Take a step back ladies, he's all mine

I was feeling pretty gross yesterday. We've been working non-stop, and between shooting, I've been living in sweats, and I noticed the other day that the tops of my knees are starting to get this weird wrinkle, and my skin is perpetually so dry it's all chalky, and no matter how much concealer I use I have big black circles under my eyes like Rocky Raccoon but not catchy at all. I was standing in the kitchen singing Mr. Lee by the Bobettes to try to psych myself into a good enough mood to get through Jack's bathtime and bedtime routine, (because there is NO better song for this purpose) when I got an email with a link to this page about supermodels without no make up on, from Nipper Knapp:

Look at them all bobble headed and smutchzy. Don't get me wrong, I know these girls can wear a dress like nobody's business, and that they are all gorgeous, especially Jessica Stam down there in the corner, I mean come on! But en masse like this, it looks like police line-up on pinhead island. 

After mentally trashing beautiful women who are all younger than me (minus Elle Macpherson who btw is  a very tan member of the undead, because that bitch hasn't aged a bit), I felt much better. Thanks Nipper Knapp. I love you just as you are too. Just for that maybe I won't wear my retainer to bed tonight. Me-yow...

I'm getting very sleepy...

Dear Self,

Don't forget to get a door jamb thingy, or a towel, to seal the door to your office. Otherwise, when the gardener comes and he runs the leaf blower outside the door for what seems like a really, really, really, long time, I mean what the hell is he doing out there, it's a breezeway for crying out loud, you will surely suffocate and die from the fumes. And seeing how you can't come smashing through the door choking and wheezing, because you are in fact hiding from your two year old, who if he finds out that when mommy goes to "work", she is really just in the garage, your whole life will come to a screeching halt. Gas mask, wet towel, proper door installation. Whatevs. Make it happen. Also don't forget, because they come every two weeks, and your fragile lungs really can't take this again.

Sincerely,
The Lady of the House

omg y'all, it was like crazy up in here

I would like to apologize for my unannounced leave of absence. We shot a pilot. No seriously. Nipper Knapp wrote a tv pilot, and then we decided we would shoot it ourselves. And never having produced anything in my life, save some very small scale still photography shoots, I was all "yeah, that sounds like a great idea!". Dumb dumb. I'm so tired, my hair is sleepy. I've been living on dark chocolate, soy lattes, adrenalin, and love. Sleep and vegetables are so 2009.

That's me shooting my first car scene with a redrock micro eyepspy deluxe steadicam rig. Who knew?!

Every single day for the last week, some new plague has befallen our home. Cough, food poisoning, out of town actors, no show nanny. Fun. We still have one more day of shooting, and one night shoot that will include a pyrotechnics effect, that we still aren't sure how we are going to do. You know, no big deal, just like everyday around here. 

Jack looking all moony at Greg our sound guy in the back of the Prius

As soon as I have 5 minutes, I'll sit down and tell you all about our crazy adventure, how it never rains in LA, how our 2 1/2 year old wants to be best friends with our sound guy, how it takes two grandmas to shoot your own tv show, and how Nipper Knapp is king dreamy on superman island.


In the meantime, I wanted to share two disturbing things I found at Target recently. The first is awful, in a why do little girls need to look like hookers, kind of way. The second is awful, in an oh there are sad lonely cat ladies whose mother's never dressed them like hookers, kind of way. Oh and p.s. I put Fiona on a cargo plane to Oregon to live with my mother today. SO long $400 stray cat, it was nice knowing you. Jack's not too broken up about it, but I think that's because he still thinks that Nana lives in Palm Springs. Just a car ride. Sorry buddy. 

           

These are teeny tiny, like they would only fit a 5 year old. I love me some hello kitty just as much as the next girl, but seriously?

A sherlock holmes hat for your cat. Of course...

Happy Anniversary. A day late and...

Yesterday marked my 6th wedding anniversary with Nipper Knapp. We've been completely consumed by our filming projects, and Jack being possessed by the devil, (more on that later), so we agreed that we weren't going to do anything special this year. No dinner, no date night, no surprise presents. Just a "happy anniversary", and back the grindstone. I was able to sneak out for a much needed manicure/pedicure yesterday afternoon. I've been going to the same place for 9 years. Totally unsolicited, and not knowing it was my anniversary, my manicurist said "Marija remember how nice your nails were before you got married?" WHA?! First of all, I think she might have esp, because they are cash only, and in 9 years, I have never uttered my name to them, one day they just started calling me by it. She goes on to say " You remember, how you used to have such nice nails? Now you have husband and a baby, and now your nails are terrible. Your cuticles are so dry. They are a mess". I laughed and said, we are thinking of having another one this year. To which she said "Ugh, then you'll just come in here and say 'pedicure only please' what's the point". Was that true? Did she really remember a time when I had nice nails? I don't. 

We started shooting the pilot that Nipper and and his writing partners wrote this week. Besides directing it, and shooting it ourselves, we are also acting in it, dressing all the sets, finding the locations, scheduling the actors, and feeding everyone. We have 13 actors, 2 toddlers, a sound guy, and a partridge in a pear tree. Our sound guy got some kind of barfing thing after our 1st day of shooting, so we've had to postpone the rest of our shoot until the middle of next week. Needless to say, it's a been cuckoo. Nipper caught some kind of hacking cough thing from Jack, that Jack caught from Cleo. We're getting about 5 1/2 hours of sleep a night, and are constantly asking each other questions that neither of us can answer.

Nipper Knapp at a cafe in Paris 9 months before Jack was born

Add to all of this our toddler being taken over by some kind of nails on a chalkboard disorder. At 4:50 every morning, for no reason other than his mind has clearly been taken over by evil gnomes, Jack commences whining in the loudest voice he can manage "NOOOOOOOOOOO Daaaadeeeeee! Don't go back to SLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" Over and over and over, until our ears bleed and we commit our morning ritual of sepuku. There we lay disemboweled, in a pool of our own blood. The continued whining falling on deaf ears is my own private little waking up fantasy. Mother of the year. 


"What's that sweet pea? Oh I'm sorry mommy can't hear you, because Daddy and I got out our samurai swords and killed ourselves while you were carrying on, in there. Now why don't you go make yourself a bowl of cheerios and watch some Curious George while I get this all cleaned up". 


He's also taking to throwing things at our faces, and hitting and kicking us for no particular reason other than apparently to see what we will do, and then no matter how we react; calm reasonable modern parent; exasperated frazzled retro parent, he just laughs at us like we are fools. Then he does something so sweet and adorable that it's reboots our brains, and we forget that he just tried to murder us. Does anyone know an exorcist? Or somewhere else Jack can live until he's 4?

In the pink elevator at Fauchon Paris

Where was I? Oh yeah, working with Nipper Knapp. So far it's been awesome. SO unlike any other "working with a partner" experience I've ever had. He knows exactly what he needs from each scene, but doesn't resort to any sort of Stalinesque tactics to get there. Something I myself am totally guilty of. But I shouldn't be surprised. That's why we got hitched. Because in the midst of everything that is rotten, and hard, and unfair about life, Nipper Knapp is the thing that makes it all worthwhile. My friend Shaboom who has the dreamiest single girl life in Paris ever, wrote me a funny note on FB this morning, saying Happy Anniversary, and did I want to trade lives for a little bit. My hair has gotten weird, and much less girlish, my cuticles are a mess, I can't remember anything from one day to the next, I don't even want to talk about my boobs. But Nipper Knapp acts like I'm the only girl in the world for him. So as much as I daydream of walking along the Seine, drinking wine, carefree and happy, I wouldn't trade the mess that we call Mr and Mrs Nipper Knapp for anything in the world. I live you, you ate my wife... (Nipper's most romantic smart type corrected text to me ever)

Sweat Shop Paris

This shout out goes to all my Paris peeps. Ok my one Paris peep. Shaboom, please go forth and sew! Ces deux boutons mignons, Martena and Sissi, opened up their own little sewing cafe in Paris. It's called Sweat Shop. They have classes, machine rentals, organic tea and treats to eat. I don't know them. I've never met them. But I love them, and I want to spend one day in their shoes. Next time I'm in Paris, I'll be sure to take some fabric. That way I can say "Oh that old thing? I made that one summer in Paris." 

Welcome to the darkside

My brother and my beautiful 6 year old niece Anoushka visited last week. They live in Seattle and have been coming down once a year to visit and take Anoushka to Disneyland. She is like many girls VERY into princesses, and can name every single princess buy their first name, even Cinderella, who's real name I just learned is Aurora. Wow Disney, taking to another level with this generation huh?

When she was 4 going on 5

The first time they came down to go to Disneyland Jack was 4 months old. Not old enough to appreciate the "Disney Magic" and I spent the whole hot day huddled under the monorail with my pink cheeked baby sending Nipper text messages like "unhappiest fucking place on earth" and "How many fat people in wheelchairs does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Terrible. It brought out the worst in me.

Sweet kiss from his cousin under the shade of the monorail

But now he's almost three, and save one family we know, we are the only parents in LA who don't take their kid to Disneyland monthly. When we tell people he's never been, they eye us suspiciously, like they are trying to figure out if they should wait until we leave to call social services or if they should just grab Jack and run. The dad of one of Jack's friends exclaimed "What are you guys COMMUNISTS or something?" To which I say, "ask my designer shoe collection."


So off we went last Wednesday. We packed the kids in the car, slathered in sunscreen. Filled a bag with baked organic snacks (maybe I AM a communist!), film in the camera, or iphone in the pocket that is. Jack napped on the way, and woke up cheerful as hell. It was like he had already breathed in some of that sweet Disney elixir and was ready to bubble and moon through the park with the rest of them. Sorry my insides are a gnarled and wicked thicket.

When she was 5 going on 6

But I'm not completely craven. I mean we went to Disneyworld in Florida when I was a kid. And I loved it! Although my brother reminded me this wasn't until I was 7 or 8, which means he was 11 or 12, meaning his entire youth was spent bereft of any kind of normal American frivolity. But basically we were kibbutzniks minus the Judaism. I seem to remember some birthdays at Farrell's. Oh old timey candy sticks and gibson girl costumes, wherefore have ye gone? My parents seemed to eye most consumer events with derision and contempt. Mcdonalds? For fatties. Six flags? Rubes. Zehnders chicken dinner and neopolitan ice cream? Why on earth would ANYONE feel the need to go there? As much as I promised myself I wasn't going to raise Jack with the same indifference to mainstream pleasure palaces, I often find myself totally understanding why my parents abstained. Mcdonalds IS for fatties. I've never ever met a roller coaster I liked, and Zehnders? No comment.

We got to the gate, paid our small fortune and entered. I was trying to keep a stiff upper lip and a brave face. I was talking a in a really high squeaky voice that sounded both unnatural and slightly terrified. "OH LOOK JACKIE, IT'S MINNIE MOUSE!" I chirped. "who?" he mumbled. Poor baby. But then a few minutes passed. We got on the omnibus which took us through all the shops, successfully bypassing one of the things I dreaded most about the day which was the unending places for kids to beg for plastic crap made by children their age in Myanmar. We headed through the gates of the castle and I started to relax. The kids were both happy, smiling, stunned. We went on the teacups and Jack looked completely delighted and asked to go again. We had their faces painted and ate lunch at a picnic table completely forgoing the snacks I had packed. We bought two $9 Buzz Lightyear cups, a snow white sparkle purse and glove set, 6 mini notepads and pens with all the disney princesses on them, two balloons (princesses for Anoushka, Tinkerbell for Jack), ice cream, cotton candy, two swords, and a light saber, and didn't look back. We had fun. Not just any fun. Family fun.

Glee!

Isn't she just the bees knees?

We won't be ordering up our yearly passes. But next year, when it's comes time for Anoushka's yearly Disney visit, I will be filled with anticipation instead of dread. Because I am a good U.S. of American...

Fashion victim

You know how just a few years ago we were wearing pants with like 11 inch zippers and no one thought our butt cheeks looked like smashed bananas? Then a few years later our zippers got as short as 3 inches, and we were baring not only our belly buttons, but also our cracks and way too many muffin tops, and again, no one said "ahem, ladies, what were you thinking?" Trends come and go, they become so common that we cease to see their ridiculousness. Remember 1996 when we were all wearing Mac Diva matte lipstick. We looked like walking corpses. Really glamourous corpses. Of course in a few years, I'm going to be laughing at the barely there lip glosses we've been wearing for the last 5 years.

So here it is. The latest trend that I find vaguely revolting, but I've given in, joined the club, sold my soul. Toms shoes. They are so ugly they are cute. They look like I should be wearing them to wash my sarong by a dirty river. AND they're for a good cause! They remind me of the espadrilles that my mom and I wore in the mid-80's with our Laura Ashley dresses and Pappagallo jumpsuits. (oy) I bought two pairs yesterday at Picket Fences on Larchmont. A red pair and a silver glitter pair. I went online and saw this cute pink seersucker pair with rope soles, that I'm pretty sure I'm going to order today. On the one hand they are SUPER comfortable, and come in cute colors, and there is the whole for a good cause thing. For every pair we buy, Toms gives a pair of shoes to a child in a developing country who has no shoes. On the other hand I know in my heart of heart that they are f'ugly, and I will laugh at them some day.

Before Jack was born, I didn't have one pair of flats, not even boots. I wore heels every day. I owned one pair of tennis shoes but they were more of a fashion statement than an actual comfortable athletic support shoe. Oh the times they are a changing. Next stop nursing clogs....

Bacon shirt

I just want you all to understand how hard this whole ass reduction process is going to be for me. To understand what kind of girl I am.

Over the weekend we were out in Palm Springs visiting with Jack's nana. On Easter morning, I got up and went into the kitchen wearing the shirt I had slept in. Mom was cooking bacon. After brunch we all went swimming. After a long day in the sun, and in the pool, we all came home and showered.

The next morning when it was time to leave, having run out of clean clothes on our three day weekend, I threw on the shirt I had slept in Saturday night. It smelled like bacon. "Hhhhmmm" I thought. "Bacon shirt. Delicious!" I sniffed it the whole drive home. Yum.

Oh my god! Is that my ass?!!!

My ass on our wedding day (my butt, not Nipper Knapp!)

Last night in a fit of love for his wife Nipper Knapp showed me a video he had taken clandestinely on his iphone over the weeked of my butt...walking...in a bikini. He thought he was being nice. He thought he my butt looked great. Thus the video. Unfortunately, upon viewing, I did my best not to burst into tears and start googling liposuction. How did that happen? My ass is white, and flabby, and just, ICK! I'm so ashamed. Not only will I be in a burka by the pool in Palm Springs next weekend, but once I'm done with physical therapy, I'm going to start exercising again, for realz though. And I'm never eating again. (just kidding mom, hold your comments please) But maybe a few less In & Out burgers, and a few more salads. My brother who is visiting this week from Seattle said I should be happy my husband is secretly videotaping my butt and not someone else's. Nice. 


In the meantime, here is my recipe for "company's coming french toast". Nipper's mom made it the first time he took me home to meet his parents before we were married. Good little wifey that I am, I wanted to learn to make something that his mother makes that he loves. Mine has kind of become more of a bread pudding. YUM! So this isn't Meema's recipe, it's my modified version. I've never made it with chocolate croissants or that yummy chocolate sourdough from Zingermans, but I bet that'd be really yummy.

 

2 loafs of Texas toast or any thick cut white bread. If you can only find thin sliced, stack it three high in the pan instead of two high

2 sticks of butter 

1 1/2 cups brown sugar

1 tbsp cinnamon

1 tbsp vanilla

6 eggs

pinch of salt

1-1/2 cups of milk

 

Melt the butter and pour into the 9x13 pan

Mix the brown sugar and cinnamon

sprinkle that mixture of the butter

cut the bread and lay in the pan (the recipe says one layer, I usually do two layers, three if you have thin cut bread)

coat all sides of bread with the butter and sugar mixture (I do this with my hands as it's kind of a paste)

beat the eggs with salt, vanilla, and milk and pour over the bread

turn the bread once then refrigerate overnight

heat the over to 350, turn the bread once again before putting it in the oven

 and then turn the bread again after it's been in the over for 30 minutes

bake another 15 minutes until the edges are golden and the whole thing is fluffy and you can't wait to eat it!

 

The total baking time is about 45 minutes.

I find this is best served with lots and lots of crispy bacon.

Au revoir giant booty. Also au revoir french toast and bacon.

 

The weekender

For Nipper's, ahem, 40th this year, I bought him a proper weekend bag. It's Jack Spade, and it's not prissy or fussy or shiny. It's manly and durable and just the right size. Problem is, I don't have a proper weekend bag. I KNOW! How ever do I wake up in the morning and get on with my life? Don't despair. I'm working on it. In my search for the perfect bag, I found this from Studio Cherie on etsy:

Come to Mama! 

Lucky me, she sells them, and she also sells the patterns! I have so much pretty fabric in the pink man cave that I can now actually see. Maybe I'll make one, maybe I'll make two. MAYBE I'll start making them like crazy and have an etsy shop of my own! Uh-huh. As soon as I learn Final Cut Pro, finish my Lady Gaga video, finish my lap quilt (which is coming along nicely), learn to make a gourmet meal my whole family will eat, sew a dress from a pattern for sewing class, oh yeah, and find time to go to work, and sleep. No problem. Should be done by 2011. Of course that leaves me with no time to actually go anywhere for a weekend, but I won't let that stop me. 

While you're there, check out these little clutch purses she sells for bridesmaid gifts. So cute. I would have loved one of these to match any of the taffeta get-ups I've worn as a bridesmaid. I don't have an evening bag either. Stop it! I KNOW! How could someone who goes out to dinner twice a year NOT have an evening bag. So maybe I'll order one of these too. Or maybe I'll sit in my pink man cave and sew 10,000 of them. You know the drill

death to foodies!

I had the movie Julie and Julia on in the background when I was sewing the other day, and I was so hungry by the time it was over. But I didn't want just anything. I wanted pan sauteed bruschetta with fresh tomatoes, basil, and garlic. I wanted roast chicken with mixed vegetables. I wanted steak au poivre and frites. I wanted a big glass or meritage and some kale with garlic and lemon. I'm pretty sure I went inside and settled for a mixed green salad and yogurt. I love to eat. I love to cook, but I never have the time or the energy or the will to do it. I don't know why? So many of the things I love to eat are very simple.

I read an article once about a mom who had been a food writer, and food lover. By the time her kids were 8 and 10, she realized there were only 4 or 5 meals that she could make that got no complaints from anyone. She was dying from food boredom. It's so easy to get into a recipe rut. To make the same things over and over that
A. your kids will eat
B. you can also stomach
C don't take more than 15 minutes.

I hate most of this food. Nipper and I have found ourselves deep in the territory of making separate meals for Jack and for ourselves. We are doomed. I don't remember my mother making separate kid meals for us. I'm pretty sure we were expected to eat what they ate? Maybe my memory is fuzzy on this. I do seem to remember a good 10 year period where I ate a peanut butter (NO jelly) sandwich every day, so...

I seem to be surrounded by people who love food. They love to talk about food. They love to look at pictures of food. They love to talk about people who write about food. Most of all they love to cook and eat great food. Me, I love to watch food movies. I miss good food. That's not to say we don't go out and eat well from time to time. I just wish we did more of it at home. I wish I was that mom who had the ability to get everyone to the table all at once, happily eating the same thing.

Here's to that. Keri of My Year Started Tuesday, sent me this link to David Liebovitz's website. The link was sent to her by Shaboom of French Skinny. I have no words for the wealth of incredible recipes all in one place. I love and hate this man. He was a chef at Chez Panisse in Berkeley for forever, and then he moved to Paris in 2002. He also wrote this book, The Sweet Life in Paris, which I think might be next on my bedside table. Because he's California meets Paris he has 10 billion recipes that are right up my alley.  Mesquite chocolate chip cookies? Yes please. Candied bacon ice cream!? I love you! Polenta ice cream (which reminds me of the corn ice cream, I had at Grace one.) YUM! Carnitas? Yes ma'am! Homemade kosher dill pickles? I can die now. He has everything else from sauces and sides to whole meals, and drinks. I don't know if this is someone that Shaboom knows over there and has the good fortune to dine with. But if that's who's food she's eating and losing pound after pound month after month... I'm in. 

Happy Easter Bunny Cake! It's a tradition!

To look at me today, in my pink frosted man cave, quilting organic cotton doodads, you'd never suspect my Sid and Nancy like adolescence. Imagine me, 15, shaved head, pierced nose, sullen face, smoking a pack of newports a day (classy), wearing knee high red doc martens that between you and me, I thought looked spectacular with the orange lining in my flight jacket. Cute. I was really mad, but I still like to match! (Pictures, please. I know. But I'm in Palm Springs, so I promise to upload really mortifying pictures of me, fat, bald, and chain smoking when I get home) 

Sid and Nancy. Ick.

The Easter that I was 16, not the brightest day in my family's history I stayed out all night taking mescaline (for the first and last times) with some friends. This was probably 10-15 minutes before I was shipped off to boarding school. But that's another story. I showed up around 10 in the morning, after everyone had gone to church. My mother was in the kitchen preparing the meal for the day. She'd probably been worried sick. When she saw me walk through the door I'm sure she was furious. But all she said was "go clean yourself up and come down here and help me get ready."  It's been decades (not that I'm old enough for decades to have passed) since I've done drugs, or smoked cigarettes (ok, maybe there were a few sneaky cigarettes). But I DO continue to try to match my boots to my jacket. Old habits...


 So for those of you out there who might be wondering if your teenager has in fact been replaced by body snatchers, they'll be fine...
Someday...
Maybe...
Mostly.

Every year for Easter my mom would make this bunny cake. Apparently. I don't remember. I think I was high on something. Ok, lots of things. She made it every year. I wasn't high for all of them, but enough that when she brought up the bunny cake a few years ago when Jack was born, I was all:

"Huh?" 

And she was all:

 "You know the bunny cake I made every year for Easter. With the coconut frosting. It was a big deal. You and your brother loved it!" 

I'm not sure but she might have also shouted:

 "IT WAS A TRADITION!"

Ok, so then I kind of felt bad. I mean I guess I did have a vague recollection of a bunny cake but I had stronger memories of stuff like the shoe boxes she would cut a slit in the top of, cover in tin foil, and pink and red paper doilies, the day before Valentines, so I'd have a pretty mailbox when we passed them out in class. And the times she would bring me breakfast in bed on my birthday. And how she never forgot that I loved cantaloupe, and my bagel toasted dark with the cream cheese ALL the way across it, not just in the middle. And the Brachs black jelly beans her mom, my grandma would eat by the bag full. She had a dalmatian named Romeo and she would share them with us, me and the dog standing by her side waiting for a treat. "One for you, two for me". Are you starting to see where all my clever crafty goodness comes from? 

A few weeks ago when we were in Target (stop it, I know) looking for LOL stuff, my mom stopped in her tracks, to which I screeched "DAMNIT WOMAN KEEP MOVING, I'M NOT COMING BACK FOR YOU!" or something like that. She had found a bunny cake mold. This one was new and improved. She put it in her cart. Her only treasure from that little hunt. She made it yesterday afternoon, and she and Jack will frost it today, although he was lobbying pretty hard last night, to eat "just a little bit today." 

Last night I went outside and hid easter eggs around the Nana's yard. There was a real bunny out there. Just hopping along. Maybe Jack won't remember the French lessons, or the fact that he had every single garbage truck toy mankind has ever produced. But I KNOW that he'll remember Nana's bunny cake. Good boys don't forget stuff like that. 

Happy Easter everybody.