The day Liam was born, Mehran came to the hospital. For all my fears, he walked right into my hospital room and scooped Liam up. Next thing I knew he was asking the nurse to show him how to swaddle. The Guncles, Bill and Scout, are always at our house, and every time they come they bring little gifts—a monkey sippy cup, a ladybug towel. They shower our children with presents and love, like young, attractive, male grandmas. Scout and Bill are always debating how old Liam has to be before we can take him to the Abbey, which is arguably the best gay bar in Los Angeles. My position is that it’s a bar, and he’s a baby, and those two don’t mix, to which they always respond, “But the patio! Babies are always welcome on patios!” I do have to admit that there’s something benign about a patio. Actually, Bill and Scout aren’t alone in their obsession with escorting Liam to the Abbey. There was much competition among my friends as to who gets to take Liam to his first gay bar, but now that I think about it, Liam’s already been to a gay bar. He was five months old when we had the premiere party for season 2 of Tori & Dean at Hamburger Mary’s in West Hollywood. We had a private room in the back of the bar, and Liam was in a booth, perched in his car seat, absorbing his first lesson in tolerance while the crew milled around sipping margaritas. Sorry, friends.
There is definitely a “gay watch” on Liam. Even before he was born, Mehran was worried that Liam would be too straight to hang out with him. He was always like, “With my luck you’ll have a jock son who’s not into fashion and wants nothing to do with me.” He imitated future teenage Liam saying “Hey, man” in a big, dumb voice.
In hopes of being an early influence, lots of my friends gave me gay-themed gifts at my baby shower. A pink onesie saying “My boyfriend’s out of town for the weekend.” A rock T-shirt saying “Queen” (as in the band). But despite these blatant attempts at influencing my son’s sexuality (Oh, sure, they always say “It’s genetic!” It’s genetic until it comes to swaying my own child), the verdict so far seems to be that Liam is straight. Mehran always says he’s superstraight. But every once in a while they’ll catch him tiptoeing and hope springs anew.
Instead of driving my friends away, Liam, and now Stella, have added something to their lives. Mehran even has a picture of them on his desk. People think he’s married (which he sort of is—to me). Of course, the manicures and shopping trips with Mehran don’t happen like they used to. One Sunday when Dean was racing, Mehran came over and we had great plans for Barneys, Fred Segal, and brunch. But before we knew it, it was five p.m. and we were having dinner at Jerry’s Deli with the kids. Mehran said, “What happened to our Sunday?” What happened was we’d gone to a baby store for a new monitor. We stopped by Walgreens for diapers. We fed babies. We rocked babies. We supervised naps. Now here we were at Jerry’s. Meanwhile, Bill and Scout are so in love with Liam and Stella that they’ve started talking about adopting. I’m going to send them to swim class with Liam and feed the boy as many prunes as he’ll eat right before, so they can have the classic poop-in-the-swim-diaper experience. Just so they know what to expect.
When Stella was two months old, Dean and I had to take a flight to New York for business. We were going for two days and were leaving the kids at home. Of course I started thinking about how we were going to die in the plane, and as soon as I went down that path I realized that we didn’t have a will. That if we died suddenly, nobody would know what to do with our children.
Dean and I had already decided that if something ever happened to us, we wanted our friends to step in as guardians for the children. Mehran, Jenny, and the Guncles are the people who know the children best. We want Bill and Scout to be their day-to-day guardians, moving into our house and raising them. We want Mehran, who loves them just as much, to be a guardian as well. And we want Jenny, who’s busy with three kids of her own, to be part of their lives. She’s the most experienced, and the kids would need a woman in their lives.
The day before we left we were having brunch with Bill and Scout. After Dean put our plates on the table, we told them what we’d been thinking. I didn’t know how they’d react. Two kids are a lot to throw at a couple, even if only in rare and extreme circumstances. There was a moment of silence. I looked at Dean nervously. Was this stupid? Were we asking too much? Was it stupid to feel stupid for asking? Then Bill said, “I don’t have any money, but I’d spend every last dime I have fighting your mother for those kids.” I burst into tears, and I still tear up when I remember that moment. I thought, God, there’s someone who loves me so much that he’d be willing to risk everything he has to take care of my kids.
I said to Mehran, “You’re a single gay man. You’re fabulous. I want you involved, but I wouldn’t want you to have to give up your lifestyle.”
But Mehran said, “I’d do what I had to do. I’d take the kids, move back in with my parents, and take care of them.”
My friends were already like family to me, but hearing that they would do anything, they would change their lives for me—it was incredible. It filled a hole in my heart that I hadn’t known was there.
By the day we were leaving, we had a plan, but we still didn’t have anything on paper. When Mimi was alive, every time I flew without her I put a note in my bedside drawer saying that if my plane crashed, Isabel should have custody. I should clean out that drawer; I bet there are at least a dozen Mimi-custody documents floating around on scraps of paper in there.
So I put another note in my not-quite-legally-sanctioned bedside drawer. It said, “To Whom It May Concern: Please see that Liam and Stella are in the hands of…” and listed my friends. Thank God the plane didn’t crash. I’m sure that miserable scrap of paper would have kept a custody battle going until the kids were high school graduates. Even so, I got on that plane knowing that my children had a family who loved them and would care for them as best they could. It gave me a sense of peace.
Just a few months later, when Dean’s birthday came around, he and I spent a night at Casa del Mar, the nearby beachside hotel where we stayed when we first left our marriages. For the first time Bill and Scout stayed overnight with the kids. Patsy was there to help with Stella, but they took care of Liam completely alone. When he woke up in the middle of the night asking for “Dada,” Scout gave him some water. He said, “Dada sent me.” Liam drank some water and went back to sleep. The next morning Scout sent a picture of Liam having breakfast, and I burst out crying. There was Liam, happily eating a banana in his high chair with Bill lovingly gazing on. Liam was there with two people who weren’t technically his family. His mom and his dad weren’t there. His babysitter wasn’t there. And he was fine. My little boy.
Goodnight Moon
Not long after we came home from our trip to New York, it was time to move to our new house. In the end we left Beaver Avenue without really saying good-bye. There was so much to do leading up to the move—packing, painting the kids’ new rooms, setting up the TVs I continue to require in every room. And then moving day is always stressful and hectic. I meant to stop by the neighbors, but I never did. When Patsy and I put the children into the car to drive away for the last time, I thought about running over to Wally’s house for a farewell hug and bringing Liam to Sam’s house to say good-bye. I know they were kind people, and if we’d stayed for three or four years we would have gotten much more comfortable with one another. Time does that to people. But I never gave it a chance, and now it was too late. Still, after we moved I wanted to thank the people who I know went out of their way to make me feel welcome in my first neighborhood. I dropped off red velvet cupcakes on their doorsteps. And this time (unlike July Fourth) I wasn’t doing it for credit. I wasn’t doing it to prove that I fit in. I just wanted to say thank you.
The day we moved, Dean had to be on the set for a TV movie he was making. (Our crew was also filming it for Tori & Dean.) Filming went into the evening, and I went to visit the set with Liam, Stella, and Patsy. It got later, and the children were getting tired. Dean said, “Stella’s falling asleep. It’s late for Monk
ey. Why don’t you go back home?” I stalled. The truth was that I didn’t want to drive home to our new house at night without Dean. It seemed so far away, a long drive over the hill and out of L.A. But when it became clear Dean couldn’t leave any time soon, I forced myself to leave.
We came home. The rooms were still full of boxes, but we’d bought some furniture from the original owner, so the living rooms were set up, and we’d made sure the beds were all ready. Patsy went to put Stella to sleep, and I brought Liam upstairs to his new bedroom. I’d covered the walls in the same fabric he’d had on Beaver Avenue to help with the transition, but Liam wasn’t buying it. He wanted Dean to put him to bed. He was scared and started crying, “I ’cared. I ’cared.” It was nine at night, long past his bedtime. He was overtired and in a new place, and he had a full-blown kicking, screaming, back-arching meltdown. I don’t like to humor tantrums, but how could I fault him for being scared when I was feeling a little creeped out myself? I was hiding my fear with every mother fiber of my being, but maybe he’d picked up on it. I said, “Monkey, let’s put on pj’s and watch a movie in my bed.” Ah, the magic of TV. He stopped crying.
I brought Liam into our bed and got him situated on Dean’s side. I started flipping through the kids’ channels and came across Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Johnny Depp. I loved that book as a child and hadn’t seen the Johnny Depp version, so I put it on. Fifteen seconds into the first scene I realized that this was not a good movie for a toddler. I said, “Monkey, I’m going to change the channel.” Liam screamed. Okay, just a little more.
As we were watching I suddenly got spooked. We were alone in a big house. It was so quiet and dark. The alarm system hadn’t been activated yet. Patsy, a mature, responsible adult, was in her room, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I was here with my vulnerable young children and I didn’t feel safe.
I started to have a full panic meltdown about living in this house. On Beaver Avenue I never felt scared when Dean was away. Maybe it was because I knew that if I barely whistled, Wally would come to help. Now I was stuck in this big, dark, echoey house. Had I made a terrible mistake? Was this house everything I’d never wanted? As a child in my parents’ vast house I’d dreamed of moving into the cozy closet in the laundry room. I love small spaces. Why would I want this big house? What was I doing here?
Midpanic, I glanced back at Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Liam was riveted by a cute scene with squirrels shelling nuts. This movie wasn’t so bad after all. But then, as we watched, Veruca Salt was attacked by hundreds of squirrels. Yikes. I quickly grabbed Liam’s blanket and hid the screen from him, saying, “It’s funny! The squirrels are tickling her! But don’t watch.” Suddenly I flashed back to my mother sitting me in front of a horror movie at age four. Liam wasn’t even two. I quickly turned off the TV and told him the movie was over.
I took out a book that my mother used to read me as a child. Goodnight Moon. It was always my favorite bedtime story. Liam and I leaned on pillows next to each other, I read the book, which bids good night, one by one, to the things in a little bunny’s bedroom—the light, the red balloon, the clocks, the socks…Liam’s eyelids got heavy. He was finally calm and peaceful, and as I comforted him, I felt comforted. It didn’t escape me that I was in a big house, though not nearly as big as those I grew up in, feeling comforted—and comforting my son—with the same book that comforted me as a child. But as a parent I’d made the changes to the scene that I wanted to make. Liam and I curled up and went to sleep together.
Whatever fears I have about our new house, I have to get over them, and I will. This is a great house. It’s a great area for families. The goal is for all of us to be happy, and I can’t let my irrational fears stop me from doing things in my life. I’m not going to let them get in the way of my kids’ lives. I’m a mom now. I have to step up. Kids have a way of forcing us to grow up. Parenting hasn’t erased my fears, but it’s changed the way I handle them. And maybe, just maybe, that will help me say good-bye to them, one by one.
Afterword: The Other Shoe
My twenties—my life after 90210—was a period when everything seemed unstable. Work was unreliable. I made bad boyfriend choices. And my relationship with my family was rocky at best. I look at my life now, and I’m amazed that things have somehow miraculously sorted themselves out. I have a loving husband. I have two amazing children. I have a stepson I treasure. We have close friends who are a part of my children’s lives. I’m building a career and a brand, my own mini empire. Together those people are the family that I always wanted—a family that I created for myself.
I’ve come far, but my life came together so quickly that sometimes I still feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can’t believe how fortunate I am, and I worry that my perfect little dream will burst and everything will fall apart. I have to remind myself that the life I’m living isn’t really a miracle. I have worked hard for what I have. I continue to work every day to sustain what we have and to make it better. But if things change, I’ll weather it. I have my family and my friends to help me through it. And besides, this whole “other shoe” business—who ever said that the other shoe was a bad thing? Two shoes. Sounds good to me. Especially if they’re Christian Louboutin.
It’s not a coincidence that everything fell into place at the same time. As I got older I started to accept who I was. I ended my first marriage because I had to stop pretending to be someone’s ideal wife. I fell in love with a man who loved me for myself. Being with Dean gave me more confidence to come to terms with my life and circumstances. When we came back from our honeymoon I decided to make So NoTORIous, a show that poked fun at me and my life. For thirty-some-odd years I’ve been trying to get away from who I was and where I’d come from. So NoTORIous was the first step toward accepting and embracing myself as I was and putting that out in the world. When I did so, it felt right. After that, doors started to open for me, or I started to open doors for myself.
In a baby way, I feel like I’m following in my father’s footsteps. Obviously I’m not remotely where he was in terms of achievement and success, not by any standards. I’m still at the beginning. But now, like him, I know what I want to do and be. And like my dad, I understand what people want from me. I’m able to make a life out of that understanding, personally and in business. It may look like I have my hands in a lot of pots—the show, my jewelry line, my children’s clothing line, our production company—but all my efforts are driven by the notion that I’m putting myself out there, I’m going by what I know and offering it to other people. For now, they seem to be interested in what I have to say. After being mocked for my role in 90210, turned away from jobs for who I was—that Tori Spelling—I finally feel accepted.
Once my dad passed away there was family closure. He had kept me tied to that family. Without him there was no guilt and no strings. I felt free to go on with my life. A new family emerged (my friends, Dean) and grew (Liam, Stella). I still worried about escaping my past. But one thing I’ve realized about being a mother is that I don’t have to figure it all out overnight. I’ll make mistakes, but if I continue to be thoughtful and present, I’ll notice them and try to fix them. As a mom I want always to be a work in progress. It’s the best guarantee I have that I won’t replicate my relationship with my mother.
My father and Nanny aren’t around to be the active grandparents I always imagined for my children. When I used to look up at my father with my big brown eyes, he’d do anything for me. I know it would have been the same when Stella looked up at him with her big blue eyes. Liam looks so much like my dad that it makes me feel like my father’s nearby. And I know that Nanny can see that I listened when she taught me how to be a good person, how to be the person I am today. I remember every moment of that. I know that who I am as a mom comes from what she taught me. I miss both Daddy and Nanny, while at the same time as I feel like they’re still with me.
Raising normal kids in Hollywood sometimes feels like an o
xymoron. Giving my kids that down-to-earth upbringing I always fantasized about is especially hard for me since I’ve never lived anywhere else or worked in any other business. I mean, I have a feeling I constructed all those fantasies about a “normal” childhood from seeing “normal” families on TV shows. There is no question my kids will be Hollywood kids. Liam may always prefer the weeklies to Goodnight Moon, and I’m sure I’ll pass the fashion bug on to Stella. But with Dean, I will find a balance for them. I know what’s most important: time with my kids, time as a family, time to explore the world together, make discoveries, and talk about the lessons we learn. Love shines through everything. No matter how blinding the paparazzi flashbulbs may be, I know that my children will always feel my arms around them, actually or figuratively, and they’ll see beyond the superficial interference.
Liam is still a Daddy’s boy. For now. A few days ago Dean took Liam and went to get Jack for the day. The boys were together from two p.m. to eight p.m. When they got home I said, “Hi, Monkey! I missed you,” but Liam wouldn’t even look at me. He just said, “Daddy, Daddy.” I got his Goldfish crackers and said I’d open the packet for him. He said, “No! Daddy, Daddy.” All week I’ve been putting him to bed. The first night he had a tantrum, crying, “Daddy, Daddy, my daddy.” I spent forty-five minutes talking him through it. I said, “Daddy went night-night. He’s sleeping. Now it’s time for you to go to sleep. I love you. You’re fine. You’re safe.” I said the same things over and over again. But there wasn’t one moment when I felt tired or frustrated. (Thank you, Mimi, for teaching me patience.) Finally, he calmed down and snuggled into bed. I said, “Good night, angel. I love you.”
Mommywood Page 17
