You can take the girl outta the show...

Secret Santa

2010-12-24T22:34:00.001-08:00

I wrote this a couple of years ago but never really shared it with my peeps...thought tonight might be a good time:)

Laying in bed on Christmas Eve, I ran over my “to do” list, checking it once, checking it twice, before finally surrendering to my pillow. I’d crept around the house in the darkness for two hours before finally getting in to bed. I’d feigned sleep the first time I lay down, to get the kids to go to sleep, so I could go back downstairs and play Santa

The gifts, that until today, had been stashed away at friend’s houses and in the attic were now prettily arranged under the tree, the stockings stuffed full with miniature offerings, carved & created in “Santa’s workshop”, were hanging from the mantle. The milk & cookies the kids left out for Santa appeared to have been suitably consumed as were the carrots for the reindeer. Checking over my shoulder and holding my breath to listen for the kids stirring I’d hastily written a little “Thank you” in Santa’s handwriting as I have done every year for the last fifteen years and finally crept back to bed.

Oh the magic of Santa. I remember the feeling I used to get every Christmas Eve as a child when I went to sleep. The wonder of knowing that in the morning there’d be a pillowcase full of toys for me at the end of my bed. Would I hear Santa’s sleigh? The Jingle Bells? I’d be in and out of bed all night searching the sky desperately looking for movement, imagining Santa & the Reindeer flying through the sky and somehow down our non-existent chimney to deliver our gifts. For the last fifteen years and for the most part of my adult life, I’ve been lucky enough to live Christmas through my children. I watch them will themselves excitedly to sleep every Christmas Eve and feel their tingling excitement every Christmas morning.

This year was different though. Now eleven, my daughter, who has clung desperately to her belief of Santa, started to ask questions. She wanted to know if he was real... but didn’t really want to know if he wasn’t. She even wrote him a letter asking for proof, requesting certain items for her stocking; items made at the North Pole and not made in China. (Last year I put a miniature Nutcracker in her stocking “From Santa” but omitted to remove the “Made in China” sticker from the base). I was unsure how to handle the questions and her desperate need for proof, but after much consultation with family and friends, I decided I was in, that I’d buy into my daughters need and help her hold on to the magic of Santa for another year.

I drifted off to sleep thankful that I hadn’t actually been asked out right about the Santa truth, and then there it was, I saw a shadow at the end of my bed. “Mum,” said the shadow, it was my eleven year old child woman, “Can I talk to you?” I lifted the covers and she snuggled in the bed beside me. “What’s up?” I asked tentatively.

Her earnest little face looked up at me in the darkness, her breath warm on my face, “I’m afraid to not believe” she said with a wobbly chin. “I’m afraid to be a grown up and forget the feeling I get on Christmas Eve”.

Not quite an outright “Is he real or not?” but still needy of explanation. Please understand that I have had no problem explaining the facts of life to my children, no subject is taboo in our home, but this one stumped me. To believe or not to believe? To shatter the dream or fuel it? I desperately searched the depths of my over-shopped sleepy mind for an answer. Did I believe? Do I? Do I still need my little one to believe and allow us all to share in the magic of Santa? Heck, yes!

“Baby...I think we should all believe. But let’s be clear on what we believe in. It’s not the gifts, or the reindeer, or the Jingle Bells, but the spirit of Santa and all the good will he brings in to our lives each year”

I guess that was enough of an explanation as she gave me a sleepy little smile and promptly closed her eyes. She gratefully accepted Santa’s offerings the next day, without so much as a sideways glance at me. I’m just glad we’ve got another Christmas with Santa, or at least his spirit, in our home next year.

So very thankful that we all still believe...Merry Christmas!

Trick or Treat!

2010-10-29T09:08:00.000-07:00

Dropped Little Red Riding Hood and James Bond at school this morning. I love Halloween but the morning the kids get to wear their costumes to school is somewhat less than enjoyable. I've tried, since they were tiny, to be one of those uber prepared parents who orders costumes online in August but my kids just won't cooperate.

I tried to pin them down early this year on what they wanted to be but the final decision was made yesterday afternoon. The result of such a tardy commitment to a costume had me frantically scouring Burbank's vintage shops until 6pm last night. We did eventually find what we needed but then spent the evening putting it all together.

The biggest challenge this year was James Bond's bow tie. We stupidly bought the kind that is not fixed and needed tying up. After several hours of trying to tie the bloody thing, while watching a demonstration I found on Google, I convinced my seventeen year old that he looked cooler and more like 007 if he had it open around his collar...like he's been on a mission!

Yes, thank you, I am well aware that I will pay dearly one day for my persuasive talents.

Little Red didn't give me too much trouble this year. Except with her hair. We are a family of rod straight hair, so curls have never been my specialty. But Little Red wanted curls so...I threw as many hot curlers as I could at her and hoped for the best. It wasn't pretty. I just don't have that "Texas" gene and although she had some curls she also had rather a lot of straight sections that I'd missed...she'll be wearing her hood all day.

I loved that she wanted to be Little Red Riding Hood. During my pregnancy I waned to name her "Piroska" which is Hungarian for Little Red Riding Hood..as you can imagine, she's quite relieved that I didn't! Beyond the pronunciation the explanation of the meaning might have been perplexing for her teachers and peers. We could have shortened it to Piro or Oska????

Anyway, I got them to school on time looking relatively presentable. The traffic was, of course, dreadful as everyone was late from perfecting their costumes. Had to honk one mother who was sat at a green light looking at herself in the rear view mirror.

She unfortunately gave me the finger. Not the most friendly way to start the day. Mind you I probably wouldn't have been feeling very friendly had I poured myself into a sexy batgirl suit at 6am.

I've decided I want a talking car that has phrases like;

"Excuse me but it's green" or

"Your lights aren't on" or

"Your petrol tank is open" or

"Your two year old is dragging along beside the car" or

"I can SEE you looking in the mirror you moron, and yes, you look ridiculous as bat girl!"

Failing that I want an alternate horn; a nice gentle toot when you're just being civil and a honking loud one which actually merits the finger.

Happy Halloween!

All the World's a Stage!

2010-10-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

I truly was in denial regarding the way I've been raising my kids. I honestly thought I'd raised them without a bias toward performing. They both took dance classes when they were little, but only because they wanted to (No, really!). I cringed through ballet and tap shoe fittings and reluctantly suffered a recital or two. When they showed interest in other things I thankfully encouraged them to drop the dance classes and pursue other interests.

I thought I'd given them a fair chance at considering other professions.

We're currently deciding on University applications for my seventeen year old boy (terrifying!) and he's adamant that he's majoring in Theater Studies. When he graduates he's going to be an actor. Of course he is, fantastic! My daughter, almost 13, wants to be many things but high on the list is "Broadway Performer" bloody marvelous!

When I asked them how this could possibly have happened seeing as I'd never pushed them to perform, they reminded me of a few of my parenting quirks...

Any time we're planning to leave the house to go do something and time is of the essence I give them a fifteen minute call, a five minute call, and a "Places"

I use five, six, seven, eight, to cue them into action...a lot!

I applaud...a lot!

I've always covered their Halloween costumes in sequins

They can't remember a day that they didn't know what jazz hands were

When I give directions I use stage right and stage left

I've been known to yell "Point your feet" at many a cartwheeling kid

They've spent most of their childhood in Las Vegas and now live five minutes from Hollywood

and...I stretched them as babies...just in case!

What? Doesn't everyone do that?

So yes, I've been in denial all these years, I'd been subliminally moulding my babes for the stage while keeping them off it. Perhaps if I'd dragged them screaming to ballet class they would have run a mile in the other direction?

Either way, they both just seem to be born to perform.

Here we go up another VERY steep and INCREDIBLY narrow stairway!

Seventeen!

2010-09-02T00:05:00.000-07:00

Today I'm celebrating seventeen wonderful years of being a Mum. It's near impossible to believe that the greatest privilege of my life was bestowed on me seventeen whole years ago.

When I first held my baby boy in my arms all those moons ago I felt an overwhelming need to protect him until he grew in to a man and could protect himself. We survived the awful, colicky, scary, ridiculously-tiny-human-being months, he is potty trained, he learnt to walk, learnt to talk, swim, read, write, and hold his own on a calculator.

I watched him achieve all of these milestones one by one whilst in the back of my mind seeing the imaginary goalpost that was adulthood. Adulthood, somewhere in the back of my poor bleach infused brain, meant I'd done my bit, mission accomplished!

(How could I possibly have thought that with the nightmares I have given my poor parents as an adult I hear you mutter!)

That was until about six months ago when he started to shave, drive, and actually look in the mirror! Girls started noticing my beautiful boy and the realization struck that he was now in for a whole lifetime of challenges, and I for a relocation of the goalpost.

Adult issues! Oh my, oh no! he was going to have to face all of the things I had (well hopefully not ALL) and I was going to have to stand by and watch. Payback indeed!

Yes, there is no tah dah! et voila! in motherhood the milestones just change, the protective urge stays forever, and there is no goalpost.

Would I change it had I known? Of course not! I cherish that I will always have these two amazing people that I made (OK minimal credit to Tweedle-Dumb) and get to stress about and plan for. My babies, however big they get (6'5" and counting) will always be the absolute joy of my life and the most wonderful thing that I will ever have the honor to create. Please note that I am saying this BEFORE my second privilege turns thirteen, I can only hope I feel the same in four years time!

Ugh! I think I might have added to my "un-coolness" by writing all of that! I'm not sure when my street cred as a "cool" Mum started to dwindle but I'm definitely losing my touch! The other day I cut a pair of old sweatpants down in to shorts and thought I looked pretty darn cool...that was until I picked up my second almost-thirteen-year-old blessing from school, and she growled "What are you wearing? Get back in the car!"

I can't be that bad, my kids will still choose to hang with me over their friends (as long as I don't wear those shorts of course) and I still get to listen to their stories about the parts of their day that I don't share in. My giant seventeen year old boy still hugs and kisses me and I'm pretty sure he always will. My beautiful tween girl still lets me put together an outfit for her every now and then...

Seventeen years! The absolute best of my life despite a few trials and tribulations along the way, because I have been privileged to create, mould, protect, share, and above all love, as only a mother can. Everyone will tell you to cherish the years when your children are children, I'm not gonna tell you anything different, it's flown by, but they will always be my babies.

Thanks for picking me baby!

Puce Green

2010-08-24T16:24:00.000-07:00

So I just watched "The Day The Earth Stood Still" with the wonderful Keanu Reeves, well not really WITH him, I watched it with my son, and Mister Reeves graciously starred in the film as an alien on a mission.

How did this movie not send the world running for a compost bin, banning oil fueled vehicles for good, and making fabric shopping bags mandatory?

*Spoiler alert-in the next paragraph I'm going to tell you enough about the movie that you will probably not be sitting on the edge of your seat if you watch it yourself*

In a nutshell, the movie depicts Keanu as an alien sent to earth from a sister planet to save the earth from human destruction; the only way he can do this is to remove all human life. As human beings are faced with imminent eviction they beg to be given a final chance to change their ways and make amends. Interesting how when on the brink of disaster human nature is to eventually...change.

So terrified was I by the prospect of an alien intervention (although if they all arrive in Keanu Reeves like bodies it might be one heck of a way to go) that I removed all unused plugs from their sockets, put everything on a power strip, researched composting, and vowed to make "plastic" a naughty word in my house.

I already drive a fuel efficient vehicle and watch the lights and stuff but I'm also going to put a bucket in my shower (They do this down under in the land of Oz and use the water on the garden instead of letting it run down the plughole) and start composting.

Composting has come a long way, it's no longer a stinky heap of rotting leftovers at the end of the garden, there's now a far less pongy and quite attractive method available in most hardware stores.

So why am I blogging about this? Because I want us to start talking about this and holding each other accountable ...just in case the aliens come!

If, like me, you'd like to do a little bit more to avoid your children and grand-children being raised in outer space by little green men (hmm, wonder why they're green?) visit some of these sites and get some green action of your own!

www.groovygreen.com

www.earth911.com

www.paystolivegreen.com

http://green.yhoo.com

Codswallop!

2010-07-23T22:06:00.000-07:00

I think someone is having us on with this 3D nonsense. Do they really expect us to believe that with all the technology available today, we have to wear those silly glasses to see 3D movies?

I took the kids to see a movie in 3D this week and one set of glasses wasn't working so I had to dash out to the grumpy glasses-passer-outer and switch them for another pair (that's another thing...what is wrong with movie theatre employees???). It dawned on me when I snuck back in to the theatre that everyone was sat there looking like a bunch of brainwashed clones with silly red goggles on.

Not only are the goggles horrendously uncomfortable but the tickets to see the movie now include "goggle rental" and cost anywhere from $4-$8 more! We're being conned!

I didn't mind so much when I got to leave the cinema with the glasses stashed in my bag, even though they're of no use at home, I felt I'd at least got something for my money. Now though, you're either required to hand them in for recycling or get given the heavier more re-usable versions.

The new model of 3D glasses is heavy enough to break the bridge of one's nose...if you've had a nose job they'd be completely insufferable. And they're ugly...no more romance at the movies! Above all, watching 3D movies makes me nauseous; all that motion and things jumping out at you from the screen, so far I've left every 3D movie I've seen with a blinking headache!

Now we're apparently in for 3D TV at home...I am NOT wearing those damn glasses in my own home, I'll end up breaking my neck as I trip over the real 3D dogs that I won't be able to see in 3D cos I've got stupid 3D goggles on!

Love, love, love

2010-07-11T21:30:00.000-07:00

I tried so hard not to let it happen to me again. But I'm obsessed! I didn't want to feel this way about someone again, but he's made himself indispensable in my life and I feel like I can no longer live without him...I think I've fallen in love!

He has a lovely open face surrounded by steel gray, and I've never trusted a guy like this before...his name is Mac, and he's the apple of my eye.

OK so you guessed...my Dad bought him for me for my birthday and so he gives me his undivided attention whenever I need him...he's my Mac...Book Pro.

Everyone should have a Mac in their life; it will change the way you communicate with the rest of the world and eliminate any prior frustration you may have felt with technology. So simple and reliable is my companion that I feel quite the silicone specialist now.

Mac has not left my side since he arrived in his beautifully designed pristine box, and has yet to fail me. I don't know how I ever managed without him! I remember my baby sister had a Mac of her own when she came to visit and I was shocked at how protective she was of her constant companion, but now that I have a Mac in my own life I can completely understand her possessiveness.

I spend more time with my Mac each day than with anyone else and I trust him implicitly to keep my secrets. He owns a lovely little camera that he lets me use frequently to keep up with my family and can keep going for over six hours!

I am a self proclaimed anorak and I plan to spend my life with Mac...divorce is quite simply out of the question in this relationship!

Up a steep and very narrow stairway...

2010-07-05T21:14:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's happened, but it has. I'm at that stage in my life where a bikini is no longer acceptable and it's time to move in to a one piece!

How can this have happened? It only seems like yesterday that three mini triangles of fabric were sufficient attire for the beach and here I am looking at various lycra atrocities to cover my midriff.

I say atrocities because that's what they are! Not an ounce of sexy or flattering in these revolting polyester mounds that absorb water like sponges and ultimately act as a tube that blends boobs, belly, and bum into a shiny dollop of a blob to top one's legs.

Not only do I look dreadful in my one piece but I look dreadful without it! All my horrid bumpy bits get shielded from the sun and are therefore white as a lily. Flabby and white...what a delight!

In an attempt to get back in to my bikini I've been taking Ballet Barre...well a twist on the ballet barre I grew up with anyway.

Cardio Barre is like the ballet classes we all took growing up... on red bull. Part of me loves being back in the environment in which I enjoyed so much escapism and joy, and part of me (my bum) hates it. It's really hard work but only lasts an hour and gives both an aerobic workout and muscle building session in one.

I do miss the live pianist plonking away on her piano, but there's something very soothing about repeating the exercises I've done since I was three.

I can't quite say "everything's beautiful at the ballet" but it's certainly more beautiful than it is sat on the couch watching Top Gear with a bag of salt and vinegar crisps!

Hob-nobbing

2010-06-11T13:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged on for a little while as I'm traveling! I've taken the kids across the pond to visit the English side of the family. It's been two years since we've been to Europe, or even on a plane, and there have been some remarkable changes introduced in our absence.

The first noticeable difference on our trip was the size of the airline seats. I know in the past two years my children have, between them, grown at least a foot and my bottom has probably spread about the same...but they're really taking the mickey with the leg room these days. I sat down with my exceptionally leggy children and our knees were jammed in to the magazine holder in front of us. Forget reading the emergency instructions card...we couldn't even get it out!

I did my duty as a mother and looked at my kids as if all was normal and they were making a fuss about nothing, as the circulation was slowly cut off below my knees. My little trio had just accepted and adjusted to the lack of blood flow to our toes, when the seat belt sign was turned off, and the passengers seated in front of us reclined their seats. We found ourselves with their heads in our laps.

The seats are now on an axis so when you recline your seat the section under your bum slides forward; something like the routine the Rockettes do at Radio City when they're dressed as tin soldiers and all fall back in to each other's arms. I think next time I'll seat my kids in front and behind me to avoid such close contact with complete strangers.

Anyway, the rest of the flight was quite lovely as we re-acclimatized ourselves with the delightful variety of British accents displayed by our crew, and dreamed of fish and chips, curry, and hobnobs.

Our first weekend here we stopped in to visit my brother in Essex, which used to be the land of girls wearing white stilettos and dancing around their handbags. The past couple of years have claimed W.A.G.s (wives and girlfriends of footballers!) as the Goddesses of Essex, and in tribute all of the girls have adopted orange skin. This orange skin has somehow made them able to resist sub-zero temperatures and they can be seen venturing out in little more than their nickers. Which brings us to football...or soccer depending on which side of the pond you call home.

Football has taken over England. Why they bothered with the recent election for Prime Minister is beyond me as the only thing any self respecting Brit pays any attention to is Footie...they should have a coach run the country!

We're here for the World Cup, which albeit entertaining, has taken away any chance of regular conversation. The country is decked out in red and white so to wear Orange, or Green and Yellow, could land you in an awful lot of trouble!

Some things that haven't changed though are the great British sense of humor, brilliant telly, and the best tea on the planet...oh yes, and the blinking weather!

Can Can!

2010-05-30T23:12:00.000-07:00

My very first showgirl job was at the Moulin Rouge in Paris. I was straight out of college and had absolutely not been prepared for what was to be expected of me. I was hired as a covered dancer, for which the punishment was the Can Can...

The biggest shock of all when I first watched the show, which at the time was named "Femmes, femmes, femmes", was not the bare breasted ladies but the bare bottomed everyones! Having never been exposed to a G-string and worn my ballet leotards around my knees, seeing that many buttocks all on one stage was quite overwhelming.

The Can Can was absolutely terrifying. Twenty girls on stage kicking, cartwheeling, screaming, and jump splitting...horrendous! At the time the master of the Can Can was an Italian bast...I mean gentleman, named Ruggiero. He seemed adorable at my audition but after my first Can Can rehearsal I realized that the charm was a cover for the torture he enjoyed inflicting.

Every day we would rehearse for three hours with the relentless Italian and a chair that he dragged around like a bullfighter and made us kick over. We'd cartwheel for hours, then learn to cabriole, (sort of a split legged handstand) and finally cathedral, which is balancing your foot on your partners foot while it is extended at eye level then holding hands and arching backwards...while avoiding the other girls that are spinning and cartwheeling around you.

I did eventually master and enjoy the Can Can once I got over my fear and realized the only way to get through it was to scream at the top of my lungs...but had a few other problems on my first contract at the red mill...

At the top of the show four of us would descend on an elevator from the ceiling as our beautiful and talented vedette, Debbie, sang to the unsuspecting audience. To pre-set on the elevator and be stored in the ceiling, we had to climb a ladder. Well, one day I climbed the ladder a little late and in my haste tripped...and fell about thirty feet on to the stage where Debbie was singing.

Debbie turned around astonished to be joined by such an ungainly sight (thank goodness I didn't actually land on her) and I jumped up mortified and ran back up the stairs to rejoin my elevator mates. I noticed a few audience members pointing and looking shocked, but thought I'd just scared them, and kept on dancing, it didn't cross my mind that I might be hurt, until my dance captain yanked me off the stage and pointed out the deep gash exposing the bone above my knee. I promptly passed put and was rushed to the emergency room for 42 stitches...at least it got me out of the Can Can for a while!

Bottoms up!

2010-05-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

Something I don't talk about very often is my time as a Realtor...in Las Vegas.

Yep, I was one of THOSE Realtors who sold houses at the peak of the bubble and have since watched almost all of my clients see their home values dwindle to half what they paid.

Great fun!

Well, actually, it was fun at the time. Vegas was growing rapidly, everyone was making great money working on the Strip, which was thriving, and we all felt we'd got a good grasp on the American dream.

Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all-Samuel Butler

I used to love looking at all the brand new models of homes and seeing them built from the ground up...in about three weeks.

Anyway, I once had an extremely wealthy client who wanted to build a custom home on a plot of land surrounding Lake Las Vegas. The lake is very pretty but is a rather strange hue of green, as the gardeners in Vegas spray the grass green and the run-off from the sprinklers turns the lake into an emerald swamp.

My client was a huge texan who wore a stetson and told me in no uncertain terms to "flip a bitch" when he thought I should be doing a "U" turn. Let's just say he was challenging.

I drove my client out to see several lots that were on a hill overlooking the lake...in August, so it was only about 105 degrees outside. Lovely!

We were visiting one particular lot that was on the first shelf up from the lake, and I was walking around with the client, trying hard not to pass out from sun stroke, imagining the floor plan he had chosen resting on the land. He was quite taken with the view and I became rather enthusiastic about the possibilities.

We started talking about where the pool should go and he asked me if I thought it'd be good to put it right on the edge of the property to give the impression that the water tipped over the edge of the pool in to the lake.

"Ooooh that'd be great!" I gushed as I trotted over to the very edge of the lot.

I should add at this point that I was wearing a rather flimsy skirt, and high heels...oh yes, and a G-string.

I looked over the edge of the land and stared down a near vertical drop which I was soon to get to know intimately.

The ground...remember we are in the desert...beneath my feet suddenly disintegrated and I found myself shuttling feet first on my bottom toward the lake. When I eventually skidded to a halt, I was knee deep in bright green water, my knickers full of sand, with a very draughty rear end, as there was no back remaining to my skirt.

I shot up and spun around, desperately trying to cover my derriere, to wave up to my astonished looking client. I actually said "I'm fine...I'll be right there" as if nothing had happened!

I then had to find my way back up to my client and my car. I walked about a mile around the edge of the lake with my bum hanging out, then hiked up the least steep section of the hill, on all fours, my shoes dangling by their straps in my mouth, and legs that were frighteningly lime colored. I was met by the texan and his stetson who could barely stand up straight so forceful was his mirth.

I think he bought the land just so he could tell the story!

Boys and girls...

2010-05-12T19:27:00.000-07:00

A very, very silly boy said something to me yesterday that really irked me..."Stay-at-home Mums do not work for a living" Well, he obviously has never been a stay at home Mum!

A friend of mine offered a solution to this long held myth; what if all stay at home Mums just get up in the morning and rotate one house over? Would they then be "working for a living" as they are doing the job of some other mother? We could go as far as paying the mother that is looking after our kids exactly what the mother whose kids we're watching pays us and then all of society will finally sit back and say that being a Mum merits the "working for a living" label.

There...got that off my chest!

I also learned yesterday that boys and girls are all recognized as XX chromosomes until the foetus is eight weeks old. At eight weeks boys obtain the Y chromosome and drop the double X becoming XY. At this time boy's brains are bathed in testosterone and the bridge that attaches the right side of the brain to the left side of the brain is very near destroyed. This bridge is called the corpus callosum and transfers information back and forth from either side of the brain.

This transfer of information is what provokes emotions and communicability in the brain. Of course, some boys brains are bathed more than others. Once outside the womb between 6 months and 30 months girls brains are bathed in estrogen reinforcing the strength of the emotional bridge. Then it happens all over again in the teenage years.

There! Solved it!

The reason why some boys with testosterone drowned brains say really stupid things to girls like "stay-at-home Mums don't work for a living" is that one side of their brain is not talking to the other!

I wonder if that's also why boys need to be told everything in a step-by-step method...

If I used to tell my son (when he was a wee one) to take a shower and get in to his pyjamas, without remembering to add in that he needed to dry himself, he would squeeze his soaking wet body into his PJs and look at me with a look of bewilderment when I pulled out a handful of my hair.

Testosterone has an awful lot to answer for!

Eye of the Tiger

2010-05-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

Following my run in with a bicycle rack, many of my friends and blog followers have asked about other accidental situations I've found myself in in the past, so I thought I'd share a few of them here.

Twelve years ago, just twelve short weeks after giving birth to baby number two, Tweedle dumb and I took a contract in Aruba, which is in the Dutch Caribbean. We, of course, took both kids with us. The contract was challenging as we were putting together a new show in a theatre that was barely finished on an island with few resources. To add to the complicated situation there was a very difficult star in the show; a white tiger, who ran by the name Adonis.

Having a tiger in the show was a big draw for the Hotel/Casino that owned the theatre in which we were performing and Adonis was built his very own habitat in the Hotel grounds. We were given good procedure advice on what to do if Adonis escaped his (Aruban built) cage, but the Tiger trainer seemed pretty sure that if he got out he'd kill us so denounced procedure as somewhat silly.

As lead dancer in the show, I was given the honor (ha ha) of dancing atop King Adonis's cage in a feather headdress...Tigers tend to like chickens so Adonis loved having live bait on top of his cage. Needless to say I was quite emotional having given birth just twelve weeks earlier so a good dose of fear was exactly what the doctor ordered...not!

Anyway, I was also Company Manager on this contract and one of my duties was to help the Tiger trainer transport Adonis in to the theatre. I would watch while he loaded the poor tiger in to a crate which then was attached to the back of a Jeep. My job was to check that Adonis did not poop in the cage, because if he sat in the poop we had to go back and wash it off. I would sit with my eyes glued to the tiger and shout "poop" at the top of my lungs whenever he let one go. The trainer would then jump out and scrape away said poop before Adonis could sit in it. Once we got to the theatre Adonis was transferred to his "stage" cage and I would go upstairs to get ready for the show.

On one occasion we loaded Adonis in to his cage, I went upstairs and the trainer went to wash his hands. I heard some rattling downstairs, then a thud so I looked over the stairwell....straight in to the eyes of a tiger.

Adonis flew up the stairs and I grabbed....a suitcase????...to hide behind. There really wasn't much else in the dressing room anyway. I stared Adonis directly in the eyes for ten whole minutes while he stalked me pacing around and around. Eventually he lost interest and wandered back downstairs in to the auditorium, which opened up on to a shopping mall, filled with hundreds of unsuspecting tourists! Aaaarrrggghhh!

Thankfully the trainer walked through the door just as Adonis was about to exit and tethered him in his cage.

I beat the trainer up...yes, literally. He reckoned that it was my poop watching duties that saved my life...saved by the poop?

Thanks again guardian angel!

Guardian Angels

2010-04-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

Another reason I like April is because it's my anniversary...my divorce from Tweedle dumb anniversary...five years today!

Not only does this day remind me that I truly have a guardian angel but also that with time comes forgiveness..in another hundred years, I will have completely forgiven him.

I'm also pretty certain that my angel looks just like the one above...

Seriously though, I really think everything happens for a reason; every time I'm in risk of making a whopping great mistake and something (unwelcome at the time) happens to force me to resist, I know my angel's working overtime.

Today I went to get the tire fixed that I destroyed yesterday and the gentleman helping me told me that had I driven my car to Vegas with such bald tires I would have undoubtedly had an accident.

This fact only made me feel remotely better about the $500 it cost me to replace ALL FOUR tires; I know that's a small price to pay to keep my family in one piece. I did very well on the "girly eyes well up with tears chin wobble" thing when the poor sod serving me told me how much it was going to cost, and ended up getting a $100 mail in rebate and a free oil change.

My particular guardian angel works in some puzzling ways and I have to get quite creative to find the meaning behind his actions sometimes.

For example: if I'm in a potentially bad relationship the offending prospective partner might mysteriously be whisked off to prison for twelve years to sign and seal the discontinuation of our courting, or if I've broken up with a frighteningly poor choice of the male species my angel somehow arranges for him to meet a lovely gal almost instantly after we break up just to insure that I won't be tempted to take him back...and most recently, the obvious work of my GA; I didn't win the lottery on Saturday because I'm about to land an amazing job!

This is a comforting way to look at my life; for every negative there simply has to be an angel manipulated positive...right?

Really?

2010-04-26T16:15:00.000-07:00

The kids were off school today, which meant a lovely relaxing extended weekend. The day started quite normally; we got up and had breakfast all together, then I dropped my daughter off with the Princesses Anne for her riding lesson.

I thought, as I had thirty minutes to myself, I'd drop by Fresh 'n' Easy and pick up the grub we'll need for the next few days. As I turned in to the parking lot, some dreadful woman driver decided to come out the in and caused me to swerve to the side and hit the curb rather hard, well very hard actually, hard enough to pop the damn thing and send the hub cap spinning off in to some neatly stacked trolleys.

I slowly limped my car in to the parking lot and retrieved my hubcap. I've never had to change a tire all by myself so panic set in pretty quickly...until I saw my hero in the form of a five foot tall emerald t-shirted trolley stacker by the name of Robert.

Robert was an absolute dear and offered to change my tire for me. Bless. What a sweet guy, he really went above and beyond the required level of customer service!

I thanked him profusely as he loaded my flat in to the boot of the car, then I slammed the hatchback down...unfortunately I forgot that my bike rack was still attached to the rear end of my car, and it came crashing down on my head, and knocked me out.

Yes, out cold, in the parking lot at Fresh and Easy, on the feet of a poor little man named Robert who had already gone above and beyond the call of duty for the week. I don't think I was out for very long but Robert's panic was evident when I came to whining "my legs, my legs"

Why me? Really? Why me?

"Can't you feel your legs?" he exclaimed horrified! I could feel my legs but had fallen in such a manner that they were bent up behind me with my feet up by my shoulders. As Robert kindly unraveled me from my legs I felt somewhat like a big blue Avatar being helped by a little human...oh the joys of being six foot tall!

Anyway, once I felt sure I wasn't going to fall down again I went in search of the wonderful Robert's boss and told him of the little man's heroic acts...hope he gets a promotion!

I raced back to the stables to pick up my daughter, only to find her covered in red itchy hives...it appears she's allergic to something at the palace...she insists it's not the horses!

Another one of those days!

Giddy Up

2010-04-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

If I'm completely honest, I'm not really much of an animal person. It's not that I don't love my three cats and two dogs, I do, but had I not been in my post marriage crazy stage, I might have settled on just one cat being enough to teach the kids about caring for other living creatures.

I don't like dog saliva, or cat pooh, or animal pee, or pet hair all over my couch or favorite black dress, so I am digging deep to find tolerance of the mess my zoo are continuously making, and spend way too many hours cleaning up after them.

My daughter, however, is a true animal lover and has been since she was wee. She's suffered many a smooch with a dog and, in fact, thought she was one when she was tiny. There were months where she would spend most of her day on all fours barking instead of talking...she even got us to put her food in a bowl on the floor after she went on a hunger strike for two days.

So it's hardly surprising that she also loves horses. I am not and never have been remotely interested in horses; they're big, smelly, and really scary looking. I thought I'd managed to skip the whole horse-riding thing, but in true form, tweedle dumb took her riding on her last visit to Vegas and she's talked about nothing else since.

Ever indulgent, I found out about the equestrian centre here in Burbank and went down to book her in for an assessment. Horse people and ex-showgirls are very different breeds. After tiptoeing my way over the pot-holed horse poop filled street to get to the main office I was greeted by three very lovely women who all looked like Princess Anne, the ultimate horse lady, at different stages in her life. They all had on those dreadful jodhpur things that make your bum look triple its size and a variety of navy blue and forest green layers keeping them warm. I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt not one of them has ever worn false eyelashes or fishnet tights!

I could tell by their frosty looks and lack of hilarity at my attempted humor that telling them that I was not a "horsey" person was a mistake. But they booked my daughter in for an assessment anyway. Oh, and for a "tack" lesson too. They very kindly invited me to attend the latter as they said "your daughter might need some help at first".

What exactly was I paying them for if I had to "help" get the ruddy horse ready?

Anyway, my daughter is thankfully born to ride (and smart enough to know that if I had to touch either the horse or it's pooh she wouldn't be riding much) and therefore needed very little help whilst "tacking" her horse...all I do is stand there with a carrot incase a bribe is needed...interestingly enough I've found carrots to be the way not only to a horse's heart but to the hearts of the Princesses Anne in the office too...as long as I get out of my car swinging a bag of carrots around my head like a crazed cowboy swings his lasso they all crack an indulgent smile my way when I show up with my poor, mortified, daughter.

If it doesn't matter then I don't mind!

2010-04-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

I'm not very good at making up my mind. I'll be the first to admit that as a member of the female kind, we have a tendency to change our minds, but that's a prerogative of being people makers. As a mother though, I really have to make up my mind on some important issues!

I change my mind often...probably because, several times in my life, I have been out of my mind. I particularly lose my mind when it comes to choosing men with whom to fall in love, and purchasing pets.

I'm a little miffed though, that many people of sound unchanged mind have such conflicting views on some very controversial issues. I do love a bit of controversy...

Why is it that people who are pro-life are also generally pro the death penalty and in complete contrast those of us who are pro-choice are against the death penalty...hello contradiction!

Why is it that seriously religious members of earth's congregation rarely use the Lord's name in vain yet those of us whose bums never meet with the pews of a church swear like troopers?

If we don't think he exists why (in Heaven's name) do we insist upon talking about him all the time?

These are just a sampling of the questions I find myself trying to answer as my children grow minds of their own. I'm most thankful for the Internet and its search engines which replace the "I don't know" response with "let me look it up!" but in the words of Bucks Fizz (if you don't know who they are-Google them!) it's really time I was "makin' my mind up!"

Mind over matter indeed; when I eventually figure out what really matters I hope I'm in possession of my mind!

Give 'em the Old Razzle Dazzle!

2010-04-15T20:26:00.000-07:00

While I always thought it was imperative to encourage a healthy imagination in my children, I think I might have taken it a little too far. Every time my kids have to be costumed they expect a creation fit for Cirque du bloody Soleil!

If I learnt nothing more from my years as a showgirl I at least learnt that when in doubt cover it with sequins and feathers! I put this law of showgirl in to effect today when creating my daughter's "Greek Day" costume. I covered her helmet in sequins and trimmed her shield in feathers. She will be Athena the goddess of bedazzle.

I didn't used to think that kids were all that expensive. Of course they needed feeding and watering but the only really big expenses were toys they got for Christmas and Birthdays.

Until recently...

In the last month my son has started shaving, bring on the electric shaver, shaving balm, zit cream, and after shave, ka ching! A week later he passed his driving test; tweedle dumb and I taught him to drive so I saved on the cost of lessons, the license was a mere three dollars, but my insurance DOUBLED!!!! What should I do? Say "congratulations on getting your permit baby, but you're not getting a car and you can't drive mine either?" I think not...so ka ching!

Then today my daughter got braces. What an experience! I sat in a room and actually allowed a man to torture my twelve year old. I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from slapping him! He glued metal to the precious teeth we've scrubbed for nearly twelve years, then made my baby's mouth busy with expanders, retainers and braces to give her that all important culturally American smile.

Then I paid him four thousand dollars.

There should be a savings fund for braces let alone college!

At least sequins, glitter, and feathers are still pretty inexpensive frills to keep the babes (and me) entertained!

Fresh and Easy

2010-04-06T16:24:00.000-07:00

No this is not a blog about the kind of man I'm looking for...it's about a monumental event that is happening right here in Burbank in less than 24 hours.

I'm very, VERY excited about tomorrow, because tomorrow my life will forever change, because tomorrow Fresh and Easy finally opens a store in Burbank!

If you haven't yet heard of Fresh and Easy, it's a store that recently came to America, that carries reasonably priced British themed foods as well as standard groceries. It's owned by a British company that has a chain of supermarkets in England called Tesco's.

You can check them out at www.freshandeasy.com if you subscribe to their site they send you coupons every couple of weeks too!

The opening of this store makes me very happy as it carries some of the foods I miss most from the homeland such as; Heinz baked beans, Hp Sauce, Salad Cream, English Cheese, Tea bags, and Marmite.

Before Fresh and Easy came to the English citizens of America we paid through the nose to get our hands on a little taste of home at "Specialty British" stores.

Fresh and Easy is also very much less expensive than the regular chain grocery stores; it is a "no frills" store but saves by hiring a minimal staff and having customers check themselves out. They have a section in their fridges where they reduce prices on foods that are about to expire...great for budgeting families!

So tomorrow morning I'll be in line at 10am for the grand opening with my $10 welcome coupon in my hand ready to jump some tea bags and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps!

Nip, Tuck

2010-04-05T20:31:00.000-07:00

One of my loveliest friends in Los Angeles takes me out for a wonderful breakfast once a month. We go to a very fancy restaurant in West Hollywood, or WeHo as the gay community fondly calls it.

I love going there as the decor is beautiful, the menu delicious, and the service impeccable.

The scenery, or people watching, however, is rather bizarre. The restaurant is filled almost uniquely with impeccably groomed gay men (absolutely delightful) and women in their late forties or fifties...at least that's how old I think they are.

Either they all see the same surgeon or they all ordered the same mask...I mean face; teeny tiny nose, slightly slanty eyes, and remarkably pouty lips; somewhere between Charro and Joan rivers. These eerily clone like ladies have unbelievably smooth complexions, very little facial expression, and enormous difficulty drinking liquids. I have to wonder how their husbands tell them apart when they go out in a group!

The really scary part is that they forgot to match their necks to their faces so below the chin they look like lizards, that is of course until you reach their chests which are like boulders on their little stick bodies... they're all skinny little things probably because they've lost their ability to chew...now that I think about it shelf boobs must come in handy to catch the food and drink that never quite makes it in to their mouths!

They all seem very lovely and very sweet, but I'm never quite sure if they're very happy as their expression hovers somewhere between a grin and a frown.I do see the envy in their eyes though when they see me inhale my whole meal in mere seconds.

Anyway, my point is, I'm never doing that!

My breakfasts at this jushy joint make me forget my clumsiness and feel graceful and co-ordinated, they are like therapy sessions for my self esteem, make me grateful for the lines life's laughter and worry have left behind, and help nurture my sometimes unstable relationship with gravity.

Ode to friends

2010-04-05T20:02:00.000-07:00

So Google AdSense, the people who place ads on my site have decided I have too many friends in too many different countries who read my blog...I thought that was the point!

Anyway, I'm not giving up on the blog but I might have to switch the way you access it sometime in the near future.

I will never have too many friends! Friends are wonderful. It's fascinating to me that friends come in to our lives and when we first meet them we have no idea of the impact they will make on our future.

I have many friends who when I first met I didn't particularly like...I doubt they liked me very much either as I can be a little outspoken and opinionated...no really I can!

I have friends that I haven't seen for years but when we talk on the phone it feels like we just saw each other an hour ago, friends I went to ballet school with when I was three who I'm fortunate to still have in my life, friends that saw me through my awkward teens and are still willing to talk to me today, friends that I first worked with in Paris then our paths crossed in Las Vegas and now Los Angeles, friends I've danced on slot machines with, friends I used to go to dance college in London with who now live ten minutes away from my home in Burbank, friends I lived with on ships who continue to help me raise my family of two kids, two dogs and three cats, and friends who taught me how to become an American whilst holding my hand through the ups and the downs.

All of these people that I am proud to call my friends, and you know who you are, make life just that much richer, they all indulge me every year on my birthday and support me through my crazy ideas...a little too much for Google I guess!

On the first day I met you, each and every one of you I had no idea what an amazing impact you would make on my life but I'm so very glad our paths crossed.

Coming of Age

2010-03-31T20:06:00.000-07:00

I love Spring, especially in California where it's in the 80's in March!

I love Easter, chocolate, of course.

I love April. Why do I love April so much?

Because it's my Birthday!!!!!!!!

I know, you'd think after forty two of them I'd have gotten over the excitement, but no, April 2nd is still my absolutely favorite day of the year. I know I should probably love my kid's birthdays more, that Christmas should be the day I cherish the most 'cos that savior fellow was born, but I have to be honest (a truly Arien trait) nothing beats a day that's all about me!

I love being an Aries, something that everyone born under the sign does too. Why? Because we're the first sun sign, the pioneers of the zodiac and therefore the best...just ask any Arien!

Really though, we do have some good stuff going on; we're adventurous, energetic, courageous, enthusiastic, confident, dynamic, and quick-witted. On the dud end we are quick tempered impulsive, impatient, daredevils, and....clumsy.

Clumsy, as a word, doesn't quite cut it; I don't think there's a word in the English language that can give my clutsy, non-space-oriented, lack of awareness justice. So in my forty third year I am going to conquer this disability that I have lived with for far too long.

No more dropping the milk every time I take it out of the fridge door, no more falling in the canal when disembarking a canal boat...three times in a row!!!! No more showing a client a property on the side of a mountain, approaching the edge of the lot and sliding down fifty feet on my bottom, no more tripping waiters, or cameramen, or fire-eaters, and absolutely no more missing my mouth...I'll be forty three, time to take control.

Clumsy you're gone!

A Life on the Ocean Wave

2010-03-30T22:57:00.000-07:00

On the weekend I drove myself and the kids down to San Diego to visit an old French friend of mine who is currently working on a cruise ship and was docked in the beautiful Port of SD for the day.

When my son was a baby, a ten month old baby, Tweedle Dumb and I had the brilliant idea of going to work on a cruise ship. Only catch was, we wanted to be together and also take our baby boy with us. Although this seemed like a ridiculous dream to many, and outrageously ambitious to others, we were incredibly fortunate to get hired by a production company in Miami who were willing to send us out on to the big blue with our baby, they didn't even require us to smuggle him on in a shoe box as we had planned if all else failed.

We spent three wonderful years on ships performing and raising our son (with the help of a crew of eight hundred) until we decided to add to our brood and got pregnant with our baby girl.

It had been thirteen years since I'd actually set foot on a ship so I was excited to see how things had changed and show the kids around. The day was doubly exciting as I got to speak French all day with my old buddy. I'm a bit of a Francophone, love the language, the food, the culture, and yes, even the Parisians.

Technology, 9/11, and H1N1 have changed the way cruise ships operate almost beyond recognition. You practically get cavity searched and fingerprinted to get on board these days as one little slip in security could bring the highly profitable industry to its knees. There are hand sanitizing machines at every restaurant and bar entrance, at every elevator entrance, and probably in your life vest!

But the biggest change is that cell phones and the Internet work even when you're out at sea. Fantastic! Unless of course, you were trying to get away from everything on vacation Hmmm...

Well it's good for the crew anyway. I remember when we were on ships we'd desperately run to the calling centre and line up to contact our loved ones every time we touched down in port or when leaving Miami we'd stay on our brick sized cell phones until we reached the mouth of the dock and lost signal completely...the only way we could contact home was by fax and even that had it's dodgy days!

Our visit was a lovely trip down memory lane and a great day was had by all. The kids, of course, wanted to see the photo albums of when we worked on ships when we got home, so I dragged them out for them...isn't it funny that pictures that were taken in your twenties that you absolutely loathed and thought you looked hideous in at the time, when you look at them fifteen years later you think you looked bloody marvelous...so whatever your age and how ever old you think you look today...take loads of pictures 'cos in twenty years time you'll think you looked absolutely fabulous!

Fitting in...

2010-03-29T16:35:00.000-07:00

It's not as easy as you might think going through life at a towering 5'11" not least because to stand up when you're that long you have to have fair sized feet!

I've got big feet, not ridiculously huge, but suffice to say I hold my own on a gusty day and I never lost sight of my toes during pregnancy! Having big feet, as a girl can be quite tricky. I went through my teens with blisters and bumps from shoes that were too small I lived in countries where the general population was...smaller than me and spent many a tearful moment in shoe shops.

If you are a long tall Sally, or Jane, or Cat, a good portion of your body is likely to be leg. More problems! Finding trousers long enough to cover one's ankles (and some of one's lengthy feet) can be quite a challenge. I spent years in Charlie Chaplin Jeans until I discovered Lucky brand jeans in extra long (fellow giants if you do not yet know of this miracle working brand of denim please check them out at www.LuckyBrand.com)

I'm personally silly long in the leg; I look quite normal when I'm sitting down so when people first meet me if I'm seated they get the shock of their lives when I stand up and reveal my towering height. Sitting in theatre seats or airplane seats can be quite a challenge and even driving a car presents the question of where to store my legs. I can't sneak in to a room unnoticed and I'm crap at hiding.

There are good things about being tall...you become very popular with short people and grannies as you can reach things on the top shelf at the grocery store. You can walk really fast. You will always be seen in ANY group photo...head and shoulders above everyone else.

But by far the most comforting thing to have happened to me as an amazonian was finding a home in a show that housed a showgirl tribe. In a showgirl line there are other long legged lanky ladies with big feet and issues fitting into spaces provided for an average size society...and it feels great to finally fit in.

Put some clothes on!

2010-03-26T10:03:00.000-07:00

I'm a very lucky girl generally, but every now and then my luck monitor goes on the blink and I find myself in all sorts of trouble.

A couple of years ago, after selling my Hummer and while I was waiting on my new car, I borrowed a friends car to drive from Vegas to LA. My son's passport had not arrived and we were leaving for Australia two days later so I had to go to the Passport and Immigration offices in Los Angeles to see what was going on. My appointment was at 7am so I had to leave Vegas at 3am to have a chance of getting there on time. On a side note; yes, my life really is this complicated ALL the time!

Anyway, my friend's car was a Mitsubishi Spider, it goes fast, really fast, there was no-one on the road, and I didn't see the speedometer creep up to ....brace yourself...109mph!!!!!

Of course I got a ticket. A big one. From a cop who scared me silly...so silly that I now always drive within the speed limit and am terrified every time I hear a siren that they're coming to take me away...Ha ha!

So this morning after dropping the kids at school, imagine my panic when I not only heard a siren but saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror and heard the law enforcement officer boom in to his megaphone "pull over to your right, pull over to your right"

What did I do wrong? I didn't jump a light, turned left on the green arrow, stayed in lane, under the speed limit. I pulled over and the lovely little (isn't there a height requirement to be a cop?) man approached my window. I had my licence and registration all ready for him, but he didn't want to see it. "Step outside of the vehicle please Ma'am" he said. Blimey I was in big trouble! Not least because I was in bright pink stripey pyjamas, with a granny sweater over them, turquoise crocs and my hair in a banana clip. "Errrm, do I really need to?" I asked him. I did.

Lovely, standing on the pavement looking like a circus clown with a cop in front of my kids friends parents is always the way I like to start my day!

Turns out, now that I'm a California girl, I need to put a plate on the front of my Ladybug as well as on the back...only trouble is, I bought my car in Nevada, which is a State that only requires plates on the back of a vehicle so there's nowhere to attach a plate on the front.

The cop must have felt sorry for me...or embarrassed by me...he tried really hard to keep a straight face when I stepped out of the vehicle, could barely contain his mirth, especially when he realized I was English, from Nevada, and eight feet taller than him. I stood there as pink as my PJs watching him struggle to get his words out without surrendering to hysteria.

He let me go with just a warning. Well, two warnings actually;

1. Go to a dealership and get a plate put on the front

2. Get dressed before driving your kids to school

I jumped back in the car thankful my luck meter was up and running and tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that I'd only been outside the vehicle for three minutes...no-one could have seen me in three minutes, right? Wrong. I just saw my daughter's headmistress in the Post Office, with an unusually bright smile on her face, she said "Mrs. Mayer, how lovely to see you again! Saw you this morning talking to my son-in-law, Officer Johnson, nice pyjamas!"