Wednesday, February 27, 2013
This is a picture that Ruby drew in anticipation of the Oscars. Being only eight years old, she hasn't seen many nominated movies (other than almost every single one in the Animated category), but she is a fan of Adele. So, this is a picture of Adele singing "Skyfall." Behind her is a random and very gnarly rock star. Because that's how Adele rolls.
Monday, February 25, 2013
I love the Oscars. I love movies, I love clothes, I love celebrities, but most of all, I love any excuse to throw an absolutely ridiculous party in my own home. Now, my Oscar party is not huge -- in fact, we only invite one other family. There are a couple of reasons for this -- the main one being that I have a four-year-old boy who likes to annoy people when they watch and needs to go to bed about the time they start handing out the awards for the short films. So it's not a big party, but it is a FANCY party. Fanciness is the key.
So we rolled out the red carpet, poured some champagne (and later, my husband's expertly made Old Fashioneds), and dined on some fine fair including deviled eggs with caviar. Caviar is one of my secret favourite snacks (I know, I know), so any chance to eat it without looking like a ponce is a chance I'm going to take.
As for the awards: Argo = okay, but not the best movie I've ever seen, Silver Linings Playbook look likes it has too much dancing in it (admittedly, I haven't actually seen it), I haven't seen Lincoln but I don't generally like biopics (though good gravy, is Daniel Day Lewis every handsome in a tux), and I love Les Miserables even though I can see that it is deeply, deeply flawed as a film. Seth MacFarlane? I generally can't stand The Family Guy and found a lot of his jokes really offensive (No, not the boobs song, which was supposed to be offensive, but definitely the jibes against slavery, Jews, and women). But who cares? There was caviar.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
I was digging through our record collection to find something suitable to play at Ruby's birthday party for that pass-the-present game where you wrap a small gift in 10 layers of wrapping paper and let the kids unwrap it musical chair-style (it's a great time killer and they seem to love it). I ended up using It's A Small World, but found this little gem while I was looking. In fact, it was the first record I pulled off the shelf. So crazy and perfect considering the havoc that was about the be unleashed into my home.
But here's the thing: how did I not know that I owned this? It seems like it would be something I would have remembered buying, right? We do have a fairly healthy record collection, but it's not so huge that I wouldn't know that I have a weird kids record from the '60s with the least photogenic collection of children ever on the cover. Where did this thing come from?
So, excuse me while I go purge my junk drawer and watch a couple of episodes of Hoarders to inspire me to get my house in order.
Saturday, February 02, 2013
Eight years ago, I became a parent. A doctor cut my belly open, pulled a tiny screaming baby out, and I was a parent. The baby screamed a lot. And then she screamed some more. She screamed so loud that sometimes her dad would hear her from down the street, even though we were on the second floor of a brick house with all the windows closed.
She doesn't scream much anymore. But she sings, and plays the piano, and writes stories, and tells jokes, and smiles, and charms just about anyone who meets her. I can't believe that she was somehow crafted from our DNA, yet she is so much more magical than either my husband and I. Whatever she has going for her right now, it's great, and I hope to the heavens that the pain and agony of teenage girlhood doesn't take any of that away from her. Keep your spirit strong, young Ruby. If I could give you any gift, it would be the ability to do just that.
Anyway, happy 8th birthday, young lady. You're the best.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
This is a picture my daughter made for my husband on Father's Day last year, but it doesn't really have all that much to do with what I want to writer about today. I've been thinking about (and on a more private level, writing about) my parents a lot lately. I've never really thought I looked like my mom, but every once in a while I look at myself in the rear view mirror of my car and see her staring back. I forget how much of her I have in me.
And then I look at my daughter, who I also don't think looks like me, and I see a better and brighter version of myself bubbling inside her. She writes like crazy -- by the time I was a grade older than her I was writing 50 page "novels" and dreaming of writing for Rolling Stone, and she's going to be at exactly that same spot. Today she wrote a letter to the publisher of Archie comics, praising them for their work, for Pete's sake. While I sometimes fear that she's also inherited my anxiety, my shyness, and my tendency to be so very very hard on myself, when I see bits of myself in her, I feel nothing but pride.
Anyway, the point I wanted to make, is that I love seeing people with their parents. There are few things in this world that thrill me more than the opportunity to meet my friends' parents. I love seeing where the people I care about come from, if they look like their folks, and how they interact, if they share quirks. I am always so happy to receive invitations to friends' weddings just so I can see their parents. If their fathers cry, it's an added bonus.
Alternately, nothing makes me sadder when I hear that people have crap parents who they can't bear to include in their adult lives. Although I'm always fascinated by hearing those friends' stories, it breaks my heart to think that a parent could have failed his or her child so drastically. The thought of ever getting to that place with my own kids is one of my greatest fears.
So let's hear it for the great parents. Including my own.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
This is a picture of myself, my daughter, and pop singer Nelly Furtado. I had the opportunity to take advantage of a VIP ticket package to Nelly's recent concert in my town, which included a meet-and-greet (which is basically music industry-speak for a backstage session where fans/contest winners/people who pulled some strings get herded through a backstage hospitality room to get a quick autograph/photo with the artist) and private acoustic set. I'm not the world's biggest Nelly Furtado fan myself, but I do like her music well enough and I have a soft spot because she was the first big artist interview I did after Ruby was born (it was a phoner and as a mom I figured she wouldn't be upset if the baby woke up and started crying during our conversation).
I decided to bring Ruby as my date for a couple of reasons. First off, I think Nelly is a great role model for young girls -- she writes her own music, her songs aren't just all about boys, she's a mom who is still pursing a career of her own, and by all accounts she's a really nice person. Ruby has developed a recent interest in pop music and I thought it would be a good introduction to a pop artist who doesn't shoot whipped cream from her bra cups or brood over bad-news dudes like John Mayer.
Also, I wanted to demystify the pop star and backstage experience for her. I've been backstage at more than a few concerts in my time, sometimes professionally, sometimes socially. And Ruby learned a very important lesson of music industry culture the other night -- hanging backstage is more often than not incredibly boring. It involves a lot of waiting, usually in plainly decorated, boring hospitality rooms, while other people are working hard to put the show together. And while pop stars are usually super attractive and have magnetic personalities, they're just regular people, not any more exciting than any other adults she comes across. I wanted her to appreciate that the lady she met was singing so well on stage, but I also wanted her to appreciate that that lady is also not all that different from her mom, her teacher, or the other adults she knows.
So, hopefully this, and any future opportunities (though my music world ties are getting fewer and fewer) will get Ruby to a place where she can enjoy music without the hero worship that caused me so much angst in my teenage years. Because as much fun as I had, say, sneaking backstage at concerts when I was 17 to hang out with guys in their 20s or 30s, I don't think that's necessarily what I want for my daughter. And if she is going to be hanging out backstage, I'd rather it be because she's IN the band, not hanging off a member of the band.