pink pajama mama

I can’t believe she didn’t remember me! How could she not remember me? I performed with her every week for more than a year! I sat in her crappy van with her while she practiced her opera, drank a gallon of water, and glued austrian crystal rhinestones on her shoes! She used the van to transport her props–her giant champagne glass, her costume made of more than a thousand peacock feathers, her enormous gilded birdcage, the one with a fountain of water that poured over her while she sat on a swing inside it. Oh, and don’t forget her giant fans. Her actual costumes didn’t take up much room-you could fit her flesh colored g-string in a thimble, but the bigger stuff, well, she needed a van. And still, she didn’t remember me.Granted, she had hit the “big time” as far as burlesque dancers go, performing with the queen, Dita Von Teese, designing her costumes. She did hold a lot of titles–Miss Nude USA, Miss Exotic World, but still, every Thursday night at the Viper Room, I performed a Nita and Zita type show with my contortionist partner–I was Honey and she was Vermilion. Miss Delish was always the finale with her superprops. She dreamed of being an opera singer, but it appears that dram has stayed on the backburner while her dancing continues to grow.She came to New Orleans and performed with the burlesque dancers at House of Blues. I especially loved the sassy cowgirl and the Absinthe fairy. But when I attended the burlesque class at a dance studio the next day, Miss Delish barely remembered me. How is this possible? Too stuck in her own little funhouse full of mirrors? Would she have remembered the jungle dancer who danced around a big volcano that erupted in orange feathers at the end of her show? Or the trapeze artist? What about Aqua Girl, who danced in a big tank of water? Would she remember her? Or what about our nasty little fire eater, Otter, with her chihuahuas wearing rhinestone collars and mink stoles? Would she have made more of an impression? I know she remembered Lady Jane, our Oyster Girl. Lady Jane put our show together and was endlessly creative and brilliant as our director and producer. Now there’s a woman who was a genius at rhinestoning. Lady Jane wanted my partner and me to wear matching Jean Harlow wigs for our act. We were very excited about that, but we had the wigs styled and ended up looking more like twin Barbara Bushes instead of Jean Harlows!No wonder she didn’t remember me!Oh well, I guess it was a lot of years ago I was tramping across those dingy stages in Hollywood.I’ve come a long way baby! And so has she! Maybe if I had worn sparkling shoes and a feather in my Bush wig she would have remembered me. I”ll try that next time.

For those who know m, it’s no secret that I have a special bond with gay men. We like the same movies (Auntie Mame!), we love stories with dramatic flair, and we appreciate fabulous fashion.So, when my second child was a boy, I was thrilled!  ”Oohh!! Maybe he’ll grow up to be a drag queen!” I thought. Sparkles, rhinestones, gorgeous costumes, cabaret songs all danced in my head. At first, there were all sorts of positive signs. He wore his sister’s sundresses nearly every day and showed no interest in “boy’s” clothes. He wore a leotard, tutu, and ballet slippers to gymnastics class and to Annabelle’s ballet class, and even though, at 2 years old, he was too young to join the class, he danced around outside the closed door with real gusto, leaping, twirling and bending his pudgy little knees into plie’s.Other moms would chide me: “You big goof! Why do you make him wear dresses and tutus!” Well, I don’t know about other mothers and their toddlers, but I don’t “make my children wear anything.  Henry was quite adamant about his clothing choices, and even if I was a dictator-type mother, clothing choice is not a battle that is important to me. He’s a toddler! He can wear what he wants. There will be plenty of battles in life, but for me, clothing will not be one of them. My parents were open-minded enough to let me wear whatever I wanted as a kid, and as a result, I was able to express a lot of my creativity and individuality through my clothing. I loved it. They loved it. They just shook their head and laughed when I went to school wearing a bustle and long dress on one of my more creative days. And so, I was thrilled with Henry strong sense of his toddler self, He felt comfortable enough to wear exactly what he wanted, regardless of society’s restrictions. Honestly, who cares, and what toddler wouldn’t prefer pink sparkles over a dinosaur with sharp scary teeth?Well, ok, I’m sure there are plenty, but my Henry wasn’t one of them.But as Henry’s grown, he’s now 3, it seems he’s actually more attracted to those dinosaurs. We go to the toy store and he heads right for the boats and motorcycles. He loves any game that involves kicking and throwing balls, and he’s informed me that boys don’t wear nail polish. Whenever I see a male with painted nails, I point out to him that some boys wear nail polish, but, sadly, he’s put his own moratorium on painting his nails.Regardless of what I do, Henry will turn out to be Henry, and while I’m still secretly rooting for him to be a swaggering broadway musical director, he seems to leaning toward being a pirate or a speedcar racer.There are some encouraging things though. He did sit through quite a bit of the opera yesterday, and at 1 year old he sat through the ENTIRE Nutcracker without a peep.  He was fascinated. I had planned to leave after a few minutes when he got antsy, but he never did. So we’ll see. Maybe he’ll  just be a well-rounded hetero who can attend the theater with his wife and actually like it.Then again, maybe his wife will be named Mark.

Walt Whitman: “This is what you shall do: love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone who asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unkown.”I love this quote.  It frees me from the shackles of anger. I get so mad at people who want to restrict the rights of others. I get so mad when people think everyone should be just like themselves. I get so mad when people value money over family, when they want to protect their own little insular world and all others be damned.It’s so confusing to me.In my world, family comes first, before money, before career, before religion. Family is my religion.In my world, the laughter of children is treasured over a clean home.My favorite kitchen is covered in flour and tiny chocolate fingerprints.I feel so lovely sitting on the white sands of Lambert’s Cover, watching my little mermaid frolic in the gentle waves, watching my little buster stand in water up to his chubby ankles with his boogie board strapped to his wrist, while he watches, fascinated, his board go in and out with the tide.I love the soft pink of the sky as the sun sets and the ocean turns an extraordinary lavendar, glowing at magic hour.I love sitting on the bench at Annabelle’s drama camp, amidst the thick grove of trees, watching the dancers, listening to the opera singers, watching them walk among the trees in their rich gorgeous costumes, their voices pouring through the air and washing over me and Henry as he balances on the rock wall.And now my mermaid comes to me to ask for a bedtime snack…

A friend brought us cuttings of amazing purple irises today to plant, along with some compost. While George was planting them, Annabelle found a slug in the  compost. ”What should I name it, Mom? Sam or Elizabeth?”"Hmmm, well, does it seem like a Sam or Elizabeth to you?”"Sam,” she said, and she made a little house for it out of a seashell and a stick.She was very excited about her new pet, so when George took the pot of dirt to add to the plantings,  she got very upset. “No Daddy!” she screamed. “That’s Sam!” George tried to explain that he needed the post of composted dirt for the flowers but Annabelle was having none of it. Sam is still living in his pot in the dirt next to our porch. Even with his spectacular seashell house, we haven’t seen him again. Elusive slug…

Cathy and I took Henry and Annabelle to the French Quarter today to watch the Stella shouting contest that is the climax of the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival. I’ve always wanted to attend, but have never made it, but today was the perfect day–no humidity, no extreme heat–crisp air, a brilliantly sunny day–no clouds, blue sky–incredible day in New Orleans. We looked at the street artists–we liked the mermaids–and had beignets at Cafe Du Monde. We climbed and played and got balloon animals and the babies got their faces painted. Henry was a wolf boy, Annabelle was a butterfly.Stella stood in a retro slip on the balcony of a Pontalba apartment while a group of aspiring Stanleys geared up to shout their hearts out, fall to their knees, while tearing their shirts. Soooo funny I was crying! Most of the contestants were guys who had too much to drink and happened to be walking by the contest. One was a woman dressed as a pirate carrying a chihuahua, one was a woman dressed as a clown. It’s the end of pirate week in New Orleans–only in New Orleans. And this is why I love New Orleans.I couldn’t help but wonder what the kids thought as they watched these grown men act out this scene. I knew it would start cropping up in their play, and sure enough, on the way home, Henry started shouting Stella from his car seat and pretending to tear at his shirt. I can’t stop laughing around here. 

OK, I elect two year old Henry as messiest toddler of the year. This afternoon, he was eating a chocolate ice cream cone which is only allowed in the kitchen. I saw him through the crack of the door toddling down the hall with his cone. I watched him drop it upside down, squat down to pick it up, but then change his mind and get down on all fours where he promptly began eating it like a puppy. I was brushing my teeth, so I continued, realizing I’d just have to clean it up in a minute. When I re-emerge, he says, “Mama, I’m ice skating!” And he is. He’s ice skating through a large patch of melted smooshed ice cream which now covers him from forehead to toes, including between his adorably pudgy toes. He has smeared chocolate ice cream all over the walls as he’s hanging onto the wall and it’s all over his hands.After I clean up him and that mess, I hear a big ruckus in the hallway as I’m putting Annabelle’s hair in a ponytail. Next thing I know, he’s dumped out a paper bag full of books in the hallway and is stumbling into the bathroom with the bag on his head.He is our little hero though. The other morning Annabelle saw a roach down near the front door. She came running back up to me and said, “Mama! Mama!! I saw a real cucuracha!! I feel like I ate butterflies!”Henry was playing quietly by himself, but as soon as he heard her, he was off to the rescue. A few minutes later I heard him shout “I dot it mama!!”  ”You got what?” I replied.”I dot the bug!”I ran down the stairs and sure enough he had killed this giant hard shelled prehistoric creature WITH ANNABELLE’S TINY PINK CROC that must weigh less than an ounce!! I have no idea how he did this. When George gets them, he uses his own giant shoe and smacks it about 10 times. Not Henry, he used a tiny little pink shoe.This of course sent Annabelle into hysterics and I had to spray her shoe with antibacterial spray. Always an adventure around here! 

Well, it happened–I’m really 40 years old!! Who would have thought I’d ever reach this milestone?! I feel fabulous! I’m exactly where I want to be, living my impossible dream–absolute bliss with henry and Annabelle and George, living in exotic New Orleans and the beautiful Martha’s Vineyard, a family I adore, incredible friends…I had the perfect birthday–friends, family, skiing, laughing, sitting in the hot tub with dear girlfriends, a huge dinner and hilarious talent show with my family, laughing with George, a beautiful cake, the cutest funniest kids running around–not to mention an impromptu trip to Tiffany’s in San Francisco and coming home with the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen!! Very sparkly, very retro, very glamorous but not ostentatious.I’ve jumped back into my love of roller skating. I put on my ear phones and dress pink and sparkly and head to the park nearly every day for a 4 mile roller whirl–beyond fabulous! Makes me crave pink bubble gum and root beer lip gloss.Am I 40 or 14? Sometimes it’s hard to tell… especially with my pink knee socks.

As my 40th birthday looms (a mere month away) I’m amazed by people’s reactions when I tell them I’m turning 40, the most common being, “YOU’RE turning 40?! Wow! You look great!”I’m so perplexed by this! I guess I could understand if I was turning 80, but I don’t think of 40 as old. Yes, by the age of 40 there’s no getting around the fact that you’re officially a grown-up, but I’ve been toying with this idea for a few years now, so I won’t be too shocked by the fact that yes, I’m actually an adult. I don’t know, I guess I know a lot of fabulous 40-year-olds. They’re having babies, they’re getting their doctorates, they’re changing careers, they’re creating careers… It’s a good age, an age where you feel relaxed,  powerful, capable of handling anything all by yourself. I’m scared to turn 40–it’s the official age where I have to clean up after myself. There’s just no one else to do it for me, except when I visit my parents and they do it for me. I’m a little scared of marching one step closer to mortality. But I’m excited too. It’s a new decade. A new dance.And I’m exactly where I want to be. I’ve lived so many of my dreams: Learn to belly dance, check. Perform for thousands of people, check. Learn to play the cello, tiny check. Find my true love, check. Have a family, check. Share my life with the most extraordinary people on the planet, check.And I still have a lot more goals: play the cello in an orchestra, get my doctorate, learn to ballroom dance, learn to surf, write books… I have a long ways to go!I’m just getting started.                                                              

Henry awakened me asking to nurse “fo one minute.” I said no, he kept asking, so I raised the two-finger tickle monster who said, “Sh!” over and over again until it reached Henry’s tummy and he collapsed in giggles. This went on for a while, and Henry kept asking, so finally Dr. Pinky came out and said, “No nursing! You’re too big! Nursing is for babies.” Henry said, “Dat pinky can’t talk! He doesn’t have a mouth!”Yes, thats why Dr. Pinky can’t talk.  I can’t believe Henry still nurses at his size! He’s 35 pounds! Poor little boo scraped his knees and feet today on the brick driveway running from the hose. He wanted to be held like a baby chimp the rest of the day. We had a magical day. We wenwt to toddler time at the Longue Vue Mansion–what an inspiring garden! I got so many ideas for my yard this summer! I loved the wisteria arbor, the jasmine trellis with digging for worms underneath, the sweet pea tepees… Henry immediately went for the beach balls and after we played a gleeful game of soccer with those, he watered the flowers with a spray bottle, occasionally turning to spray me. After this, he dragged a wagon of logs or “firewood” into the middle of the clearing and laid them all out end to end in a curving design, saying he was building a fire. This was followed by digging for worms. It’s an amazing experience to kneel in the rich dark soil with your son and look at the first real worm he’s ever seen together! The little worm raised its head as if to say “how do you do?”Henry loved this! He was afraid when they started to wiggle with gusto. We moved onto picking and eating sweet peas, which he refused to try, and then to the lemon trees and all the sweet smelling herbs. henry especially loved the bamboo tunnel, the twisted tree, and the story and song about bears and hibernation. We drove to pick up Annabelle, and when she emerged from the classroom, Henry ran to her and threw his arms around her. She then hugged me, and he hugged her again! He kept talking about “my sister.” She was really cute with him too. She tried to cheer him up when he fell by doing a crazy dance and saying his favorite word, “poop.” We came home and they played for a while in the front seats of the car, even stacking the leftover carrots from Annabelle’s lunch on the roof of the car! When I drove to my board meeting later, carrots came rolling down the car!Annabelle had a ball at school and played with the hose and climbed trees afterwards. She loved doing playdough, and her favorite thing in the world is hearing stories. We’re reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and she carries it from room to room begging me to read more. We just finished James and the Giant Peach and the Boxcar Children. She immediately disappears into her own magical world when she’s playing.I really can’t believe how lucky I am to spend my days with them. It’s bittersweet to watch Annabelle pull away from me. She loves school, loves playing with her friends, and is more than happy when I leave and the babysitter comes. This is exactly what I’ve tried to raise her to do, of course, a safe happy independent exploration of the world, but still, I long for those days when I held her warm little body in my arms and it fit so snuggly and perfectly. I told her tonight how when she was in my tummy, I couldn’t wait to meet her, and when I finally held her in my arms, all I could say was “You’re perfect!” over and over again.She is perfect. They both are.   

Well, she asked the next biggie: “Mom, who is the sandman?” “What do you mean?” “Is he a guy?” “Hmmmm, well, he’s kind of like a flying gnome with a long beard and a bag of sand over his shoulder.” I don’t know, what do you tell a four year old about the sandman who comes and sprinkles sand dust dreams over her eyes at night?