Chickengate: The Day Gracie Moved In...

Oh my gawd. I forgot what it’s like to live with a teenager. But after this weekend, I definitely remember. My daughter, Gracie, has lived on her own for the past two years here in Paris while she is attending college. I never wanted her to have her own apartment because I enjoy suffocating her with love. However, she couldn’t leave fast enough in her eyes. Her first year of college she rented a tiny studio and lived on her own and for her second year of college she found a bigger apartment that she shared with a roommate. Now, here we are, coming up to her third year of college and she has decided to take a one bedroom on her own. Yeah! Not so fast… She has decided to move into our apartment for the summer before her lease starts in the fall. When she told me that she would like to stay with us over the summer I was ecstatic… Until she moved in this past weekend.

I wanted to have everything perfect for her. I got the guestroom all ready for my darling… New white linen headboard, two modern acrylic nesting bedside tables, glass lamps with white linen lampshades, a white linen bergère chair, white linen curtains. I thought the white would perfectly offset the 19^th-century point de Hongrie hardwood floors, the black marble fireplace and the circa 1850 mantle mirror. A little modern with the old. Everything was ordered, delivered and set up for her arrival.

My next project was to order every single thing that she loves at the grocery store. There was a two-page list and everything was delivered the day before her arrival… American cheddar cheese, tortillas, cookie dough, pancake batter, salsa, lemonade, avocados for her favorite breakfast toast, bananas for her favorite banana bread, her favorite peas in the can because she doesn’t like fresh or frozen, barbecue sauce, hamburger buns, organic chicken breast… Basically everything that an American teenager needs to survive.

Her favorite pink peony flowers were arranged in a silver mercury glass vase in her room next to her favorite candle.

We were ready for her arrival.

Let me preface this story by reminding all of you mothers that you would all do the same thing for your daughters. We are here to please. Our happiness is our daughter’s happiness. I would give Gracie the shirt off of my back (which I have). There is no love like a mother’s love. When Gracie calls me on the telephone, I literally get butterflies because I’m so excited to talk to her even though I probably talked to her two hours before. To say that I suffocate, helicopter parent and spoil my child is an understatement and guess what? I don’t care. Don’t forget, I have the extra worry that I might not be here for much longer so I have to cram all of my love into each day in fear of the fact that there might not be many more days. ALS is fun like that. So, needless to say, having my daughter in my apartment on a daily basis right now is a gift. Or is it?

The hurricane arrived at 3 PM. She rang our doorbell and my husband answered the door and sweetly said, “Welcome home, darling.” Her response? “Did mom make you say that?”

Her immediate attitude set the tone of the weekend and we knew we were in for a treat. Here’s a little sampling of how the weekend progressed…

“Mom, I hate that headboard.”

“Mom, where’s the rug? You said you ordered a rug.”

“Mom, I want my own area in the refrigerator.”

“Mom, I only like light pink peonies… Not dark pink.”

“No, I cannot go to the garden with you for a walk. I’m here but not here.”

“Mom, just because you are a part-time vegetarian, doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Buy some beef!”

And then, Chickengate happened. I ordered Gracie €12 organic chicken breast from the market and I used it to make her favorite homemade grilled chicken Caesar salad… Marinated the chicken, made homemade croutons, chopped up the romaine lettuce just how she likes it, made homemade Caesar dressing just the way she likes it with only one anchovy, one garlic, easy on the lemon, shaved, not shredded Parmesan and a creamy sauce. She loved it and ate a giant plate of it with a Coca-Cola in my bed watching her favorite reality show #RichKidsOfBeverlyHills.

The next morning she woke up around noon and proceeded to make herself a breakfast burrito and left all the dishes in the sink. Lunch time rolled around and she marched into my bedroom and asked, “Where’s the chicken?” I explained to her that I had already used the chicken for her Caesar salad. All hell broke loose.…

“Mom, you know I need to have chicken in the refrigerator at all times. It’s what I use to make every meal.”

“Gracie, I used the chicken for your Caesar salad.”

“Mom! I had a whole week of meals planned with chicken! Barbecue chicken burgers, chicken nachos, grilled chicken sandwiches… Now what am I going to do!!!???!!!

“Gracie, just go across the street to the market and buy more chicken.”

“Mom! I don’t have time for that. Now my whole week it is ruined. Ruined!”

Gracie mentioned the chicken or the lack thereof about 400 times over the weekend. My husband asked, “Are we still talking about the chicken?” Sadly the answer was yes, we are still talking about the chicken.

We were barely over the chicken debacle when L’Oreal Hell started. Gracie had asked me to buy her a box of L’Oreal hair color because she was going to color/lighten her hair herself.

“Gracie, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You should go to a salon and have it done professionally.”

“Mom! I know what I’m doing!”

Flash forward to one hour later and my daughter has a head of orange hair and is in near tears.

“Mom! Look at me! What am I going to do? I have to go to a salon to have them fix it. Can I borrow €120?”

Gracie spent the next six hours googling which salon in Paris would be the most competent with color correction. She said she only wanted an American hairdresser who spoke English so she could explain the situation because this was “serious.”

It was Sunday so I asked Grace if she would go over to my favorite little church with me to light a candle.

“Mom! I can’t go out of the house like this!”

“Gracie, you can borrow one of my hats.”

“Mom! I hate all of your hats and I’m really depressed because there’s no chicken in the house.”

So, Gracie spent the rest of the weekend huffing and puffing, complaining that I don’t know how to shop at the grocery store, that my towels weren’t absorbent enough, that the house was too cold, that she would be “unavailable” all of July, that she needed my husband to go with her to a lip plumping consultation, that our shower didn’t have enough pressure, that she needed special ingredients to make a homemade leg waxing concoction, and for God sake why didn’t I buy crème fraîche at the market because I should know that she loves crème fraîche!

This little darling also gave us a list of To Do’s including transfer her bank account to a Paris branch, not the boondocks of Annecy and to stop looking at her so much.

Half of her suitcases are still open in the entry hall. Next to her suitcase is a toaster oven, a blender and a waffle iron… All of which Gracie expects me to find a home for. She cannot unpack anymore because she is “exhausted.” She also demanded to know what our cable package was and the speed of our Internet server.

The good news is that with Gracie moving back in with us, I have retrieved my camel colored peacoat, my Yves St. Laurent bracelet, my favorite Rose perfume, my suede jacket and a host of other articles that I did not know were missing.

It has been an emotional weekend with raging hormones, attitude, sassiness, judgment and an overall air of disgust. It’s clear… She finds us incompetent, nosy, full of unwarranted advice, annoying and for lack of a polite word… Stupid.

If you do not have teenage daughters and you would like to know what it’s like, check out my blog titled, “Living with Teenage Daughters is Like Living with the Taliban” HERE.

No matter what Gracie throws at me, I am just grateful that I can see her sparkly blue eyes, her rosy cheeks, her pink little lips and hear her angelic voice… through all the bitchiness. I am grateful that I am the first person she calls with good news or bad news. I am grateful that she asks my opinion even if she doesn’t take my advice. I am grateful that she does regard my sincere wishes for her to not get a tattoo, finish college, not move in with her boyfriend, speak French fluently, work towards a career so she is financially independent and can make her own choices, write thank you letters and try to be a decent human being. My husband is just grateful that Gracie hasn’t euthanized me. All we can do is laugh and know that this too shall pass.… When she moves out.

*Something you don’t know about me? I am so happy that my petite “smalls” sale went well. I’m so glad that you all liked everything. I really tried hard to offer something unique and très French with a range of price points. I would like to thank all of you for your kindness, sweet words and generosity. I am feverishly wrapping everything and getting it ready for shipment. The good news is that there was a fantastic fleamarket in the Marais quarter that my husband took me to over the weekend and I found some great items for the shop that I will post soon. Stay tuned…

A toute!

Brasserie Gabrielle

Does it get better that this? I think not. There is a reason why Chanel is the greatest fashion house and yesterday’s fashion show is exactly why. Held at the Grand Palais, Karl Lagerfeld transformed the joint into a Parisian brasserie. No detail was overlooked… Mosaic floor tiling, bistro revolving door, red banquette seating, French newspapers, white tablecloths, snooty waiters, perfect brasserie bar serving “Parisian ladies who lunch” grapefruit juice and pain au chocolat. Lemon tea for the well-dressed Chanel clad ladies at the tables. I mean, come on! And then, don’t forget, the reason for the show… The collection!

It was as if Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel was reincarnated through each of the models. Absolute Parisian sophistication. Uber chic would be an understatement. Each of the models wore identical two-tone iconic Chanel low slingback heels. I think my favorite look of the collection was the fitted yet movable classic tweed skirt… Midcalf! Genius. I don’t even have the words to describe everything, so let’s just take a look. You can check out the whole live show HERE but first here is a little tease of the show…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I want. I need. I love.

The show, as usual, drew quite the celebrity crowd. My favorite momager, Kris Jenner, was on hand to support model daughter, Kendell. Cara Delevingne graced the runway and Anna Wintour was front and center. My favorite style icon and a former Chanel muse, Ines de la Fressange, was in attendance and praised the show. Take a look…

 

 

 

*Something you don’t know about me? Well, today it’s really about Gracie, my daughter. Since Gracie was in the ninth grade, all that she wanted to do was attend NYU for college. She fell in love with New York when we were living there in 2009-2011. For ninth grade, Gracie was homeschooled and setting her own schedule so she had plenty of time to explore New York City. I took her everywhere with me, uptown, downtown, Brooklyn, Harlem, SoHo, the East Side, the West Side and everything in between. For 10^th grade, Gracie attended an all-girls Catholic school literally next door to our apartment on E. 68^th St. Every day after school, Gracie and her girlfriends would further explore the city as only teenagers could. Gracie was smitten. Riding the subway all over New York (in their sassy school uniforms), Gracie and her friends saw everything and were exposed to different cultures, different ethnicities, different socioeconomic backgrounds, hipsters, gossip girls, psychos, artists, musicians, different religions and everything in between. Gracie embraced it all. She loved going with her girlfriends to Dylan’s Candy Shop, California Pizza Kitchen, Serafina’s, Serendipity, Shake Shack and the Meatball Shop. Gracie was set to spend her future in New York City. NYU was her dream school.

At the end of Gracie’s 10^th grade, I was diagnosed with ALS. So annoying. Gracie had plans for God sakes and I just ruined them. We were leaving New York. We needed to go home to Santa Barbara for me and this monster called ALS. Grace was disappointed but knew that my health was more important. So off we went to Santa Barbara but Gracie never gave up her goal to attend NYU. Gracie homeschooled her junior and senior year in Santa Barbara. When the time came, Gracie started her application to NYU. I told her that she needed to apply to other schools as well “just in case.” Gracie reluctantly applied to a couple other schools, including American University in Paris. Applications were finished and sent off. Now the waiting game. Gracie checked the mailbox every single day. Months later, Gracie received her acceptance letter to another college in New York. She didn’t even really care… All she was waiting for was that letter from NYU. One afternoon a letter from NYU showed up in the mailbox. Gracie took the letter to her bedroom and quietly peeled it open without me knowing about it. 10 minutes later Gracie came into the living room where I was with tears rolling down her cheeks and a look of disappointment that I will never forget. I knew the answer.

Here we go again… I have to be supermom and “make it all better“ like I did when I had to tell Gracie I had ALS. To be honest, as crazy as this may seem, my ALS and Gracie not getting accepted to NYU were about equal on the devastation scale.… To both of us. It’s funny how when mothers don’t always have the fast answers, we seem to come up with something that works. I just told Gracie that there was obviously a plan for her… And NYU was not it. It broke my heart to see her so sad but I had to keep my wits about me and let her in on one of life’s secrets… Sometimes life sucks. Not everything will go your way and there will be disappointment, sadness and frustration. However, it’s how you choose to deal with it that strengthens your character. I told her she had two choices. She could either wallow in her disappointment or she could stay positive and look at different options. She was so upset all she wanted to do was go to her bedroom and cry for a while which she did. The very next day, Gracie received her acceptance letter to American University of Paris. She couldn’t help but smile. She knew that Paris was her destiny and her plans for New York were indefinitely shelved.

Fast-forward two years later, Gracie is living in Paris in her own apartment, has a French boyfriend who adores her, she loves her school, loves her friends and loves her super cool job. Gracie was at my apartment last night for a little impromptu dinner party. She was a little bit late because her school was on a field trip to the Palais de Tokyo, a building dedicated to modern and contemporary art. It is quite possibly the chicest spot in Paris with its Monsieur Bleu restaurant designed by famed architect and designer Joseph Dirand. I looked at her and said, “You still wish you were at NYU?” Today, Gracie graced us with an unusual double visit to my apartment. I asked her what her plans at school were for tomorrow. She told me that they were going on another field trip to the new Lanvin exhibit in honor of Paris fashion week. I looked at her again and asked, “You still wish you were at NYU?”

Usually my stories don’t really have any point or morals but today they do. We don’t always know the plan, we don’t have all of the answers, there will be highs, there will be lows, there will be challenges and there will be rewards… All that matters is how you choose to react. Look, after I was diagnosed with quite possibly the worst disease on earth, I chose to take the higher ground. I could have just as easily crawled up into a ball and depressed myself into my demise. I chose not to. I chose to be happy and I took my fate and chose to make the best of it ( Aren't I amazing?). What the fuck else was I going to do? I like to be happy. I think Gracie has witnessed this in me and chose to make her life in Paris the very best she could… And she has. I am a true believer that when one door closes, another one opens. Life is full of surprises… So just enjoy the ride. The End.

Photos courtesy the internet... Duh.

Training Wheels to High Heels: Paris Fashion Week 2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, it’s official. I had to take my first crazy pill since December and the decision has been made that I can never be a model. No, it’s not because I’m only 5’6”. No, it’s not because I have ALS. No, it’s not because I have a weak jawline. No, I can never be a model because I just quite frankly cannot cope with the stress.

Welcome to Paris Fashion Week.

The glamour, the excitement and the fashion equate to stress, near starvation, and a lot of “hurry up and wait.” Normally, I am only half interested in fashion week due to the fact that my obsession usually lies in furniture and antiques. However, living in Paris, you cannot escape fashion week. And I can doubly not escape Paris Fashion Week because I happen to have a petite supermodel in the making as a houseguest. Her name is Kelsey Owens and her mother is my really good friend, Debbie. They could have just as easily stayed in a model apartment but I invited them to stay with me instead for this week in Paris. Now, I have had a firsthand experience of what really goes on during fashion week… And the stress is nearly fucking killing me.

On top of watching Kelsey go through the rigmarole of fashion week, I also have to keep my eye on my other little darlings Gigi and Bella Hadid, my best friend Yolanda’s daughters who are petite supermodels as well. On top of that, I also have my little Gracie working behind the scenes as a fashion styling assistant. My plate is full of worry. That kind of worry that only a mother has. Even though all the girls are doing really well, it is impossible not to stress out a wee tad bit.

Let’s start with Kelsey. Kelsey is almost 5’10” tall and definitely at her fighting weight. Before you get on the Worry Train bound for Anorexia-Ville, this is the life of a runway model. It is what it is. Previously unbeknownst to me, there are different types of models. I just thought you had to be tall and pretty and could go for it. No no no. These runway models are a different breed. These are the super tall girls who are superduper skinny because that’s what the fashion designers call for. These are the girls who are at the height of the game of modeling. At any point of the day, during fashion week, Kelsey needs to be her thinnest physically and her strongest emotionally. At only 17 years old, Kelsey has the balls similar to that of King Abdullah of Jordan. She is a rock. Kelsey wakes at dawn after a good night sleep which is imperative to ward off any unsightly dark circles under her eyes. She forces herself to eat an egg white omelette at breakfast for protein to have the strength to get through the day even if she would really rather have a big stack of pancakes. I offer her a green juice filled with vegetables but that is refused because it could mess with her “fashion week digestive system.” Next, Kelsey scrubs her face clean of any makeup from the prior day. Apparently, when these runway models go to castings they are required to not have a stitch of makeup on their faces. Can you imagine going to a job interview with no makeup! Next up, Kelsey dresses herself in skinny black jeans, black Cashmere sweater, and her military boots. This uniform is required as Kelsey is skipping all over Paris at breakneck speeds, on the Metro, to get to her minimum 11 castings a day. She keeps her high heels in her backpack. She has to organize her schedule to make sure she gets to every casting on time and find the proper location in a city that is not her own. I took one look at her Saturday schedule and threw myself into a full-fledged panic attack and then I laughed out loud thinking, “Oh my God, how do the dumb models get through this week?” As much as this looks like an “easy job,” it is anything but. I dare any of you to try to get through fashion week



Kelsey Editorial

 

Givenchy at 10 AM. Lanvin at noon. Valentino at 2 PM. Balenciaga at 3 PM. St. Laurent at 5 PM… And then wait the rest of the day for callbacks. During these castings, Kelsey is required “to walk.” This means that the designer wants to see how she walks. The verb “walk” becomes a noun in the modeling world. Your “walk” can make or break you. Can you imagine the stress and pressure of walking in front of a room full of people who are judging every move you make. That alone would exile me from the modeling world altogether. I would be like, “Dude! This is how I walk. Take it or leave it.” Then I would cry. I have watched Kelsey “work on her walk” at my apartment. "Shoulders back, no bouncing, wide stride, resting bitch face, don’t swing your arms, be light in your heels.” It’s exhausting!

 

Kelsey Runway Proenza Schouler

 

Some days, Kelsey goes on “fittings.” On these days, Kelsey is required to strip to her skivvies and try on the designer’s collection over and over and over again. All I could think of was, “Oh My God, what to do if it is your “time of the month.” Apparently there is a new birth control pill that basically eradicates periods. Oh, that sounds real healthy. Once again, I would not make it one day in the modeling world.

 

Kelsey Runway Maison Rabih Kayrouz

 

Now, the waiting game arrives. Kelsey gets back to the apartment at about 8 PM every evening and all that she wants to do is eat and sleep. All we want to do is talk to her about her day. The last thing a tired, grumpy, hungry model wants to do is relive the day to her anxious mother and me. But we insist, “What happened at Givenchy? What did they say at Dior? Did they like your walk? What did they say!” Kelsey usually indulges us a little bit and then ignores us and does her own thing. We are left to interpret everything. We start to overanalyze and over think everything.

 

Kelsey A.P.C. Denim

 

The funniest part about this whole week is the polar opposites of my diet and Kelsey’s diet. I am required (to keep my ALS at bay) to basically pig out on a daily basis. Carbohydrates, fats, sugars, cream sauce, chocolates, butter, baguettes, crème fraîche, pastas… I could basically eat an entire ham in one sitting and my doctor would say, “Bravo.” Kelsey on the other hand is required to look like a pencil. She survives on a very specialized super healthy diet. It breaks our hearts that her mother and I dine on four cheese lasagna and homemade peanut butter cookies while Kelsey is extracting the skin from her grilled chicken breast. Kelsey takes it like a champ and keeps her eye on the ball and marches through. She knows that after fashion week is finished she will reward herself with the biggest fattest most delicious dessert on earth. And she will deserve every inch of it.

Now, I also have to worry about my sweet Gigi. Gigi was born to model. It’s in her blood. However, that doesn’t make it any less difficult for her. Sometimes I think she has the added stress of being the very best because that’s what everyone expects from her. The good news is that the only thing Yolanda, her mother, requires from her is to be a good person. Check.

 

Gigi Spanish Vogue March 2015

 

Gigi started officially modeling only a couple years ago after she finished high school. She hit the ground running and has become the “It Girl” of the modeling world. Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Check. Tom Ford campaign. Check. Maybelline campaign. Check. Gigi’s reputation precedes her. She is known to be professional, polite, and genuine. I know all of this about her but I also know that she is kind, loving and sensitive. Sometimes when I am out for a walk around Paris, I am bombarded with photos of Gigi. Huge photos on the sides of buildings and on buses. Huge ads in the Gallerie Lafayette. Without fail, I always tear up because I’m so proud of her. I have known and loved this little angel since she was in second grade and now there she is… Bigger than life.

 

 Gigi Runway Dolce & Gabbana

 

Gigi Runway Anna Sui

 

Now, I also have to worry about my little Bella. Gigi’s sister. Bella just started officially modeling this year and it’s a whole different ballgame. While Gigi is definitely the girl next door with her blonde hair and blue eyes, Bella is the mysterious chic model with her smoky eyes and pouty lips. But what people don’t know about Bella is that she is hysterically funny, silly and loves food. I always encourage her to write a food blog because she has a true love and appreciation for the world of cuisine. I love how Bella always brings out the silly side of Gracie.

 

Bella

 

Bella has just started her career and landed the Los Angeles Tom Ford runway show. I watched the show from Paris and when Bella came out onto the stage, I just burst out crying. I spoke to her a few days later and I told her that I was so proud of how confident she was on the runway and she said, “Ellie, I was scared to death.” Well, it definitely did not show and she was the consummate professional and rocked it.

 

 Bella Runway Tom Ford

 

Bella for Louis Vuitton

Lastly, my little Gracie. Gracie has been working her little fashionista butt off behind the scenes as a stylist’s assistant. She has been working on numerous different ad campaigns and is really learning the ropes. Gracie started her styling career when she was just in high school with her first internship at Santa Barbara Magazine. Santa Barbara Magazine is also the magazine that gave Gigi her first cover. Whenever Gracie is at my apartment, she will only take “work calls” in the other room and out of earshot from me. She is a totally different person in her work mode. She is polite, professional and courteous. She is required to call on big fashion houses like Chanel, Balenciaga, and Dior to organize the orders. These clothes are her responsibility and the pressure is enormous to keep track of everything. Grace is going to London for a job next month and I suggested that I meet her in London and we make it a “mommy/daughter girl’s night” in London. She, of course, screamed at me, “Mommy, I am in London for work and I have to get these clothes back to Paris safely. I don’t have time to have tea and “mommy time” with you in London, for God sake!” Well excuse me!

 Gracie in Paris

 

 

 Gracie in France

 



 

Gracie

 



 This evening, all of the girls were over at my apartment for dinner… Gracie, Gigi and Kelsey. We had a delicious dinner of homemade thai chicken spring rolls with peanut sauce. The girls all talked about their upcoming week in Paris. Gigi brought over a friend, the supermodel Karlie Kloss, who was the sweetest, most graceful and affable girl ever. I am looking forward to seeing Bella at the end of the week. If one more supermodel walks through my door, I think my Filipino caregiver is going to have a stroke.

Kelsey, Gigi, and Karlie Kloss at my apartment last night.

(As you can imagine my caregivers were miserable.)

 

 

Gigi and Gracie at my apartment last night.

 

Kelsey, my little nugget caregiver Joel, and Gigi

feasting on Joel's homemade Thai chicken spring rolls with

homemade peanut sauce.

 

 

 

Karlie

 

Karlie

 

All in all, I cannot be more proud of my Kelsey, my Gigi, my Bella, my Gracie and now sweet Karlie. The girls have demonstrated strengths tenfold to what we mothers have and remember, all of these girls are under the age of 20. I am proud of their work ethic, their determination and their ability to smile through a storm with patience and grace. Each of these girls put on a brave face, exhibit positive attitudes, work themselves to the bone, never complain and take the occasional rejection like a champion. It is not easy being in a world where you are judged on a daily basis by your looks and your style. I would crumble straight out of the gate. I would take everything personally, judge myself harshly and then most likely seek revenge.

The reward for all of this hard work is obvious. The fashion world is quite exciting. The clothes, the makeup, the jewelry, working in Paris… This does not suck. Even though the behind-the-scenes of fashion week is grueling, the end result is nothing less than fabulous.

Just for fun, let’s take a break from cooking and decorating, and focus on fashion until next week in honor of Paris Fashion Week. This ought to be interesting… Stay tuned.

"Living with teenage daughters is like living with the Taliban."

 

There is so much estrogen in this house that I think my husband may commit suicide or at the very least move out. I have done a headcount and in the past week there have been 12 girls at my apartment. 12 mighty girls… Not a wallflower in the bunch. My poor husband has been a witness this week to every range of female emotion and expression… Joy, laughter, tears, little bit of rage, moodiness, hysteria, disappointment, excitement, insecurities, confidence, bravado and fear coupled with a few “I love yous” and a few “I hate yous.”

While all of my adult girlfriends expressed these same emotions, it was our daughters that were really fucking masterpieces this week. What is it about being a mother that you can simultaneously love your daughters and want to sing their praises yet in the same breath also want to lock them in closets and not let them out until they learn how to say something nice. You have never seen so much eye rolling, huffing and puffing, guffawing, footstomping and turned backs. It was like Mean Girls 2: Paris Style.

Let me start with the cast of characters…

Gracie, my daughter, 19 years old. Nice to everyone except me. Shy and acerbic.

 

 

Sarah, Susan’s daughter, 19 years old. 19 going on 40. Doesn’t have time for idiots.

 

 

Kelsey, Debbie’s daughter, 17 years old. Master manipulator. Secretly working on ruling the world… One fashion show at a time.

 

 

Chloe, Sally’s daughter, 23 years old. Golden child. Future President of France.

The week started off with Gracie telling me that she wanted to go to New York… “because she was hungry.” She told me that she was sick of French food and just wanted “regular food” like Shake Shack and Trader Joe’s. My response, “Gracie, we had a deal, you cannot leave Paris and college until you speak French fluently and a cheeseburger is no reason to move to New York.” Her response, “You can’t tell me what to do. I have more college than you do under my belt so technically I’m smarter than you.” Yes, I wanted to kill her and start over with a new baby. Two days later Gracie was hired to assist a fashion stylist on a photo shoot for a British pop singer. Suddenly, Gracie liked Paris again. The day before she told me to never ever, under any circumstances, call her before 10 AM or after 10 PM. Suddenly, Gracie had time to talk on the telephone and tell me all about her wonderful job. Tuesday evening Gracie graced us with her presence at my apartment under the guise of spending quality time with me but I knew the truth… It was because I had chili and Fritos. I served my daughter a piping hot bowl of homemade chili with her favorite cheddar cheese and crème fraîche topped with imported Fritos and before she could take her first bite she looked at the chili and screamed at me, “YOU KNOW I DON’T LIKE ONIONS!”

Nothing I do with Gracie, towards Gracie, for Gracie is correct in her eyes. According to Gracie I am too loud, too talkative, too open, too rude, too happy, too pushy, too short, don’t do my makeup correctly, too bossy, have too many “acquaintances”, use the words “networking” and “journey” too much, butcher the French language, and overall just a total loser. I could win the Nobel peace prize and Gracie would most likely roll her eyes and say to me, “I’m pretty sure there must be some mistake.” If Gracie ever had to describe me I am confident the words “bipolar, unstable, embarrassing and lame” would come up.

Gracie only reserves this remarkable behavior for me… With everyone else she is an angel. With other people she smiles, with me she growls. With other people she is complementary, with me she is the New York Times fashion critic. With other people she will go out of her way, with me she does the bare minimum. With other people Gracie is impressed, with me Gracie has an overall feeling of disdain.

Words that came out of Gracie’s mouth this week…

“Do you realize you are too old to blog and Instagram?”

“One of your eyes is smaller than the other.”

“Can I have your Valentino handbag because it’s not like you can use it.”

“I thought you were supposed to lose weight with ALS.”

Gracie was in good company this week because her friend Sarah arrived. Sarah is my friend Susan’s daughter whom we have known since 2002. They are like family to us. Sarah is a tall, thin, drop dead gorgeous 19-year-old with bee sting lips, porcelain skin and bright eyes. Sarah has led a privileged life of private planes, mansions, exotic travel and private tutors however, she doesn’t give a shit. Sarah is “the cool girl.” Sarah is busy building her empire and thus came to Paris this week “for work.” She’s 19. When she is not doing some side work as a model, Sarah is launching her company. While most 19-year-old’s are at college sitting in History 101 class and experimenting with beer bongs at house parties, Sarah is at the European fabric show in Paris procuring new vendors for her lingerie line. When Sarah and Gracie were little girls, one day I took both of them to the Aspen library to check out some books. Gracie was knee-deep in Amelia Bedelia when Sarah said to me, “Don’t let Grace follow me because I’m going to go to the grown-up section of the library to read books about s-e-x.” Sarah was born an adult. Now that she is an official adult at age 19, her mother has now morphed into “the help.”

Words that came out of Sarah’s mouth this week…

“Mom, could you please call me an Uber.”

“Mom, could you please find my computer because I think I left it at the airport.”

“Mom, you’re asking too many questions.”

 “Mom, could you please pack my bags because I need to get back to Los Angeles.”

And then there was Kelsey. Kelsey is my friend Debbie’s 17-year-old supermodel daughter. Kelsey was in Paris this week “on hold” for a major fashion campaign. Witnessing what Kelsey has had to go through this past week has caused me posttraumatic stress disorder. Kelsey is not the typical editorial model, she is a runway model. Yes, these are the girls that are expected to weigh less than a pencil. I think I saw Kelsey eat a total of three bowls of Special K cereal for the entire week. She was hungry, grumpy and moody to no one… Except her mother. Kelsey’s mother Debbie did not stand a chance this week.… She was the designated punching bag. At one point during the week, Kelsey’s career took a left turn (for the better) and she was forced to decide whether to return to school for her second semester of senior year or focus solely on her modeling career. There were a lot of tears and no matter what Debbie said to guide Kelsey or comfort Kelsey, it was all unsolicited advice according to Kelsey.

Words that came out of Kelsey’s mouth this week…

“Mom! This isn’t your career.”

“Mom, I’ll call my agent when I want to.”

“Mom, I’ll eat next week!”

“Mom, you’re acting like Kris Kardashian.”

The only saving grace of the week was Chloe. Chloe is the daughter of my uber chic friend Sally. Just when I thought we had all failed as mothers, Chloe arrived. Chloe is the great white hope for mothers. 23-year-old Chloe is poised, well spoken, polite, endearing, educated, elegant and believe it or not… Nice to her mother. I don’t want to say that I wish Gracie were like Chloe but I wish Gracie were like Chloe. Chloe isn’t searching for her identity and is not at war with her mother. She already passed that phase and has come back around the block a civilized person… Unlike the three Tasmanian devils at my house. Just when you think your daughter might fantasize about your violent death, they come back around. They reach a certain age, experience enough of life, learn from their mistakes and realize that their mothers weren’t so bad after all. I am still waiting for this experience…

But don’t think that Susan, Debbie nor I are without our weapons. Trust me, we are experienced warriors. Our daughters will not win. Okay, maybe they will halfway win, but they will not totally win. My weapon is the use of guilt. I am like a professional Jewish mother in the guilt department. I can do it with a look, with my words or a quick email. Without fail, it gets the job done. Gracie usually snaps out of her shithead daughter mode for a solid 24 hours.

Debbie’s weapon is humor. After a tearful hour of Kelsey going back and forth about her decision to quit her regular school and to continue with online school while modeling full-time, finally a decision was made. This decision did not come easy and no matter what advice Debbie had for Kelsey, Kelsey was not listening. Debbie could not have been more supportive towards Kelsey’s decision telling Kelsey, “Kelsey, you can finish your second semester 12^th grade online without anyone judging you. You have been given an opportunity that you cannot pass up.” After the tears dried up and Kelsey felt confident about her decision to quit school, Debbie stood up and looked at Kelsey and said, “C’mon dropout, let’s go celebrate with a half of a grape.”

Susan’s weapon is subtlety. Passive aggressive subtlety. Susan can put Sarah into her place with three quick words… Loaded three quick words. All Susan has to say to Sarah when Sarah is being a bit righteous is, “Ohhhh, okay Sarah.” Somehow the tables are turned and Susan is in the lead.

If you have teenage daughters, don’t pretend like this isn’t happening to you as well. No mother is immune to this behavior from their daughters. If your teenage daughter is actually nice to you, it is all a farce and she is probably “sexting” and doing crystal meth. I guarantee it. No matter how horrid our daughters can be, there is no one we would rather spend time with. I eat sleep and breathe Gracie and my friends do the same with their daughters. Gracie spent the night with me while David was out of town a couple of weeks ago and I spent the wee hours of the night just watching Gracie sleep. Gracie rolled over, woke up, looked at me and said, “Stop breathing on me, weirdo.” Be still my heart.

Things we said to our daughters this week in Paris…

“Stand up straight, you look like a hunchback.”

“Call me from inside the taxi on speakerphone so the driver will know that you have a mother who is expecting you so he will not kidnap you.”

“If you are purposely trying to look like a slob in that outfit… Mission accomplished.”

“You look pale, drink this green juice, I don’t care if you think it’s gross.”

“Excuse me, missy, are you hung-over?”

 “Did you send a thank you letter?”

“What rhymes with witch.”

“Text me when you get back to your apartment so I have proof of life.”

“Do you need a therapist?”

 “Your Uber has arrived.”

“Let’s go over the rules again of how to spot a terrorist.”

“No, you cannot borrow that and yes, I will know if it’s missing.”

“Really? You don’t like lasagna this week but you did last week?”

 “No, your agent does not know what is best for you… I do, because I am your goddamn mother.”

“No, green beans are not fattening.”

So that, my friends, is my household this week… Amongst other things that we will get into tomorrow.

A toute!