hear there's an in-depth interview with the middle Jonas brother.

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tags: mischa barton | genlux magazine

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News Flash: Rejection Sucks. Especially for 10-year-olds

The letter came yesterday.

Kiyomi never really cares about the mail - in fact she's heard Rigel and I curse enough times when we receive our bills to know that the mailman is really just the grim reaper in an ill-fitting blue uniform. But since she knew the letters had been sent out, she'd been camped out near our mail box all morning. By the time it finally came she could hardly contain herself, but she wanted to wait until Rigel got back from his errands to "share in the moment" as she put it. When he returned a few minutes later and saw us staring at a piece of mail, I'm sure he just figured it was one of his checks and we were figuring out ways to spend it.

Kiyomi's been sick and had woken up with a fever but she said just seeing the envelope had made her feel better. She ran over fingers over the return address before she turned it over, and then she opened it slowly, tearing away the flap and then pulling out the folded piece of paper carefully. Rigel, Kira and I were huddled around her and just watching her face for a clue on what was inside. She started off reading the first sentence, "Thank you for auditioning for the Performing Arts Academy..." but her voice trailed off quickly and then she whispered, "I didn't get in."

She collapsed into sobs, and none of our words or our hugs could comfort her. To make matters worse, she heard a few minutes later that her best friend had gotten accepted, which meant they'd be separated. Could this day get any worse? (Turns out it could, which I found out ten hours later at Target when a heavy plastic pitcher fell from the top shelf and hit me on the head, but that's a story for another time.)

To be honest, I was hesitant about the whole thing from the start. The middle school she'll be attending has a well-known performing arts department, and one of the ways to get in (besides our arbitrary school district lottery known as the Magnet system) is to audition. Prospective applicants are required to do a one-minute monologue, sing a Broadway show tune and perform a series of dance steps. It sounded like a tall order for a ten-year-old, especially since competition would be stiff; many are professionals who already have agents, and there are a few celebrity kids among the student body. (At least one Disney star, and the child of an American Idol judge. The least annoying one.)

For Rigel and I the whole thing was like brain surgery. Coming from a 'non-show business' background, what they were asking for sounded about as easy as being told to juggle a pig and chainsaw while flossing your teeth. We thought it would have been easier if Kiyomi had tried out for the underwater luge team or the varsity log-rolling squad. But she was determined to do it, so we hired an actress friend to work with her a few times a week and we were surprised at how well she did - she could carry a tune, memorized her lines with no problem, and delivered them with just the right amount of sarcasm. It seems all those days prancing around the living room in her panties re-enacting episodes of SpongeBob really were leading to something.

According to her, the audition went smoothly (parents weren't allowed to watch.) So when that rejection letter came today I have to admit it probably hit me as hard as it hit her. And after comforting her for awhile I did what any good mother would do in this situation - I totally blamed myself.

My first thought was wondering whether or not it was wise to let her audition in the first place - who needs rejection at 10 for chrissakes? Leave that for when you're older and it can roll of your bitter, leathery soul with a little more ease. Then I started wondering if it had anything to do with this incident - maybe Kiyomi was blacklisted because her mother was a crazy person who didn't like how her older daughter had been treated and then called three counselors and the principal to complain about it. Oh, and then wrote about it on her blog.

And what if someone there read that blog? (Which is a possibility because I happen to know a few people at the school who do. Hi, few!) I'm imagining the admissions panel coming upon Kiyomi's application, and stapled to it is a note about my complaints and a printout of my blog post. They all look at each other, make that whirling motion with their finger near their temple and then one of them writes across the top of her application in big, red letters GIRL IS OKAY BUT THE MOTHER IS BATSHIT CRAZY -- DENIED.

So what now? She'll still attend the school as part of the regular program, and she's already decided she'd like to apply for the Civics Academy, which deals with politics and government. I pointed out that her success was ensured, since within a twelve hour period she'd gone from being an entertainer to being a politician - just what our governor and one of our presidents has done!

One thing I know for sure - it isn't the last time she'll experience the pain of rejection. Whether from a school that doesn't recognize her talent or some emo boy who decides to dump her for the girl with the pierced tongue, it'll happen again. Our job is just to love her and help her get through it. And today, after I watched her call her best friend to congratulate her on getting accepted, I told her how very, very proud I was of her. And she'll never need a letter to tell her that.

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tags: rejection | tweens | teens | middle school | the sins of the mother

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My life is like a motorized bar stool

Today I saw what had to be the best story ever in the history of the internet. Kile Wygle of Ohio was arrested for drunk driving on his bar stool. Yes you heard me. Apparently Kile had taken a bar stool, attached it to a lawn mower and was using it as his own little happy hour shuttle. Police responded to reports of a crash, and found he had wrecked his stoolmobile after consuming 13 beers.

Personally I think Kile is a genius. How many times have you been at a bar, had one too many Appletinis and then dreamt of a way of getting home without having to get off your ass? Not to mention the numerous times you may have been mowing your lawn, had a hankering for a brewski and arrived at your local watering hole only to realize there were no seats left for your weary self. Bar stool + Motor = Best invention since the rolling hot dog cart.

Sure attaching a piece of furniture to a gardening tool may not be an obvious fit, but can you blame the guy for following his dream? I give him credit for forging ahead, no matter how many weird looks he got from the neighbors or how many months he may have to spend in jail because he drank a couple of gallons of beer and then got behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.

I feel an affinity with Kile, because I've gotten more than a few eyebrows raised my way because of things I've done. Why, just last week Rigel made that tsk tsk sound at me because I told him I was still going to send out our holiday newsletters even though it was the end of March, and I didn't care what our friends and family thought. So what if they silently berate us for our lateness and then make crude comments lamely disguised as humor when we see them at dinner parties? Sometimes life is all about acting on what is in your heart, or in the case of Kile, what is in that old rusty tool shed out back.

What does it all mean? I'm not sure, except that Kile's story was a completely random but convenient way to warn my family and friends that they'll be getting our holiday card and newsletter in the mail next week. And if you have something to say, you can say it to my face when I drive over to your place on my bar stool.

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tags: motorized bar stool | happy holidays | better late than never

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LA Moms Blog: Help! My Kid's a Vegetarian!

My apologies to my vegetarian friends out there, but I have to confess that when Kira decided to stop eating meat I considered it a parental failure on my part. The fact that I wasn't able to pass on my love of bacon or impart to her the importance of appreciating a good steak? I may as well have deprived her of other important life skills, like learning to walk or knowing how to cry when she wanted something from her father.

Like any good parent, I worry about my kids and the internet. When my husband and I got them their own computer we made sure to put it in the kitchen in plain sight, so that I could keep an eye on them. That way, while I was chopping potatoes I could make sure they weren’t chatting with any 43-year-old men pretending to be 12-year-old girls, or looking at R-rated pictures of Disney stars. You know the ones.

But little did I know that the real danger lurked in things that got sent to them by their own friends. Because it was one such email that had a drastic effect on our lives - a video emailed to my tween by a well-meaning classmate.

Calm down - it wasn't porn. It was a grainy, black and white video of a slaughterhouse. And it turned my daughter into – shudder – a vegetarian...Read More...

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tags: vegetarians | teenagers | teens | tweens | please eat some chicken

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Mischa Barton doesn't feel my pain

A few weeks ago I interviewed Mischa Barton, and for those of you whose first question when I mentioned I'd be having lunch with her was, "Is she anorexic?" the answer is, no. And for the others whose first question was, "Couldn't they find a professional to do the interview?" the answer is again, no, and believe it or not some people actually find my nervous laugh and occasional drooling charming.

There's been a lot of media speculation about her weight, especially since she's been cast in Ashton Kutcher's new series and they've told her to put on a few pounds for the role, but I can tell you the girl is not deathly thin as some of the tabloids will have you believe. She ate almost none of the dumplings and yams she ordered, but then again maybe I made her nervous by saying things like, "Did you know yams are full of carbs?" and then grabbing her stomach with my fat caliper I just happened to have in my purse.

The interview was originally scheduled for 4pm on a Monday, and that Sunday before I spent literally half the day trying to line up someone to watch my girls after school for a few hours. After coming up empty handed, Rigel and I finally resorted to our last-choice scenario: we'd leave them home alone, and I lined up two different neighbors, who were going to be in and out with various obligations of their own, to check in on them at half-hour intervals. The planning and coordinating was exhausting - Rigel thought my Powerpoint presentation I sent out showing schedules and emergency procedures was a little much - but I didn't want to leave anything to chance.

I say last-choice scenario because the whole thing didn't feel right to me. Kira's thirteen in a couple of months and Kiyomi is a mature ten, but I still struggle with leaving them home alone. People have mentioned that thirteen is the age when some teens are hired as babysitters, but personally I can't imagine paying someone to watch my kids who would show up in a Hannah Montana t-shirt and might actually be tempted to steal their Pokemon cards. Sure I've left them alone while I've run to the grocery store, but that was only for 45 minutes and I was less than a mile away. This time I'd be at a swanky restaurant on the other side of town, hanging out with a celebrity and having a free lunch and a nice glass of wine. (Wow - as I typed that last line? I almost forgot I had kids.)

Rigel, on the other hand, didn't see any problem with leaving them alone, and here's where we differ: while he was pointing out how responsible our girls were, and how we didn't have to worry about them getting in trouble - that was the farthest thing from my mind. I didn't think for a minute that they would set the couch on fire, or spray paint the cat, or chug our good vodka through a funnel. No, what I was worried about was the axe murderer that could pry open the patio doors with his five-foot scythe, or the perv who'd been casing our house and was waiting to gain entry by showing Kiyomi a picture of his 'lost kitten.' You laugh, but if you'll remember I nearly called the bomb squad when my laptop battery arrived in an unmarked envelope.

To my relief, I was saved by a friend who had her afternoon freed up and agreed to keep both girls over at her house. But wouldn't you know it - after waiting at the restaurant for 45 minutes that day, her publicist called to say Mischa's dog had to be rushed to the vet with a slipped disc, and we had to reschedule the interview. When I finally did meet with her the next day, I thought about how she had no idea what I had gone through to get there. Not that a 23-year-old should care about my child care woes, but I had the urge to wave a craggy finger in her direction and lecture her on how she'd be old like me some day, worrying about bad people climbing in her windows and stealing her children. Life isn't just pilates classes and glamorous photo shoots and hanging out with Ashton Kutcher at the Ivy. Yeah, I'd show her alright.

But I'm still conflicted with whether or not I should start leaving my girls home alone. What's the correct age? Am I being too paranoid? Is Kiyomi right, and they could fight off an intruder with their hairbrush and a Wii remote? Should I follow through with my plan not to leave them alone until they're 25? Is there really a convict on the loose with a hook instead of a hand?

(Comments from axe murderers or perverts will be deleted immediately.)

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tags: mischa barton | genlux magazine | hey who's watching my kids

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Hot, sexy conversation about nuts, cheese and ham

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to some friends and the subject of Trader Joes came up. Specifically how awful their parking lot is, and after we spent a few minutes sharing our stories and we had a good cry, someone mentioned that no matter how bad it got it was worth it because she couldn't live without her Trader Joes trail mix. Then another person said how much they loved, loved, loved the marinated mozzarella there, and by the time I got done waxing poetic about their nitrate-free lunchmeat we were thinking what a really sorry group of people we were, spending fifteen minutes talking about a supermarket. We vowed to get back to our original conversation about politics, Rihanna and sex and ordered another round of martinis. But then someone had to bring up how Trader Joes has a really "vast, impressive selection of olives," which touched off an whole other conversation about their mochi ice cream. Did I mention we were hot?

It made me think about how people really do like talking about Trader Joes, though, and not just after they've had one too many drinks. And then I found this video on the internet, and I realized how universal the TJ's experience is. I mean, would anyone ever be compelled to make a video about Taco Bell, or about their local gas station?



As you can imagine, this has inspired me to make a short film about my dry cleaners.

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tags: trader joes | things grownups talk about

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