Thursday, May 12, 2005

motherhood + self-promotion

first of all, let me make a point by saying to jen, who commented that she felt like an "ineffectual mother" - jen, dearest, anyone who births it a baby, a calf, Bambi, a buche de noel...can't possibly be ineffectual. period. if motherhood isn't the most effectual thing to be...what is? i'm pretty plum-pleased with myself when i sit in front of the oven and watch my banana bread bake. can't imagine what it must be like to watch a human rise...

i'm in absolute and utter awe of mothers. i do not know how they do it. honestly. i'm babysitting a cat right now, and i find myself sighing with agitation whenever she needs new water because...that...









ow. the faucet chipped my nail.

i love the theory of children, i'm just now sure how i'd handle the reality. if you can guaranteee me that they'll all be as healthy, intelligent, and well-adjusted as the babes in martha stewart's KIDS magazine, i'm a go. if they can build me a house out of leftover popsicle sticks and bake lavender-infused creme brulee in their Easy Bake oven, we have a deal. granted, we don't see the off-camera, pinched-face stage mothers who drug their child with hourly doses of ritalin and hiss "Smile! Bigger! Look happy! You'll never be the next Britney if you don't smiiiiiiiilllllle!!!" they look happy, but then drugs do that.

speaking of britney and babies...i am disturbed. i find it difficult to believe that a sane, omnipotent god would allow kevin federline's obviously overachieving sperm (he already has 2 children) to impregnate this i'm-not-a-girl-not-yet-a-woman-hair-extensioned-glorified-cheerleader (perhaps i am jealous - she does have better abs than me). god must have been a little preoccupied with the whole pope thing during that time - that can be the only excuse. the idea of those two as parents, and i'm sure deep down they are absolutely lovely people once you get past all of the fucks that pepper their everyday speak, terrifies me. i mean, i'm no mrs. cleaver, and i'd rather eat glass than talk bad about someone, but crunch crunch.

People magazine or one of those hi-Q mags (i don't read them for heaven's sake, someone just told me about it - ha) asked, in bright pink bold font (no doubt chosen to coordinate with britney's latest juicy couture sweatsuit),


ha. my first thought was, "she won't have to balance anything, she's gonna pay someone else to raise that child for her."

and that, i realized, is that child's one true hope.

someone else.

raising it.

mean. i am meeeeean.

i am, perhaps, a horrible person who should just go bury her face in buttercream icing and leave mothering to the rest of the world, but i just get so angry when i see people having babies because "they think it would be fun" - like it's akin to getting a new slouch bag in a lemon-y shade of yellow to liven up your spring wardrobe or ordering up a teacup poodle that you can buy coach collars for and carry about in your newest lvmh cherry bag.

i can't really talk though.

if i didn't kill my children by forgetting to feed them, i'd probably kill them by what i fed them. when i was little i told my mom that when i grew up my family was going to have spaghetti-Os and McDonald's every day, and that, i said with a harumph, would be it.

so bravo, moms. someone's gotta keep the human race alive. not sure it'll be me - i'm slowly killing off the cat population as it is...

how frequently do i you have to feed a cat again? and do they like Spaghetti-Os?


on a completely unrelated note:

i've blathered a bit about my one-woman show. after stressing and freaking out and eeking out more than a few tears, i finally have some info to post. please fwd this post to anyone you know who might live in the area and be interested in attending! or donating!

size ate.
one woman's search for the perfect fit
written + performed by margaux laskey
directed by steven mcelroy
music by travis sullivan

How many of us have thought that things would be better if we could just be the perfect size 8? 10? 12? The perfect ... whatever?

Margaux Laskey's new one-woman show, size ate, chronicles this futile quest for measured perfection and -- in a unique blend of monologue, poetry, and song -- illustrates the often opposing internal and external forces that drive us to obsession, addiction, and ultimately, something like self-acceptance.

From a wholesome childhood of s'mores, tuna casserole, and caramel apples ... to her first Slim-Fast diet at age 13 ... to her haunting anorectic encounter with the ubiquitous restaurant bread basket ... size ate takes you on a non-linear journey through her adventures in body, food, and culture.

By turns heartbreaking and hysterically funny, size ate is one woman's honest commentary on -- and coming to terms with -- the labels, images, and assumptions we all live with.

sat may 21
food, drink, live jazz
from the bill malchow trio

sneak peek performance

barrow group studios
312 w 36 street 6th floor
btw 8 + 9 avenues

$20 donation
benefits full scale production fall 2005
(can't come? that's okay! you can still make a donation at ! just look for the loaf of bread at the bottom of the page and FEED THE SHOW! )


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

First of all, buttercream icing recipe would be much appreciated. Molly's cake, by the way, was a big Elmo head, red and furry-looking thanks to sliced up swedish fishes. Which Molly's daddy Simon sliced BY HAND, and those suckers are sticky inside (must be the MINERAL OIL). For the icing I just followed Bittman and it was sort of runny and cakey at the same time, and in an attempt to get just the right Elmo color I churned out something akin to salmon spread. But no matter--the whole thing was a photo opportunity and her face lights up the world anyway (and she prefered watermelon to the cake, never to happen again).

Secondly thank you for your thoughts about mothering. I was sad to read on and find that your mom is gone to breast ca, which is terrible and I'm so sad about that. She sounds like she was, among other things, a lot of fun. Being in charge of another human being is too much, often, especially in the middle of the night or at 4:30 in the afternoon in the dead of winter without TV. Or running home from work with your boobs about to explode for want of nursing. Even though your nurser has teeth. But here's how it works: I just don't live in the same world I did before she was born. It's almost that simple--it's like a different planet that looks like the old earth, but version 2. So there's no longing or remembering or trying to get out of it because that wormhole is closed, closed, closed. The only thing is that I brought with me all the survival skills I started trying to learn over on the old planet, like humor and grace and self love and all that.

By the way I loathed Elmo in my past life. He couldn't hold a candle to Ernie or Bert. Now I'm putting him on pastry.

Good luck on Saturday.