So we've had several readers and friends e-mail us about good old Gwynnie's latest installment of GOOP in which she and two of her besties give advice about "finding balance" as working mothers.
If you haven't read this brilliant piece of unintentional comedy I suggest you do so. Immediately. We'll wait.
And now for LiLa's take:
Lisa on Tuesday, January 18th, 2011:
Vaguely hear Jack and Mia stampede out of their room and into the bathroom. A loud crash startles me out of my twilight slumber, Mia starts wailing and Jack screams at the top of his lungs that he HATES HAVING A SISTER. I drift back to sleep. 20 minutes later the kids are downstairs watching Sponge Bob or some other show that's strictly forbidden unless mommy's too tired to get out of bed and I've managed to drag myself to the bathroom and throw on some yoga pants. Grab Ben, feed him, attempt to referee any fights that break out between the other kids with arbitrary threats I'll never follow through with like, "IF YOU DON'T STOP SCREAMING I'LL THROW AWAY ALL OF YOUR TOYS." Effective parenting FTW.
March everyone into the car like a psychotic drill sergeant. Notice Mia has her shoes on the wrong feet. Too tired to care. Ben screams for the first 15 minutes of our car ride to school and I blast Mumford and Sons in an effort to transport myself to my "happy place." Fail. Ben finally falls asleep just as we've pulled into the parking lot of Jack's school. Jack immediately leaps out of his car seat, kisses/head butts Ben and the screaming resumes almost immediately. Crank the radio up a little louder. Come to a rolling stop, shove Jack out of the car and laugh maniacally when his teacher shouts after me, "Did he have a lot of sugar this morning?" Thank God for preschool.
When I tell Mia we're headed for the gym she cries and I end up promising her a donut if she'll stay in the playroom for an hour. Get to the gym, toss Mia and Ben in child care, race to the elliptical and jack up the Pandora app on my phone. Attempt to hide when I see the child care manager roaming the gym like the angel of death five minutes into my work out. I know deep down in my heart of hearts that the bell tolls for me. And sure enough she gives me the nod. Try to convince myself that a 5 minute workout is better than nothing. The yoga pants cutting into my gut tell a different story.
Pick Jack up from school, slap lunch on the table and attempt to bribe the kids into taking a nap with promises of a special treat when they wake up. They "sleep" for 10 minutes, demand a treat and I end up locking myself in a closet to talk to our publicist. See, you really can have it all!
Flip on Dora around 5 in an attempt to make dinner. Kids find out I'm making Chicken Parmesan and carry on like I've announced that they'll be eating Bambi for dinner. They beg for Toy Story Mac and Cheese. Jack hides the uncooked chicken in the basement. After 10 minutes of searching and screaming I find it, I cook it, and everyone refuses to eat it.
Kids get a quick shower, brush teeth and are summarily tossed into bed sans foot massage. (Um, seriously? Do any of you massage your kids' feet? Am I missing something here? I mean, I pat myself on the back if we make time for a story.) Feed Ben, quick chat with my husband and then I stare at my computer for two hours in an attempt to write this lame ass blog post.
And that my friends is a little something we like to call REALITY. You should try it sometime, Gwyneth. It's riveting.
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Don't call this a comeback
So it’s been a minute. Or 10. Or truthfully more like 2,102,400. At least we think that’s how many minutes there are in 3 years, but let...
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I like how Stella's daughter says I need a poo. On a monitor. Too funny. Girls, I posted good news round one on my blog today. Round two is simmering...
I need a foot massage.
So I visited that link and I just have to say that rich people are so full of shit. I can't believe that Juliet lady acts like being a partner at a venture capital firm is time consuming. I work for a huge, wealthy international corporation and anyone above the VP level is in the office maybe 10 hours a week, and when they're there, they aren't busy. The little people do all the work, they just make all the money. Give me a break.
Okay. End rant. Now I'll read your actual post.
I hope you realize that you never said anything about putting a shirt on. I can only assume you sleep with a top on, which is essentially none of my business in the first place.
Okay, so I finished reading, and all I can say is: let's just make sure your novels sell well enough so that you can afford a personal trainer who knocks on your door at 6AM (who needs a trainer to use the elliptical anyway), a nanny, a maid, a driver ... you get my point.
What? You didn't get a weekly blowout? That would have made all the dif in the world.
This was awesome.
Here's how out of it I am. What IS a weekly blow out? Is that like when my mother used to go to the hairdressers to get washed and set every Thursday? More than anything this gives a good indication of the disparate "classes" in this country. Can that woman Julia really think her life is reality based? (I gave up half way through Stella). Yuck to them and more power to you Lisa!
I bet ya they live in california. Oatmeal with maple syrop and fresh organic berries for the whole fam? Farmer's markets? Ya. Sounds like a west coaster to me.
Why, you don't have a nanny or a chef? I don' t know how you people do it. Because of my nanny and my personal chef I'm able to spend quality time with my kids so will they turn into well-rounded spoiled rich kids as opposed to the spoiled rich kids you see in rehab. And you still go to the gym? How quaint. I have my personal trainer come to the estate.
:)
You and Matt crack me up!
Yep, reality sucks sometimes, but look at the brightside. One day they'll all be in school fulltime. Only 5 more years to go (unless you go for a family of six). :D
Oh! My! God! Stella McCartney loves her exclamatory punctuation.
Reading those entries made me want to hurt someone.
And, oh, man, when I used to bring my kids to the gym the childcare workers would walk down the aisle with your name scrawled on a posterboard. No getting away from that.
Great post.
The problems is that you don't have a fish monger. Gwyneth has a fish monger, and her life is perfect.
It's all about the fish monger.
(As a kid....I felt the same way about Chicken Parmesan....just sayin.)
Thanks for the smiles.
I would eat your chicken parmesan.
I look forward to when my kids are all going to school. It'll be a long wait though... I still want 2 more kids.
Ok, this all just scares me. You, Gwynnie, even Stella. I am so tired and my baby isn't even here yet.
I am in so much trouble.
Oh how I love you lovely lovely ladies...
I cannot get over that issue. I had read it before your post (sadly I subscribe but more for the same reason you do...- way too much fun)and laughed my head off.
Wonderful post!
Visit My Kingdom Anytime
Even with blow outs and personal trainers who help wake her up on Mondays, I guarantee you she has days like the one you described. Because EVERYONE has days like that. Unless she's a space alien. Hmmm....
LOL, yeah that GOOP site is a bit ridiculous. I'd like to see how they'd do in a normal person's life for a day.
Yep, that last eye roll after reading the blow out chic's daily routine has given me a massive headache. It may be an aneurism. If only I had used my iPad to its full potential, I wouldn't have missed that appointment with the neurologist.
Where is my damn Moleskin notebook when I need it? Possibly I left it with my personal trainer... GOOP is already a fave of mine. Now you know why. Do not mock the Gwynnie wisdom. Do not.
Okay back to my day job and my 6th period English class. to whom "blow out" means something far different.
LOL! I could've written this post. Except for the baby-feeding. :) And I squeeze in going to work-where I deal with some kids I'd rather not deal with-for 6 hours. Good times.
:)
Yeah, that sounds kind of familiar...except for me, I skip the gym (been called away from 5 minute work-outs one too many times and have just decided to be "mom frumpy" for another 2 years), convince the kids to "play together" which invariably ends up with someone bleeding, and stare at the clock until 5pm when I can pour myself a glass of wine.
As far as I am concerned, if they are alive at 5, I've done my job.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!
That's all I have to say about Gwynnie's BUSY BUSY life. (and the other women too)
Yours, however, is so reminiscent of mine in so many ways... I'm laughing at how nuts we moms living in reality really are. ;)
Number One: There is no way in hell I am touching my kid's feet.
It sure is awesome to see a day in the life of busy mothers and their nannies and personal trainers.
To you, Gwyneth, I don't care how you phrase it...you just spent a day on the phone, trying on clothes, and performing Karaoke.
Go sell your crazy somewhere else. We're all full up here.
The personal trainer coming to my door? Check. Weekly blowouts? Check.
Expensive electronics, iPad and all the others? Check. Steel cut oatmeal in seconds? Uh-huh. Farmers market and family cooking time every Sunday--how'd they know?
Doesn't everyone have this? Hmmm....
He hid the chicken in the basement? Seriously, that's genius. Way more effective than under the table or in the trash. You would've found it FAST otherwise. Jack may have a future in politics.
I'm sorry, but--no, I'm not sorry--I think Gwenny is fibbing. She for sure washes her hair every day. And I don't buy the protein shake. Those things are loaded with calories. That body? No. She probably sleeps until ten AM when the housekeeper brings in her cappuccino and croissant and the kiddos for a quick peck on the cheek before she's off to make a movie somewhere. Maybe Gwenny should write books. She's full of fiction.
Sorry your day was so tough...
Oh, Gwynny. You are so insanely funny. If only it weren't unintentional. I totally skipped over the busy mommies she interviewed to get right to her schedule. Lemon flavored flax oil for the kids every day? Huh? And what a drag to have to pick out six "looks", Gwyn. Can't someone do that for you? Sigh. It exhausts me just reading about being you.
And that's after a day of being me. Which includes being up at 5, out the door by 7, teaching first grade all day - which, by the way, Gwynny, you would never survive, and for which your everyday look is "can I sit on the floor in this?" - play rehearsal after school, run to pick up Kid 1 from school and Kid 2 from preschool, fly to Burger King cause hubby isn't home and I don't have the time or energy to cook, get home to dog whose bowels exploded all over the playroom rug, plant the kids in front of a movie to spend half an hour cleaning up said rug, bathe children, get them to bed, go back in to my 3 yr old's room 85 times because "MOMMY, my shoulder won't stay in my blanket!"...
Damn. I just can't get to Plants vs. Zombies today, Gwyn. How DO you do it?
I'm still laughing about hiding the chicken in the basement!!! I guess it could be worse; he could have fed it to the dog or thrown it out in the backyard!
Love you guys and your reality checks!!!!
OMG thank you so much for linking to GOOP, that was hilarious. I love the way the venture capitalist woman is SO SMUG about spending 'a full 15 minutes' with her kids - are you freaking serious?? Ugh.
And the way they all go on about being so brilliant with their time management - hell, if I had an assistant, a maid, a nanny, a chef and 53 other servants I'd spend all my day in a hammock drinking margaritas, so I don't think you're managinging your time Very Well At All, ladies.
My mom and I just laughed so hard we almost had dire consequences. And that's my tell-the-truth-Saturday.
LOVE the posts about your kids, Lisa!!
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