Laurie’s Fun Field Trip: A Bird’s Eye View of “The View”

Hey, if the kids get to go to the zoo and the nature center, why can’t we moms go on our own field trips? That’s just what I did yesterday when a pal and I were part of the studio audience at “The View.” No misplaced permission slips, Dramamine-resistant bumpy school bus rides, or dorky buddy counts, either.

We were told to report by 9:30 am sharp and by 9:15, the line to get in was snaking all the way down the block. But when we made it inside, we…waited. And waited. And waited some more. It was like a line at Disney World with taller people doing the whining (Note to “The View” people: Martha has benches in her show’s audience waiting area). But. Whatever. The wait did give me plenty of time to freshen up my lipstick for what turned out to be my non-existent on-air appearance. You see, I had made it into one of the three-second sweep-of-the-audience shots when I went to a taping of “MARTHA” last year. And because my lips had looked none-too-glossy then, I was determined to Learn From My Mistake.

But even with wearing my lipstick down to a stub and missing out on my big on-camera moment, the experience was well worth the wait. First of all, right off the bat, as we were ushered into the studio, we got some fun freebies: a bright red View messenger bag, plus a bottle of fruit juice and a chocolate chip cookie to keep up our stamina (all that standing and sitting around can really wear a girl out). Then, after we were given some intricate clapping instruction (clap LOUD and a lot), the music was pumped up and the show went on the air at 11 am.

The chemistry of the four co-hosts made for such entertaining give-and-take (it really did feel just like a bunch of my friends sitting around chatting), that I had to stop myself from jumping in (but then again, it is called “The View” and not “Laurie’s View”). Plus, we lucked out with the guests: Danny DeVito (funny) plugging his new Xmas flick, John Stossel (smart) plugging his “20/20” special, and Thomas Gibson (hunky), plugging his TV show “Criminal Minds.” Together, they made The Perfect Man.

My insider’s view of “The View?” I had a blast, but maybe not quite so much fun as one of my fellow-audience members from down South who was actually celebrating her 61st wedding anniversary that day. She was more than happy to share her secret to a long marriage with her 180-something new best friends: she left hubby home.

PS: To "The View" Folks: Will guest-host for food (i.e. chocolate chip cookies)

Laurie’s Reel Thing Chick Flick Movie Review: "The Queen"

Okay, I promised a review of “The Queen,” my first movie of a recent two-movies-about-British-people-in-one-day cinema experience.

Let me say right off the bat that I am a bit of a Diana-phile. Call me a sap, but I read all the books and magazine articles routinely still published about her more than a decade after her death. Who can’t relate to “The People’s Princess” – a name whose origins, by the way, is revealed on the screen here (credit Tony Blair’s speechwriter). To me, Diana was a real girl with real foibles and failings thrust into a really dysfunctional family.

All the “action” (if you can call it that, this movie being the antithesis of "Casino Royale,” my second film of that day) takes place during that short period of time from right before Diana’s death to her funeral, and sheds light onto The Queen’s reaction (or lack thereof) to the country’s resulting outpouring of grief. All I can say is, if you think you have mother-in-law problems, they probably pale in comparison to Diana’s. And I’m pretty sure your M-i-L doesn’t carry her pocketbook around in her own living room, either.

The inside scoop, the actual footage of the stunning Diana, the breathtaking scenery and interiors, and the superb acting of Helen Mirren (sorry, Annette Benning; Mirren’s performance has Oscar-winner written all over it, plus this movie isn’t weird like "Running With Scissors") make this a must see.

And as an added bonus, check out the portrayal of Tony Blair as modern hubby with a working wife. So what if he’s the Prime Minister? You see him taking his own dishes into the kitchen and then washing them up. What a guy. My recommendation? Leave your significant other at home, but be sure to fast-forward to the kitchen scenes for him when it comes out on DVD.

Post-Feast Thanks

Now that the turkey – and our 16 feasters – have been welcomed, stuffed, and sent on their way, some additional thoughts on “Things I am Thankful For”:

1. The two glasses of wine I downed prior to Aunt Ethel informing me that she liked my hair color better last Thanksgiving.

2. Cousin Cathy agreeing to take home all the leftover desserts. (In years past, I’ve been known to put them in my husband’s car during clean-up for him to take to work the next day. Because while personal experience has proved that calorie-laden sweets in the garage will remain successfully off-limits, those in the downstairs freezer are still considered by some to be “in the house” and thus available for midnight consumption after being revived via microwave.)

3. (With apologies to Mother Earth from this frazzled fellow mom): Themed paper plates for pre-festivities munchies and post-feast goodies.

4. The seven hours I spent in the kitchen and thus not traffic, prepping for my extended family members.

5. Said family members, especially my newly minted Visiting Freshperson (think Visiting Professor, but with more mess, laundry, and way bigger food bills and lots less academic discourse and wide-awake appearances).

Hope your holiday was happy and that your leftovers were worthy of revival-by-microwave. And now I’m off to “rearrange” the freezer. Fortunately, Cousin Cathy doesn’t care for pecan pie.

Things 2 B Thankful 4

With my kids successfully out of elementary school, yes, of course, there are lots of things I miss (cuddles and a day without eye rolling top the list). On the other hand, there are lots of things I don’t. So in the “let’s count my blessings” Turkey Day spirit, I present:

“Some Things I Am Thankful I Will Never Ever Have to Do Again”

1. Divide two moms, one non-driving babysitter, a nanny with a brand new license, three car seats, and six kids into a five-day-a-week carpool rotation. (Did I mention that I am a mathaphobe who breaks out into a cold sweat at the thought of anything involving numerals?)

2. Help my little scholar solve math problems about trains leaving stations at different times going different miles per hour (I’d sooner add the passengers into my carpool rotation).

3. Make a 9:30 PM run to the art supply store for must-have ingredients for the Medieval fortress project due the next day at 7 am.

4. Stay up past my bedtime “helping” my offspring assemble said fortress.

5. Transport said fortress to school the next morning in a rainstorm with gale-force winds.

6. Decide which kid to leave waiting for me in the rainstorm with the gale-force winds when soccer practice and play rehearsal end at the exact same time on either end of town during rush hour.

7. Figure out a healthy snack to send into school that will actually satisfy the discerning palate of my future foodie.

8. Listen to my little scholar’s teacher muse aloud about the parenting fitness of those who send in “Froot By the Foot” as a healthy snack for their kids.

9. Single-handedly transform 62 empty coffee cans into authentic musical expression instruments (that would be drums to you and me) for Native American Day Feast.

10. Single-handedly consume the contents of said cans of coffee in order to pull an all-nighter on my assignment.

I know, I know. It does go too fast, and with it, all those delicious hugs and kisses. But hey, that’s why God invented dogs. In the meantime, Happy Thanksgiving!

PS: So what things are you thankful you’ve seen/will see the last of? I'd love to hear about them!

Fun with Film, Take 2

It’s getting colder here in the Northeast – the perfect excuse to indulge my movie-going addiction. Yesterday I even hit a new personal best: I saw two different films, in two different theaters, in two different towns, on the same day.

Just for the record, I didn't wake up thinking, "Gee, I really hope that I can spend 30 minutes watching the same five previews – twice – for movies that won't be out 'til April." I had plans to catch a single movie – a 2:35 pm screening of “The Queen” – with my sister and daughter at one of the only theaters near us still showing it. That morning, however, my husband informed us that he’d really really like to see the new James Bond movie in a different nearby multi-plex, and would we want to go see that instead? No, actually, we wouldn't. So guess who was guilted into rushing home after “The Queen,” taking a power nap, and heading out again for the 7:05 show of “Casino Royale?”

So, how were they? All I can say is, why do moviemakers even pretend that men and women want to see the same kinds of stuff? (For the record, yes, I know I am being very un-PC here perpetuating sexual stereotypes, and that lots of men appreciate a light romantic comedy and scores of women really enjoy the 007 movies, but…so be it.) Anyway, I LOVED “The Queen” (review to come in future post) but I am quite confident that my husband would’ve preferred spending five hours blacktopping the driveway than five minutes watching the royals dither over Diana. He and my seven preteen boy row-mates (it was so packed that we couldn’t even get seats together, though then again, maybe that was a good thing), LOVED the 007 movie, and me? Well, hate is a strong word but let’s just say that blacktopping has its charms.

You know, I remember feeling downright delirious when my kids were finally old enough to go sit by themselves in the latest Disney drivel being shown down the hall while my husband and I saw a grown-up film in the same multi-plex. So how about this, my genius idea for more compatible movie-viewing coupledom? Same sex auditoriums to be located side-by-side and offering simultaneous showings of suitable titles. So I could see the latest chick flick while he watches the newest gory guy release, and we could meet afterwards for co-ed dinner.

Then again, maybe that’s why God invented DVD players and Dominoes pizza delivery.

Laurie’s Chick Flick Book Review: “Notes from the Underbelly”

Okay, it’s been quite some time since I was “with bump,” but I just finished a really fun, smart novel whose main character is: “Notes from the Underbelly” by Risa Green.

I freely admit here that I first picked it up because of a) the cute title (i.e. it easily passed my personal “I wish I had written it” test) and b) the cover (a photo of a teensy bump – like my non-pregnant middle after I merely "evened out" the remaining portion of the leftover chocolate cake – wearing an adorable lavender-and-pale blue Pucci print-like skirt that easily surpassed my personal "I wish I owned it" fashion standard).

Fortunately for moi, this example of that too-often dissed genre of fine literature (i.e. chick lit) disproved the old “you can’t judge a book by its cover” adage. It turned out to be a great, sometimes laugh-out-loud read about a snappy and refreshingly un-sappy mom-to-be who is a college admissions counselor. (If you follow this space, you know that the whole college admissions mania happens to be one of my favorite "been there, so happy to be done with that" blogging topics.) So basically, no matter what age your kids – in utero through undergrad – there's something here for everyone.

Looking for a fun, light read? Check out "Notes from the Underbelly." As for me, now that I've finished it, I’m off to score a real life version of that “forgiving” Pucci skirt so I can really eat, drink, and be merry this holiday season.

Lights, Camera, and, Oh My God, What Am I Gonna Wear?

Well, it’s official. I successfully made it through my first live TV appearance to talk about the blog. Let me say this: it was definitely a whole different experience from “appearing” live on radio when I chatted on air plopped on my bed wearing sweats, no make-up, and my hair in a scrungied ponytail.

So naturally, my first call after finding out I was invited to be on cable News 12 TV on a Friday morning at 8 am was a desperate plea for an emergency hair repair appointment for Thursday night. Thanks to the magic fingers of Omar (like Madonna or Cher, he goes by one name) of Salon O in Byram, Connecticut (yes, I cross state lines in my search for haute hair) plus sleeping almost vertically on three pillows, and the contents of a whole container of industrial-strength hair glue (I mean, spray), the next morning my hair looked, if not like Katie’s, at least not like I had just taken off a woolen ski hat, either.

When I first got the call asking me to appear on TV, I happened to be headed out to meet a group of friends for dinner. Their unanimous reaction upon hearing the big news: “Oh no, what are you going to wear???” Frankly, that was my thought, too, once I had gotten the whole hair issue squared away. I ultimately went for that good old New York standby: the black pantsuit, enlivened in my case with a pale pink shell. Hair and wardrobe resolved, that just left scheduling the mandatory manicure – even though I knew there was no way anyone watching would be able to see if I even had fingernails, let alone that they sported a fresh chip-free French manicure.

So, how was it? Well, even though it felt like cardboard, my hair still retained the basic idea of the blow-out from the night before, and the smudged nail polish that I got from paying at the salon was barely noticeable, and…oh, you mean, how was being on TV? Well, though radio has the whole “no hair, make-up, nails, or wardrobe worries” thing going for it, being on TV was actually really, really fun, too. (A special shout out here to Amy Nay, Lisa Salvadorini, and the crew at News 12: you guys are great, and thanks for helping me not make too big a fool out of myself.)

PS Missed my four-minute segment? My mother-in-law will send you – and everyone in your zip code – a copy, gratis, so you can all check out my invisible manicure.

Wardrobe Hang-Ups

The other day I experienced the convergence of two happenings in my personal life the odds of which occurring simultaneously are about as rare as a lunar eclipse (or, in my case, one of my kids volunteering to take out the garbage): 1) I lost five whole pounds (I know Kirstie Alley just lost 70, but I still think five is a big deal, and besides, I don’t plan on modeling a bikini on "Oprah" any time soon, or more accurately, ever) AND 2) I had one whole hour of unscheduled, blissfully free time.

I know, unbelievable, huh? So instead of leaving well enough alone, I decided to venture into that scary of all possible places. Not my psyche – my (shudder) closet (also known as “where fashion mistakes go to die”) to embark on a shopping trip of sorts to see which clothes might be added back into my wardrobe rotation. Now if you’re anything like moi, and I am guessing I am far from alone here, while I have NOTHING TO WEAR, my scary place is actually crammed full of three separate sizes of clothing, as follows:

The Ideal: The size I hit for about three-and-a-half minutes in ‘97 on the grapefruit diet (think the college applicant’s “reach” schools: within the realm of possibility, but probably not happening unless Daddy donates a new stadium).

The Real: The size I really am most of the time (think “realistic” schools: you may not be dying to go there, but it’s a comfortable fit and "all" the 'rents have to shell out is tuition).

The (too) Comfy: The size that makes me wish for the return of the mu-mu (think “safety” schools: you can definitely get in, but you really don’t want to be there).

So, what was my verdict size-wise? My “real” size is actually a bit roomy, but the “ideal” is still too t-i-g-h-t. Think size limbo (like being wait-listed, it's better than an out-and-out rejection, but not exactly a "feel good" place to be).

That’ll teach me to venture back into the closet.

A Jolt of Joe: The Buzz

I read recently that as part of their master marketing scheme to achieve world domination (and have us all buzzed out of our minds), Starbucks plans 40,000 outlets across the planet. Some will actually be located right across the street from one another – because customers “can’t be bothered to walk very far” in their quest for a jolt of joe.

Now, I’m as addicted to my caffeine high as much as the next person (and though I – and my wallet – prefer the milder brew at “Dunkin’ Donuts,” I still favor the comfy chairs at Starbucks), but c’mon. Is it any coincidence that Ambien and other “sleep aids” starring in countless TV commercials are the new Viagra-du-jour?

Then again, what the heck. As one of my favorite refrigerator magnets reminded me as I just reached inside it for milk to put in yet another cup of my drug-of-choice: “Drink Coffee. You Can Sleep When You’re Dead.” Until then, I’ll continue to refuel with caffeine so that I can, as another magnet advises, “Do Stupid Things Faster With More Energy.”

(PS: Writing this blog entry doesn’t count, of course.)

More Fun with Household Hide-and-Seek

Like me, perhaps you share your life and household with a significant other of the male persuasion who has a hard time locating things around your mutual domicile.

The other night we (and I use that term loosely, as you’ll soon see) had a dinner party chez moi for 12 people the other night. My contribution? Inviting, shopping, cooking, set up, serving, clean up, etc. His contribution? Making a fire in the fireplace, turning on the stereo (see above, for more on my technologically-challenged diagnosis), and, oh yes, showing up. In the midst of my graciously helping settle our guests, letting out (and in) the dogs, fielding phone calls from my friendly local politicians to get out and vote – for them – and checking on the chicken, my husband, pressed into bar duty, calls out, “Laurie, where’s the ice?”

O-k-a-a-y. Let’s see, if you were ice, where would you be…the oven? No wait, the clothes dryer?

Our guests got a good chuckle out of this. “You’re gonna blog about this, right?” asked one. You betcha. And so I have.

PS: Thanks, honey, for always being such a terrific source of material.

How Low Did I Go

My name is Laurie and yes, I am a technophobe. In fact, one of the lowest points in my entire parenting career was due to my fear of, and unbelievable incompetence regarding, anything vaguely technological. So just how low parenting-wise did my technophobia make me stoop?

Okay, here goes, and it’s not pretty: Once when I was on deadline for an article and couldn’t get my fussy printer to just stop futzing around and actually print, I checked my son’s day A, B, C, D, etc. class schedule*, dashed over to his school to pull him out between classes, snuck him home to fix my pesky printer, and then ran him back late for his next class, armed with a purposely vague note about an “emergency appointment.” (In my defense, I never out-and-out used the words “doctor” or “medical.”)

I know. I deserve to have been written up by the parenting police. Fortunately for me, my son has since graduated from said educational institution. Unfortunately for me, he now attends one located 200, and not two, miles from our home. Plus, even though I pay tuition to it, it has not seen fit to share his class schedule with the likes of me.

*PS: If you don’t know what an ABC day school schedule is, consider yourself blessed. It takes the place of “art on Monday,” “library on Tuesday,” etc. and requires a NASA scientist to untangle what’s happening when and which day you have to load up the kid with the super-sized tenor sax in addition to the 60-pound backpack, pizza lunch money, nature center permission slip, and two-foot-high Medieval castle project.

The Wake Up Call

The other night my phone rang at 11:40 (that would be P.M.). My husband was out of town, so I was a bit nervous. It was (surprise, surprise) my Freshperson.

Moi: “Oh, my God! What’s wrong?”
Him: “Uh, wrong? What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
Moi: “Are you sure? Are you okay?”
Him: “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

O-k-k-a-a-y.

Moi: “So why are you calling NOW? Do you know what time it is?”
Him: “Um, yeah, of course. Listen, could you mail me my old Spanish textbooks?”
Moi: “AND?”
Him: “That’s it. Nothing else.” (Laughter in background; I hear him yell out, ‘I’ll be off in a second.’) “Listen, Mom, I’m busy. I gotta go now.”

PS: I know. I know. At least I heard from him. And hey, he must want those Spanish textbooks for something.

Laurie’s Reel Thing Flick Review: “Running With Scissors”

Just got back from an afternoon showing of “Running With Scissors.” Lots of pre-release hype and some buzz about Annette Benning being nominated for an Oscar for her performance in it brought out a bigger-than-usual crowd to my local multi-plex. I had planned to go with my chief fellow flick-goers, my sister and my daughter. But at the last minute my husband decided to join us. “Will I like this?” he kept asking. I knew I should have discouraged him but he still brings up the fact that I told him not to come see “Devil Wears Prada” with me and his pals swore it was funny. (I stand by my un-recommendation on that one – I loved it; he would have hated it.)

Anyhoo, I had read the memoir that the movie was based on and knew what we were probably in for. The other three members of my movie-going party hadn’t. Their verdict (and that of the rest of the audience)? Weird. Well, yeah. Augusten Burroughs, the author of the book, had a majorly weird childhood – his mother (Annette B., whose performance was indeed incredible) gave him to her wacked out psychiatrist to raise in a family that makes my mildly neurotic one look like poster people for mental health.

Sure enough, as we walked out, I heard one woman saying to another, “Thank goodness I didn’t bring George with us!” (Lucky her.) And then my sister kept on worrying about what happened to the book’s author/movie protagonist in real life. “Is he okay now?” she fretted. Well, let’s see, he had a book on the best-seller list for a gazillion years and now they made a big movie out of it with an all-star cast. I’d say he’s just fine and actually a whole lot better off than moi, who will basically never hear the end of having schlepped these three fussy film-goers to his movie.