Those Magic Moments

Summer has officially arrived. You might think I know that because it now takes twenty minutes to navigate through downtown Laguna. Or that I keep checking my bank account to see if I can buy some art at this year’s Festivals. No, I know that because my family and I were almost trampled at the Disneyland fireworks last weekend. The fireworks start at 9:30 p.m., but people were taking their spots by 6 p.m.. Can someone please get a life?

At 8 p.m., we decided we’d better find a good spot or else we would miss Tinkerbell’s flight to the Magic Castle. (See, we have no life either.) We found the perfect spot—right behind the statue of Walt Disney and Mickey Mouse holding hands. How perfect is that? Except that an ex-basketball player decided to hold up his cell phone the whole time, as if it was a high definition video camera with an infrared lens.

While we were waiting for the fireworks to start, people were pushing, shoving and stepping on us as they jockeyed for position. It was worse than Main Beach on Labor Day. I wanted to hold up a lighter, sway back and forth and sing Kumbaya, but my husband stopped me.

“That would not be a good idea. You will set everyone on fire,” he said, motioning for me to sit down.

I didn’t even have a lighter, but I’m sure I could have borrowed one from the mom I met at the hotel pool. She was smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes while her husband enjoyed the pool bar. Between each beer, he would belch and exclaim, “This really is the happiest place on earth.” He did not need to hear Kumbaya. He was already there.

So what does this have to do with being a mother? I was getting all vaklempt at Disneyland, as I watched my children grow up through Disney moments. It was only last summer when my five-year-old daughter couldn’t sleep because she was so excited to see the Disney Characters and Princesses. This time, she asked, “Is that Goofy or someone in a costume?”

“Of course, that’s Goofy,” I declared, hoping my four year old hadn’t heard her. Using the distraction method, I suggested, “Let’s go see if Cinderella is in front of the castle.”

“I’m not really into the Princesses anymore,” my five-year-old continued, “But I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” Give me a tissue, please. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we gave Belle her binkies to keep in the Magic Castle? I know I’m only moments away from hearing, “I’m not going to Disneyland. That’s for babies.”

I now understand what all those annoying people meant when they told me, “It goes so fast.” As I was changing two sets of diapers, living on four hours of sleep, and still wearing my maternity clothes, I could only think, “Please, make it go fast.”

I’m going to try and enjoy this summer with my kids. Have a few more Kodak moments that aren’t based around people in funny costumes. Of course, that’s after they get home from day camp. It’s important that they learn their campfire songs. You never know when Kumbaya could come in handy.

Our Next TV Show: The Laguna Literati

Once a month, I feed my kids dinner, put on lipstick and wait by the door for my husband to come home. When he walks in, I remind him that I am leaving. He doesn’t where I’m going, but he kisses me good-bye just the same. I quietly sneak out through the garage, hoping Daddy’s arrival will distract my oldest daughter from performing her off-Broadway show called, “When will you be home?”

I park my car and walk alone to the designated meeting place. I knock on the door twice, and then let myself in. I know my compadres cannot come to the door. They are engaged in highly important activities. They are shaking pomegranate martinis and baking a chocolate cake, all necessary items for the deep thinking that is about to take place.

We begin by discussing world peace, the village vs. nuclear family concept, and the mechanics of a bikini wax. We eat, drink and then eat some more. And when it comes time, we discuss the written word. Usually it is in the form of an article, but, whose word counting anyway? We are the Laguna Literati, women bonded together by our love of life and of course, literature.

When I heard about CBS’s new reality show, The Tuesday Night Book Club, I was frankly shocked that we weren’t contacted. Hello! We are a group of women who live in Laguna Beach, hometown to the world’s most successful reality show ever. Why didn’t they bring their cameras here and film our meetings? Mai Oui! They chose to follow a group of women in Tucson, Arizona.

After watching the premiere on Tuesday night, I understand why weren’t chosen. Our sisters in Arizona have much hotter lives than any of us Laguna Literati. Not only are they sweating profusely, they are juggling a husband who likes to swing, a family dog who ate the wedding ring, and a mom who is addicted to adopting animals. I know they are real people; but, I have a hunch that these seven women do not have a real book club. Surprising, I know. (We here in Laguna Beach know from personal experience that reality shows are not scripted and are completely accurate.)

For starters, they never eat a thing and consequently, look gorgeous in bikinis. But enough about my own bathing suit issues, I just didn’t see any chemistry. These women don’t seem to know each other. It gave me that TomKat feeling that makes you want to ask, “Exactly how did you meet each other?”

And, of course, they don’t read the assigned book, or any books for that matter. Now c’mon CBS, that is going to give book clubs a bad name. Is that your intention? To undo all the goodwill that Oprah has created for the literary world? Now our husbands are going to think that we just sit around, drink wine and talk about them. They need to know that the last point is absolutely false.

Upon further reflection, I am glad that my book-mostly-article club was not chosen for prime time. Fame would be too much work and not allow any time for my family. My days would be filled with designers begging me to wear their clothes, magazine editors fighting over pictures of my yet-to-be-conceived newborn, and nannies wanting to work for me so they could write a tell-all.

Wait a minute! Perhaps I’ve got it wrong. Laguna Literati is a catchy title. Do you think I could interest MTV? I’m sure a show about moms contemplating excessive body hair, happiness in the laundry room and the New Yorker’s latest essay is exactly what they’re looking for.

Tuesday Night Book Club airs on Tuesday nights 10:00-11:00 PM, ET/PT on the CBS Television Network.

The Call to Cleanse

It has been one of those weeks. Not one where bad things happened, but just an accumulation of annoying, irritating occurrences. It started when my youngest daughter threw up on my sandals. Nothing like some vomit between the toes to put you into a great mood. After I took care of her (she had that virus) and cleaned up, I realized that I had burned the rice on the stovetop. And then the washing machine started smoking, the toilet overflowed, and the sprinkler system leaked all over the front yard. Are we having fun yet? I gained five pounds, can no longer fit into my jeans and lost my daughter’s immunization book, a necessary item for school registration.

My breaking point came at the orthodontist’s office. After spending two hours in the chair getting my teeth cranked, I dashed out to the bathroom. Someone had forgotten to flush, so I gave it a courtesy flush. And guess what happened? That toilet overflowed, too.

There was only one thing left to do to cure this situation. When I got home, I grabbed a trash bag and went on a cleaning rampage.

“I’m on a mission,” I told my husband, “I am throwing everything away.”

“Just don’t throw out the insurance papers,” he replied. Now, I am not sure what that was supposed to mean, but I took that as permission to go through his clothing.

My friend Susan called right about the time I was filling up the third garbage bag with Polly Pocket and her evil plastic accessories the size of a breadcrumb. She could hear the excitement in my voice.

“You’re having a good day,” she remarked.

“Oh yes, I am throwing everything out, except for my husband and his insurance papers,” I explained. “It’s either that or pull a Bree from Desperate Housewives.”

“I have the perfect destination for your task at hand.” Susan, the ex-power broker who is tapped into a life outside of her kids, shared, “Classy Seconds, the store for Human Options.”

When she’s not running her kids to Miss Linda’s ballet class or changing diapers, Susan volunteers with Human Options, a non-profit organization that helps battered women and their families. The program has its roots in Laguna Beach, and was located here until 1996 when it moved to a larger facility. The Classy Seconds store not only sells items to help fund the shelter, but also provides clothing to the women and their families.

Well, this was all I needed. I headed back to my closet and took a good look. I had a perfect solution to the tight jean problem. The Throw Away Diet. If it doesn’t fit, throw it away! Surely, someone else would enjoy these jeans more than I do and I could use some room in my closet.

Eight garbage bags later, I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I think everyone needs to go on the Throw Away Diet, even if your jeans fit. So, Sister friends, it’s time to cleanse the closets and support our fellow Sisters who are having a hard time. Grab a garbage bag and start filling it up with those business suits you don’t wear anymore or that sassy shirt that never looks quite right. Classy Seconds is especially in need of gently used clothing for young children, teenage boys, men, and working women.

Who knows? The Throw-Away Diet might even bring you some good mojo. My washing machine started working again, my toilet flushes and best of all, my new jeans fit just fine.


After collecting your items, please call Susan Giusto at tel. 949.376.7191 for Laguna Beach drop-off information. Classy Seconds is located at 419 E. 17th Street, Costa Mesa tel. 949.631.4696 and accepts donations MWF 10 am-4 pm. For more information, please visit www.humanoptions.org.