Okay National Enquirer, you got me with that headline. You got my $3.99US (a random $5.49 if I were in Canada.) You win. Smut wins the day. Curiosity killed this cat, a mother cat desperately looking for a feeling that someone was doing a worse job than she in the grooming, discipline and care of her kittens.
I wanted those Hollywood moms to be out of control damn it! The cover promised “Boozing, Drugs, Stripping, Suicide Attempts and More.” More? You say. More than all that? Well I haven’t done any of those things in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours, so I will read on.
Turns out Kelly Ripa pretended to strip for a comedy event, told some jokes and went home to the hot husband she’s still faithful to. Also Kirstie Alley eats too much; I believe when she named her own show “Fat Actress” she was pretty much copping to that one. Janice Dickinson is addicted to plastic surgery and also has children, which is slightly disturbing, but she’s marrying a shrink, which is allegedly good news. Marie Osmond was depressed in 2006, Kate Moss did coke in 2005, and get this, you guys, because I know you are going to FREAK OUT, but Courtney Love, contrary to her squeaky clean image, has been a habitual drug user and may still be one.
It’s a shame they don’t wrap fish and chips in newspaper here, as at least this garbage would actually be useful for something.
Although still reeling from the other revelations in the Enquirer, like that Tori Spelling, Goldie Hawn and Lisa Marie Presley each had too much to drink ONCE, I will attempt to fashion some sense as to why this piece of Pulitzer Prize winning journalism would have appealed to me in the first place.
I am having one of those days where I feel that as a mother I am not good enough. Also, as an actress, not successful enough (though I just yesterday ran into a rabid fan who “almost died” watching my videos, which is, I guess a good thing.) While I have no bitterness about the creative work I have produced in the last decade or two, and in turn the difference that has made to many, for some reason I’m not thrilled that I still have no measurable income. Add that to the shitty motherhood complex and you have a recipe for “Low Self-Esteem”, the long anticipated sequel to “That Time I thought About Killing Myself When I Had Two Children Under Two And The Nanny Quit Without Warning.”
Although since Heather Locklear attempted suicide, it kind of lost its subversive allure.
I need to know that no one is having it all today, as I feel I’m having barely any of it. I want to be there for my kids, whose need for me is evidenced by six hang-up calls, one conversation and one message left by my older son insisting that I HAD to bring his iPad to after school care. The message he left an hour later was him crying, “Mommy, I’m so tired I want to go home.” My heart broke even though, I was an hour and a half away engaged in tedious therapy so I could be a better mother for both him and his brother.
While the iPad part made me consider sending him on a six-month sojourn to the Peace Corps in Uganda where they neither have iPads, nor even iPad cases to put them in. I am tempted to have a little chat about entitlement, and then let’s send his privileged white ass off to live in a hut, shall we?
But then, of course another part of me feels guilty for not being there when he needs me, for the fact that I keep them both in childcare until six o’clock, because it is so tough to handle them and otherwise I would never write a thing. A part of me worries that I have done it all wrong and need to start again as a stay-at-home mom who bakes gluten free banana bread, and does fun crafts and never loses her temper. And that part of me that I have to live with is the Jewish part. And it whispers in my ear that maybe the National Enquirer might be onto something, that sometimes a little guilt can be a good thing.