I am so depressed. Instead of eating fabulous French cuisine prepared by the world-renowned chef Michel Richard with Oscar-winning writing director Brad Bird at Social Hollywood, I am eating French fries and pizza with my children at Chez Marchant. Earlier in the day I had high hopes that I would find a babysitter (or my husband) to watch my children and then have one of my girlfriends accompany me on a journey to Hollywood to enjoy fabulous French Cuisine and Red Carpet Festivities celebrating the upcoming release of the DVD of the Disney movie RATATOUILLE . Instead of dining with film stars Patton Oswalt, Brian Dennehy and John Ratzenberger, I am dining with my own entourage— Em, Tessa, Sam and Jack. Why? Because my husband had to work late and there seem to be no babysitters available in Orange County.
So instead of writing about my fabulous evening in Hollywood, I am fantasizing in Dana Point. Fantasizing about the evening that might have been just about one of the most exciting evenings of my life since motherhood. I’ve decided since Mothering Heights has asked the question: If you were going to write a hoax-filled novel, what would it be? I will entertain this question with my hoax— more like a fantasy, but hopefully this will do.
“Not Just Another Hollywood Evening” By Liza Marchant
After a whole day to pamper myself, by having what has now become my annual haircut and having a facial waxing to remove my unsightly facial hair and a makeover, I am ready to wear the fabulous outfit I found, that magically makes me look like a “Red Carpet Lady.” Somehow, the ten pounds I have put on over the past month due to my lack of exercise and overindulgence in brownies have mysteriously melted away in time for me to wear my “little black dress.” I look fabulous, unrecognizable to my own children as my seven year old exclaims, “Who are you and what have you done with my mother. You look like a star!” And my response is, “Mommy’s having a night out sans children! And just in case you don’t know what that means, I am going out without you, my little darling! Now, no pouting, you will be having an entertainer, I mean babysitter!”
As my luck would have it, Super Nanny (ABC being an affiliate of Disney) heard about my little dilemma finding a babysitter and immediately sent over their top notch nanny to allow, me, an esteemed writer for Mothering Heights the chance to cover the Premier Disney Event of the month at Social Hollywood. If the truth be known, when Oscar-winning director Brad Bird heard I may not be able to make it because of a babysitting dilemma, he was the one who made the call to Super Nanny. You see, having three children of his own, he secretly reads Mothering Heights for the best advice on parenting and motherhood anecdotes and it is how he has had heard of me, Liza Marchant, by my days as a guest columnist for Mothering Heights. He found my writing to be quite humorous and “witty” and had been wanting to meet me to discuss the possibility of writing a script for an animated movie on motherhood.
Now with a Super Nanny at my door and a suitcase of goodies to entertain my children, I was ready for the stretch limo that showed up with six of my absolutely fabulous friends. I will not mention any names to protect the innocent (as well as not to exclude anyone, you were all there with me in spirit). Off to Hollywood! We were all dressed to the nines. It was only a matter of hours (due to traffic on the “5”) before we found ourselves walking on the Red Carpet into Social Hollywood with the Paparazzi following us asking the inevitable question, “Who are you?” My response was with an air of confidence “The A-List of Motherhood!”
Photos were taken and we pushed through the crowds of people and onlookers to the front of the line to get our table. There was no need to check the list for our names as Michel Richard was expecting us! Oh, yes, Liza Marchant from Mothering Heights. “Bonjour!” I tried not to drool as he shook my hand just wondering what type of treats he had whipped up for us. No sooner had we entered, were we sipping the finest champagne, CHAMPAGNE PAUL BARA, and having appetizers such as his infamous Duck Rillettes and Faux Gras Terrine, Onion Tart, Crab Cakes with Leek Tartar and Smoked Salmon with Corn Brioche.
With all of this indulgence, my thoughts were as far away from motherhood as they could be. No thoughts of the bedtime ritual whining and resistance to turning the lights off. No negotiating one more kiss or one last drink of water. I was a writer covering the latest Disney Event in Hollywood, eating the best French food west of Washington, DC. I was just moments away from my meeting with Brad Bird. Of course I took some time to mingle with some of stars from the movie, Brian Dennehy and John Ratzenberger.
Then came my moment of glory as a writer. Brad Bird introduced himself. I expressed my admiration for his work in animation and then we began discussing an animated comedy portraying “motherhood.” A topic I knew well and wanted to pursue. I myself was not an artist, but I had a vision. A cartoon character. A mother. Forget Desperate/Real Housewives. I had this image of a depressed housewife in Orange County. A cartoon mother always lamenting her image of being “stained.” The signs of motherhood: the peanut butter from her toddler’s hand in her hair, the wet spots on her shirt from her leaky breasts, the bags under the eyes, the baseball-capped-hair and of course t-shirts and sweatpants. The typical signs of a shower and sleep deprived mother. All in Orange County California. The non-glamour of being a mother in an otherwise perceived glamorous place. A future meeting was set in stone and I was soon leaving in my limo ride back to motherhood, back to Dana Point, but I was no longer the struggling writer, but a hopeful author. I was on my rode to success!
Yeah, right! More like my hoax, because there was no Super Nanny at my door. There was no babysitter with a suitcase to entertain my children. There was no one on one meeting with Brad Bird. But I did spend a day working all angles to no avail. In the end I was stuck at home, not eating French cuisine, unless you count the French in fries. I was just a mother of four. The struggling writer with big dreams, plugging away at my daily blog and writing as a guest columnist for Mothering Heights and the Anchors Newsletter (for my church) hoping for a break both literally and figuratively.
