The Diana Chronicles and My Summer of Keeping Appearances

I picked up the Diana Chronicles at Costco right before our trip to Montana to visit the in-laws. Even though I’ve always been fascinated by Princess Di, I’ve never read any of the books written about her until now. I’m glad I waited. Tina Brown has put forth an impeccably researched and objectively written page-turner. She covers everything from Diana’s dysfunctional family and doomed marriage to her PR prowess and amazing capacity for empathy, to her tragic death. When I mentioned to one of my friends that I was reading this book and how affected I was by it, she said, “I don’t believe Diana was meant to have a long life.” I’m still digesting what she means by that, but it does seem that high profile people carrying with them the hopes and dreams of people and nations seem to live short lives (i.e. John Lennon, MLK, JFK, JFK Jr. ).

It seemed appropriate to read this book as we approach the 10-year anniversary of her death. I found it ironic that I was reading it in Montana, where I got married just four years prior on August 31, the day she died. So aware was I of Di even when planning my wedding, I asked my-then betrothed if we should pick another date. We didn’t. (But in hindsight, perhaps we should have since the entire state Montana was engulfed in forest fire when we married, but that’s another story.) But what seemed more ironic about the timing of this read, was that the theme of my summer was slowly starting to emerge: The Keeping Up of Appearances. Visiting the in-laws this time around with toddler in tow, I became keenly aware of the importance of appearances in front of their friends--a bunch of retired transplanted Californians playing golf in the wilds of Montana.

Only three weeks before we spent a week in Idaho where I realized my own family’s obsession with appearance, theirs being more about religion and social conservatism. (I was practically burned at the stake for not taking my husband’s name yet no one could articulate the real issue with it except that, “it just doesn’t look right.”) We recently visited friends and related to them our experiences with the grandparents. And, M, who’s French and whose mother lives in France (and still they’ve had a heavy dose of grandparent drama) commented, “For our parents generation, it’s all about keeping up with appearances.”

Between that comment and reading the Diana book, everything seemed to come together. Here Diana married into the Royal Family were everything was about maintaining appearances and following protocol. Duty before self. (And it’s worth noting that the Queen herself is the same generation of my parents.) How suffocating that environment must have been. I can’t even imagine. How glad I am to be living in a day and place and class of society where I can pretty much look out for my immediate family and me and forget all the pomp and circumstance.

But then I wonder (as I keep contemplating new remodeling projects) is the keeping up of appearances only a thing of our parents’ generation or in our modern society do we just do it differently? Unlike Royals, here in SV it’s not cool to wear suits in the office and we address pretty much everybody by their first name (even kids to adults). Yet maybe we’re not so different in the appearance department.

Now that I’ve started to “put down some roots” here in SV, I’m becoming all to aware of the tallying of the score: what house you live in, what neighborhood it’s located in, what car you park out front, what high-tech you or your husband works at, what preschool you’re filling out applications for so that your son can get in the right elementary for the right middle school so he can go to Bellermine.

It all gives me a headache. And, I realize that unless I choose to live more consciously, and surround myself by others who try to do the same, I too, will be one of those parents suffocating thier children for the sake of appearances.

On the Good Ship Lollipop

As many of you know I have a true ballerina princess living in my house. While, she can handle soccer balls being hit at her by her older brother and can handle a light saber with the best of them, my daughter's heart lies in getting all gussied up and get her groove on. Thus it was just a matter of time before we signed her up for her first dance class and subsequently she had her first dance recital extravaganza.

We signed up a The Dance Affair, a studio in San Jose run by the fantastic Erika Fairfield. Erika and her team are loving, patient, organized and kind, which is all you can ask for in dance studio. Most of all they were grounded. They were not under some delusion that all students were going to become primaballerinas. Erika in a very loving way creates an environment where kids have fun and somehow learned a routine.

Having never taken dance lessons, I wasn't sure of what to expect. Prior to the show we had several "Dance Outs", where the children performed in public at festivals, churches etc. They had full costumes and had to where makeup. Yes, makeup - brown eye shadow, red lipstick, mascara - the works. Kiley, of course, loved putting it on. I, on the other hand, worried, that I was taking my child down the path of Jon Benet Ramsey and beauty pageants for 5 year olds- yikes! What was I thinking... what happened to my baby? She is growing up too quickly.

The show, the 20th anniversary show, was held this past weekend at the San Jose Center for Performing Arts. We were amazed at the whole production. The place was sold out and the show was great! Kiley loved being in the show. She already picked out the costume she wants to wear next year. I now get why they had to practice wearing makeup and see that the community practices were essential for the kids to get used to performing in public. My worry about big hair and egos were laid to rest as I looked around and saw there were more moms like me who had no idea about how to get mascara on a 4 year old and decided to abandon that idea.

As for being worried that my baby was growing up too quickly, well she is certainly maturing. After all she put the pink lipstick on without getting it on her cheeks "too" badly. She is more confident in her version of pirouettes and arabesques and can leap frog like no one I know. We went out for ice cream to celebrate her big show. I firmly believe a scoop of rainbow sherbet should always tops off any important night. As I carried her from the car to the house, I looked at my sleeping little ballerina in her costume, smeared pink lipstick and dried ice cream on her face and thought, "I love being her mommy."

Remodeling Mom?

A while back I was having a phone conversation with an old friend. We were lamenting about our new lives in motherhood—she working outside the home, me working in the home. Our sons are six weeks apart in age and hers turned two a week and a half ago. In that time she’s taken maternity leave, gone back to work full-time, gone down to work part-time and now back to work full-time. Like all of us, she’s trying to figure out the life-work-mothering balance.

We were onto our familiar topic of “how to manage it all” and “what is the ideal situation anyway?” She commented that she wanted some perspective from stay-home moms but didn’t know that many. And that I really didn’t count because I was a Remodeling Mom. We had this conversation nearly two months ago, and those words keep haunting me. What does that mean, Remodeling Mom?

I mean yes, life has been pretty crazy coping through a kitchen-living-laundry-bathroom remodel with a toddler. To avoid living in the construction zone, we stayed at a friend’s place for a month (while she biked across Europe), went camping in Idaho for 10 days (well, it’s better than the backyard), and are now are living in 700 square feet of our 1400 square foot house. My day usually involves going to some home supply store, meeting with the designer or contractor, or scouring the Internet for a light fixture. If I’m not working on the house project, my time is spent coping with our situation--making pasta on the camp stove, doing dishes in the bathroom, begging a friend to let me use their laundry facilities, or driving around the block 25 times for naptime since it’s too noisy to be in our house.

I pretty much drag my near two-year-old with me everywhere on my daily agenda. It doesn’t mean we don’t go to the park or the pool, try out the finger paints in the backyard, or build trains together, but he does watch quite a bit of Curious George whenever I need a quiet, un-interrupted minute or two to make a phone call or heaven forbid, blow dry my hair.

Despite the financial, emotional, and physical challenges of going through a remodel, I do think it’s serving an interesting purpose for my psyche. It’s replacing the mental stimulation of working and even to a certain extent the social aspect of the office. Granted I’m limited to the wacky world of contracting—a culture that is not without it’s own level of gossip and politics. But the bottom line is, I’m pretty much the CEO of my project, interesting people come in and out, and that keeps me busy and engaged. I hope that’s what my friend means, by me being a Remodeling Mom.

My dark side tells me that what it could mean is that I’m not an active member of Las Madres, don’t have organized play dates to the zoo, am not baking gluten-free, sugar free cookies, nor am up to date on the latest parenting philosophies or pedatric alternative healthcare buzz. Not to mention his birthday is coming up in less than a month and nothing has been planned. If my kid turns out to be some weirdo, we’ll blame the Remodel of 2007. But that’s just the dark side talking…or is it?

This was cross posted to the Silicon Valley Moms Blog.