Mommy with a Penis

Dear Jacqueline, Firstly, let me apologize upfront for a few things: the public manner in which I'm sending this, for any unnecessary exposition which will allow my readers to follow more closely, and also for my tardiness, but if you read my previous entry, you'll understand that illness has made me its bitch and almost three weeks later I'm still reeling from side effects. (My ear is still ringing!) To the thick of it then... Thank you so much for what you have given Sebastian, and in turn my family. Your talents at directing are immeasurable, and I don't use that word lightly. Working  was an absolute hit, and to see all those children up on stage, not only giving it their all, but also showing various levels of stage proficiency was mind blowing performance after performance. As you know, Sebastian bucked a bit at the thought of going to so many rehearsals. He'd get on the bus and come home rather than stay at school where you were weaving your magic. An...

There is probably little more excruciating for a parent than putting the safety of your child into the hands of a total stranger only to have them not show up at the appointed time. Bash is doing summer school this year and for the first time he gets to ride the bus to and from school. He's so thrilled at the prospect of ditching his booster seat he's pretty much forgiven us the fact he has to do summer school. The bus takes him from our home school, which is four blocks from our house, to the summer school, and then in the afternoon brings him back to our home school. Wednesday was the first day and Michael and I met the bus driver, Grove (no, I don't know how he got his name...Grover? Mangrove?), who seemed perfectly trustworthy and told us to be waiting in front of our home school no later than 1:30, although he may be as late as 2:00 due to the fact that first days are often a cauldron of chaos and confusion. Michael and I were a bit early for pick-up which turned out t...

On this, my son's eighth birthday, I made waffles. One would think I planned waffles as a special birthday breakfast. (When I was a kid my mother's birthday breakfast for us was oatmeal with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, sprinkled with brown sugar. Absolute heaven.) But no, the idea behind waffles had nothing to do with "birthday breakfast," it was born out of necessity. We are going out of town for the holidays and I'm trying to make do without going to the market. We have no milk, no eggs, no bacon, no oatmeal and for that matter, no vanilla ice cream. And so, the only breakfast staples I could think of that didn't require any of the above were waffles and that frostbitten package of sausage links stuck to the back of the freezer, purchased in aught eight. I did have my concerns. For some unfathomable reason my children have professed a dislike for waffles. I know, how can they not like waffles? If I had my way as a kid, I would have eaten them t...

On Saturday, I was channel surfing and decided to take on the last third of Shakespeare in Love. Perhaps once and for all I could figure out if I really liked this movie or downright hated it. I can't quite put my finger on why I am so indecisive. The film has many wonderful qualities: the historic references, Tom Stoppard's witty script, the lush art and costume design, and yet, when the film's title is mentioned in polite conversation, I cringe and regurgitate a little. Perhaps my response has to with Joseph Fiennes being prettier than Gweneth Paltrow , or Miramax's aggressive campaign to win the Oscar beating out Saving Private Ryan , or just maybe it's Geoffrey Rush's disgusting teeth. Whatever my misgivings, I decided to give it a go once again. And immediately, I was hooked. Sure, it's manipulative and at points cheesy, but so many of the pieces fit beautifully. And being a stage actor, I love that the central action centers around mounting the first...

Dear Store Owners and Kiosk Keepers, I have endured brightly wrapped candy, promising explosions of sugary goodness, awaiting me and my two tykes at every grocery checkout. After exiting the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, I have suffered dragging my kids through the Pirates of the Caribbean store overstocked with overly priced and cheaply made swords, hooks and buccaneer hats. I've even pulled my children screaming from displays of Fruit Roll-Ups, Chips Ahoy and Lays Potato Chips after gymnastics and swimming. (BTW, gymnastics and swimming, why at a place of fitness do you insist on hawking sugar and empty calories to kids? Paging Michelle Obama! ) Now, this by no means, is an old practice. When I was eight my family vacationed in Hawaii, and we were in some store and I was seduced by foil-wrapped glimmer and the promise of minty goodness in the form of Wrigley's Spearmint Gum. I begged my father to buy me a pack. Because for some reason, it was very important at that particul...

I am not one who needs to visit his past. But Michael relishes finding wayward family members and reconnecting with Frick and Frack who he bartended with in his Chicago days. He even has an almost manic desire to go to his high school reunion. And to make matters worse he always asks me to accompany him. Year after year (or maybe it's five years after five years) I have dodged this bullet, because really, aside from ingesting Borax in mass quantities I can't think of anything more heinous. That's not to say I don't understand my husband. He is an actor after all. Showing off is part of his stock and trade. And none of his other class mates defected to the West Coast, guest starred on numerous episodics from Criminal Minds to Monk , and have a current Lowe's commercial running. To put it simply, Michael wants to saunter into the chlorine-smelling conference room at the Alton, Illinois Holiday Inn and have folks unabashedly gush. Another thing about Michael, he...

My mother's family finally had a plan. We were going to have our family reunion weekend in Southern California. (Easy for us.) We stayed at the beautiful Estancia La Jolla , just north of San Diego. It was Saturday night, and all the families were going to meet at my cousin's place, where there would be plenty of food, booze and horsing around. I couldn't wait. I sent Michael and the kids ahead of me to retrieve the car from valet, while I made sure the bag was fully packed: sun screen, light jackets, baseball hats, second sets of undies...you know the drill. I arrived at the front of the hotel with a song in my heart when Michael approached me with a storm brewing across his forehead. Even before he spoke, I knew I was going to be pissed off at the timing of whatever calamity had befallen. I took a deep breath as he said through clenched teeth, "We're going to the hospital, now." Why is it always when we're ready to enjoy some much needed fun does the...

Mommy With a Penis is busily doing work in the bedroom when a three year old girl comes scurrying in. MAXIE: Papa, Papa! MOMMY WITH A PENIS: Yes darling? MAXIE: I want a regielusodlkeyoooo . MOMMY WITH A PENIS: What's that? MAXIE: You know. A gloeuuhdoeiuiii . Maxie sees that Mommy With a Penis is confused and tries to clarify. MAXIE: 'Abastian has a leourertgderfff . An I wan one too. MOMMY WITH A PENIS: Sebastian has something and you want one too. Maxie nods, thrilled her meaning is understood. Mommy With a Penis stands. MOMMY WITH A PENIS: Well, let's go find out what a hibbideyhoobey is. Maxie and Mommy With a Penis go into the backyard, where they find a seven year old boy in the throes of some pretend game. Mommy With a Penis turns to Maxie incredulously. MOMMY WITH A PENIS: Is this what you wanted? A cigarette? Maxie nods with enthusiasm. Mommy With a Penis quickly switches focus back to Sebastian, and finds that there are no words. A huge shit eating grin spreads ...

We've done it before and it leaves the kids mystified. When we travel during Easter, we get the Cadbury eggs, the Peeps, the chocolate bunnies and the other goodies ahead of time. Then, we fix up the baskets and hand them over to the hotel's front desk. The rules are simple: leave the baskets outside our door at eight am, knock loudly and then quickly disappear. It's very much like ding dong ditch, except in this version we end up with a couple of surprises waiting on our doorstep. Sebastian and Maxie love Easter. For them, there is no no religious connotation. No Crucifixion. No Resurrection. No blood of the lamb. It's simply, baskets, egg hunts and sweets. This year their baskets were sent by my step mother, Deanna. They were plush and in the shapes of a pink bunny and a white ducky. They came the week before in the mail and I wasn't sure how to explain them to the kids, because up to now the Easter Bunny had supplied the baskets. But Sebastian informed...

If you've been following Mommy With a Penis, you've heard about my daughter's closet of princess costumes, from tiaras to matching shoes. You've also heard that my son sometimes likes to dress in his sister's things. Well, to support both these themes I dug up this photo from last Halloween... Sometimes we just have to face the fact that mermaids are huge. When I was a kid, long before the Disney film, I'm a little ashamed to admit that my favorite story was The Little Mermaid . (Didn't everyone have a Hans Christian Anderson anthology?) Granted in that version she was blond and not a plucky redhead, and I don't remember her having a moniker of any sort. She was just a mermaid looking for love: long suffering, pretty and silent. And she had a brassiere made of seashells. What future gay boy wouldn't be enamored. Michael took Maxie to Target to find her Halloween costume and without qualm she chose Ariel. I was amazed at how quickly she made her choi...

I am up Shit Creek. No exag. I'm doing what everyone else is doing, running around in my little hampster wheel feeling as if I'm making headway, but in reality I'm in the same plastic habitat with wood chips strewn about. I mean, can it really be October? This week was picture week at my son's school. We always have to pack an extra shirt in his backpack, because invariably his pics are shot after lunch. I get his teeth brushed, my husband combs his hair. (But really, if his shots are after lunch, what's the point?) We tell him once again what to expect and with an air of professionalism he says, "Will they take only one picture or is this a photo shoot?" Well, excuse me, Miss Desmond. I didn't know you were so particular about your close up. Living pert near on top of Hollywood has been a concern. I don't want my kids to be Southern Californian cliches, acting as if they just stepped out of the movie Clueless . I don't want them all knowing...

Six weeks ago, my little family drove north on Interstate 5, hung a right at Highway 14 and drove into Antelope Valley. Sounds like a pretty place, doesn't it? Almost mystical. I would bet most of you, if you were to take out your own personal mental snapshot of California you would be looking at Rocky Mountains or the roiling Pacific, majestic redwoods or overpriced amusement parks. I'm sure none of you pictured Antelope Valley. Although it sounds like a lush savanna bounding with chipper quadrupeds, in fact, Antelope Valley has no antelopes. The poor creatures were obliterated by hunters in the 1880's, and replaced with prefab homes, out of date strip malls, alfalfa fields and the second largest Borax pit mine. Antelope Valley also has the distinction of being the crystal meth darling of the Mojave. This is where my daughter, Maxie, was born. (Interesting to note, the nurse in charge of Maxie's care for the first two days of her life, told us an increase of meth users...

It's been awhile, folks, I know. I've allowed myself to sink into the delicious oblivion known as summer. I didn't have to get the kids to school. I didn't have to force my son to do mind numbing homework. (Sebastian's loathing of homework is only surpassed by my loathing of his loathing.) There was no speech therapy, no gymnastics, no car pools. Hell, there was no set schedule of any kind. Oh, sure, a smattering of birthday parties and a luau or two, but besides that, nada. I woke up late, watched black and white movies, and occasionally sauntered into the kitchen for food. I'd prepare it, eat it, throw some at the kids, and then go back to my room to see what hijinks Cary Grant was up to. I'm shamed to admit, some mornings I woke late due to an overindulgence in vodka the night before. But what's more natural then watching Bette Davis movies with a glass in hand? I must admit, on those fuzzy mornings, I developed a new found appreciation for the snoo...

I want to be a fireman. I want to drive a garbage truck. I want to be a vampire. My son has been making those kind of statements for years. They are always presented with infectious enthusiasm. Like many parents I feed into his desires, "that's nice dear," without thinking he will really end up fighting fires, collecting trash or sucking blood. Last Sunday, our good friends, Carol and Milo, invited us over to their house for potluck and a swim. Hubby was busy, but that did not deter me. I bundled up the kidlets and trundled on over with hot dogs, little cuties, pink lemonade and a bottle of chardonnay. Going to their house is always a pleasure. Not only do they have an eclectic, bubbly group of friends, but their home with the faintest whiff of oil and varnish is the epitome of an artist's idyll. Milo Reice is a wonderful painter and his vibrant multi media artwork adorn the walls. His works can be small celebrations of life, or they can be huge installation p...