what I saw at the golden globes (m)

Lyn asks me if I'm going to watch the Golden Globes.  I have seen just two movies this year.  I remark that it would be like dropping in on an AP Physics class, never having had the basic course.  I'm afraid I won't understand what's going on.

Instead, I tune into the red carpet segment.  I'm looking for ideas for formal wear for my niece's wedding in Newport.  I can't find a "gown" to wear.  I know the overweight actresses from The Help and Bridesmaids will be there.  Wonder if I can catch some ideas from them.

Here they come...first Octavia Spencer from The Help.  Oh, a lavender dress.  The front part looks like something Kate Smith used to wear with its obvious panels to flatten her stomach.  The fluttering sleeves mask, but do not hide, her big arms.

Wait...here comes Melissa McCarthy.  Ugh.  A tent dress a la Mama Cass or Totie Fields.  In bile green, no less.

My takeaway from the scene?

There's no disguising heavy.  No matter how much money you have.  Not even if you have professional stylists.

Keep losing weight.

diana (m)

I loved Princess Diana since she was first introduced to the world.  We first bonded over our prominent noses.  Imagine, a beauty icon who didn't have a button nose!  I loved it.

My greatest compliment came in 1981 when Rusty, someone with whom I worked, stopped mid-conversation in the hallway of our office in Boston and said, "You remind me of an ethnic Lady Di."  I was over the moon.

My wedding dress was reminscent of hers.  We both gave birth to two boys.  We were like twins.

Later on, my respect for her deepened as she dealt with her emotionally bankrupt husband.  I was fascinated to see how she eclipsed him and moved on with her life.

And then, on that awful night in 1997, I was flipping through the channels of my television when I stumbled upon what appeared to be an accident scene somewhere in Europe.  I watched in horror as the news unfolded.  When they announced her death, I felt a piece of me die.  No exaggeration.

For the next few days, I could not function.  I wore my pajamas and took to my couch, box of Kleenex in hand.

On the day of her funeral, little Harrison came up to me as I was lying prone on the couch, eyes red and puffy, and asked, "Mommy, do you love me as much as you love Princess Diana?"   Oh, Chr-st.

Only then did I rouse myself and move on with my life.  But the world has been a less interesting place for me ever since.

So, imagine my unbridled enthusiasm to actually see the dresses she wore.  To be that close to her.

My sister-in-law, godmother, cousin and godmother's husband came with us to the Princess Diana exhibit at Foxwoods.  My husband got us all tickets for Christmas.  We went through the different exhibits...the Spencer family historical section, the estate at Althorp, Diana's childhood, the wedding, the funeral, and then the dresses.

I had read every book on Diana and was giving my family a private tutorial.  I knew about the family history.  The Spencers were more British than the Royal Family.  I pointed out the sister Charles dated before he dated Diana.  I spared Charles no kindness, setting up this 19-year old ingenue Diana for an arranged marriage whilst he was keeping that horse-faced Camilla on the side. Before long, I had a whole entourage of people who wanted to be part of my tour.

When we got to the dresses, even I was rendered speechless.  It was beyond my comprehension.

She was unimaginably tall....and impossibly thin.

That's where the similarities between us end.

a farewell breakfast (lyn)

Alexander is returning to school today.  Last night he tells me that he’ll probably take an early bus, though I know this will never happen.  It doesn’t.

Around noon, Alexander is ready to go.  “Bye, mom,” he announces as he’s putting on his coat.  He thinks he might be able to catch the 12:30 bus.  He still needs to find where he’s going, buy a ticket, pick up lunch, and take a cab crosstown in midday to Port Authority.  I tell him he’ll never make it, and wonder aloud what would make him think he could.  I convince him (through food, not logic) to take the 2:30 bus instead.  "This will give us time to go out for breakfast,"  I say.  He doesn't resist.

We choose a local diner.   It’s crowded, but we manage to get a table right away.  Alexander orders simply:  an omelet, toast and orange juice.  I want the eggs benedict or pancakes, but because my son is showing restraint, I order two eggs over medium, then cave and get bacon and an English muffin.  At least I pass on the potatoes.  I enjoy the company, but less so the food and surly waiter.  I feel greasy by the time we leave. 

Alexander is back at school by six, and I am on my way to theater with Penny, having eaten only soup and yogurt with fruit for dinner.  There has to be compromise somewhere.

I am home by ten, hungry and a little lonesome.  The big bowl of sorbet I eat helps only the former.

week in review (m)

I'm up 0.4 lbs.

This, after a week of grilled foods, fruits, vegetables, no alcohol, no cookies, no candy and that vile Zero Point Soup with cabbage that makes me feel like a homeless person eating out of someone's garbage can in a back alley before trash pick-up.

This sucks.

bigger and older (lyn)

Two stores; that is today’s shopping limit.  Two stores and no more than an hour.  These are the instructions Alexander gives me before leaving to walk a few blocks to 79^th and Madison.  It is freezing out, finally.  My kind of weather.

Our first stop is Joe Fresh, a new pop-up store that has great styles, quality, and ridiculously low prices.  Alexander gets three cashmere sweaters marked down to $49 each.  The 18-year old salesgirl thinks Alexander is, “in his twenties.”  While there, I decide to try on a pair of $19.95 cream-colored cord jeans, except there are none on display.  The salesgirl asks for my size, and says she’ll go in the back and check to see if there are any there.

Me:  I think I’m a size 27.

Joe Fresh Salesgirl:  Our clothes are marked, 0, 2, 4, etc.

Me:  Oh, then I’d probably be a 6.

JFS:  No way you’re a six.  I’m a size zero, so you’d probably be about a two.

Me:  No, I am definitely not a two.  And not even a four.  Really, I’m a six.

JFS:  You are not a six.  But let me check in back and see what we have.

Fortunately, she has no pants in any size, so I am saved from the embarrassment of proving her wrong.

Our next and final stop is J Crew to look for shirts.  Another cute young salesgirl helps us there.   Alexander and I disagree over a shirt that I like but he doesn’t.  The salesgirl says, “I can see where your mom might not like it.”  And I calmly respond, “Oh, I’m not his mom; I’m his girlfriend.”  The salesgirl laughs after a momentary flash of fluster.

Maybe, just maybe, a naïve salesgirl can think I am smaller than a size six.  But no degree of gullibility can reasonably convince anyone that I’m dating a 19-year-old. 

perfect day with my son (lyn)

So today is the day we didn’t have on Friday. 

After yesterday’s weight scare, Alexander wants to eat cautiously.  Breakfast for the two of us is eggs (him two, me one), bagels (his real, mine the 100-calorie mini), lox, and cream cheese (his plain and manufactured, mine with scallions and homemade by Agata).

We watch another half-episode of Homeland and are on the subway heading to Soho by 11:30, early for Alexander.  He tries to negotiate the number of stores we should visit and he concludes that three is a good number. Shopping with Alexander is not a gee-that'll-be-fun activity; it is more, I-want-more-shirts-so-this-is what-I-have -to-do-to-get-them-because-my mom-won’t shop-without-me-and-return-the-ones-I-don’t-want-later. 

Our first stop is a big warehouse sale for All Saints.  We walk in and there are two big floors with racks and racks of coats, pants, shirts and sweaters marked 70% off.  There are also half-hung clothes everywhere, hordes of pushy people, no dressing rooms, and just a couple of mirrors.  Within five minutes, Alexander announces, “I don’t see anything here, let’s go to J. Crew.”  This is not a shopping environment for a novice.

At J. Crew, Alexander tries on a handful of things, and settles on a gorgeous, size small green V-Neck cashmere sweater.  We discover a well-kept secret:  if your child is in college, just mention it at check-out, show a college ID, and get 15% off everything you buy.  This must be a new concept in marketing: offer a great promotion but don’t tell anyone about it.

We next go to Uniqlo (not civil enough), Bloomingdales for Calvin Klein T-shirts (they are out), and a trendy boutique (the colors of the sweaters on sale are too similar to what Alexander already has).  By now, we’ve exceeded the number of stores Alexander has agreed to shop in by two so we head home.  On the way to the subway we pass a gourmet cupcake vendor.  I ask Alexander if he wants one.  He passes; it’s amazing how much discipline he has when he’s trying.

We get home and I make some squash-apple soup and have that for dinner with a salad and grilled chicken.  Alexander skips the soup, has a gigantic piece of grilled chicken, and about a pound of steamed broccoli.  We watch the end of a playoff football game, and the last two episodes of Homeland. 

Alexander has a sharp sense of humor, is quick-witted, and a master of accents.  Many times tonight I crack up laughing.  In two days he returns to school.  I will miss him all over again. 

an indoor day (lyn)

A few days ago, I tell Alexander that Friday will be our day together. “And you get to choose what we do, where we go, and what we eat.”  I make some suggestions:

“What about the Carsten Holler exhibit at The New Museum?”

“Or, would you rather go to The International Photography Center?”

“What about seeing the 911 Memorial?

“Do you still want some new shirts?  We could go shopping.”

I don’t bother mentioning a movie (which he’d rather see with friends, and besides, I have every good movie at home) or a play (he views theater as punishment).

In my fantasized view of the day, I picture an early start, maybe a museum in the morning, a nice lunch, and then some shopping and walking around Soho in the afternoon.

It takes hours to get Alexander out of bed, showered and moving.  Finally, around 12:30, he decides on bagels, with lox and cream cheese, so we begin the day with a very late breakfast and episode #8 of Homeland (our recently discovered new favorite show; we want to finish all twelve episodes before Alexander returns to school on Monday).

At two pm, I finally convince Alexander that we should leave the house.  He asks for ten minutes and then falls asleep.  Later he tells me he was up until five this morning; "I couldn't sleep."

We never leave the house.  Instead, I bake some lemon bars, we order in sushi, and together watch another episode of Homeland.

Later, Zelia, Robyn and her friend Arlen come over to watch Senna.  Zelia, who hasn't seen Alexander since the summer, mentions that he looks heavier.  "Your face looks fuller," is how she puts it.  Alexander gets on the scale and sure enough, he's up ten pounds.  But at 162 and 5'10", he still looks slim.  He has more discipline than I do.  He passes on the lemon bars and starts quizzing Zelia on a healthy snack list she recently sent to her son.  I should tell him right now; my weight watchers scale is not going to Cornell.