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 12th 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!
