Happy Chaos (23 page)

My dad's manners . . . well, they were a little looser. I remember one time he came to visit me on the set of
Punky
, and we went to the cafeteria for lunch. My mom and I sat down with a woman who worked on the set, and when Dad walked up, he started eating the french fries right off of that woman's plate. And just to clarify—my dad didn't know her at all. They'd never met! Yet there he was, devouring her fries. Perfectly mannered, no, but my dad's heart was always in the right place. And to me, that's the important thing. My dad always tried to make you feel good when you were with him, even if he sometimes ate fries off the plates of strangers.

There are two kinds of people in this world: the ones who usually make you feel a little worse about yourself after you've been with them, and the ones who always manage to make you feel a little better. Even small acts of generosity can make a huge difference. Back when I was a teenager trying to make a new reputation for myself in Hollywood, I went to an audition with Francis Ford Coppola for a film version of
On the Road
. Auditions are always difficult, but when you're a self-conscious teenager, they can be a nightmare. Everything about you is being dissected, from your work to your face, and you can end up feeling totally unworthy.

But Francis wasn't like that at all. He asked me all about a recent role (I was starring in an incredibly intense play about Hitler's niece at the time). He then asked me to read him a poem I had written. He wanted to hear all about my obsession with gangster movies, and all of my interests, loves, and passions. He must have spent an hour with me. This was around the time that I was working on my very first screenplay (
Blood and Brotherhood
), and he couldn't possibly have known what a huge impact a conversation with the brilliant Francis Ford Coppola would have on me. For that hour there didn't seem to be anything in the world more important to him than our conversation. I've always held that experience close to my heart, and I've tried really hard to pass on that same sort of kindness—and to give people my complete attention when they are talking about something close to their heart.

We all have a choice in this life to build each other up or break each other down. Jason and I try to teach our girls to be builders. We teach them about kindness and paying it forward. We talk about how we can make the world a better place. And we get them involved in really concrete ways—whether it's my work with the Alzheimer's Foundation, or teaching them about their grandfather's work with the civil rights movement.

Of course, manners are important, too. I've tried to teach my girls not to steal french fries off of strangers' plates, how to sit at the dinner table (although often they prefer to sit on it instead of at it), and to cover their mouths when they cough, and I'm happy to say that Poet and Jagger have become total champs at saying “please” and “thank you,” just like my mother taught me when I was little. What makes me proudest of them isn't how automatically they say it, though—it's how deeply they feel it.

Is this scenario familiar to you? Everyone sits down to a lovingly prepared meal, and one or more children look at their plates in horror and refuse to eat. Mom and Dad are mortified, whoever prepared the meal is upset, and what's the right thing to do? So many parents struggle with this, and I'm incredibly sympathetic. I have never been a parent who forces my kids to sit at the table and finish every last bite, but I know people who have. I think that when kids stress out about food, they are less likely to eat it. At the same time, you don't want to give them ten other options so that it becomes a habit. Usually I will ask nicely for them to eat what they like of it. If I feel like they still haven't gotten enough, I will give them a little snack before bed and then the next day they are back to eating their whole meal. Figuring out how they sometimes test us is important, and the better we understand that, the easier time we will have with picky eaters.

With very picky eaters, preparing things they love while introducing one or two new things is a great idea. Then they can experiment with a spoonful of something new as opposed to a whole plate of it.

Talk to your kids about being polite and how a little kindness goes a long way. Making eye contact and being sincere when speaking with others is really important to me. I think leading by example and healthy, subtle reminders are helpful. I like to remind them on a playdate, for example, that it is not just when they are saying good-bye at somebody's house that they should say “thank you”—it's important to be appreciative and respectful of others throughout the visit.

Since we're talking about manners and thoughtfulness, I want to take this opportunity to confess a serious moral failing on my part. I'm not kidding—this is really shameful. I like to think that I'm a kind and generous person, and I really try to be a good friend, a good parent, a loving wife . . . but I am the
worst
with thank-you notes. I don't know what my problem is. Sometimes I even go to the trouble of writing out a note, but then I never manage to get it addressed and stamped.

So let's make this official: For everyone who has ever given my child a birthday present . . . thank you. And for anyone who has ever given me a birthday present . . . thank you. And for every single person who has ever given me an engagement present, or a wedding present, or an anniversary present . . . THANK YOU. I treasure each and every one. And here's a promise—you never have to send me a thank-you note, either, not ever.

Jason and me with Demi and Ashton, two of the most kind and loving people in our lives

Question of the day: How do you most baby your babies?

“Lots of love, hugs, kisses & cuddles.”

—Nicole P.

“I baby my babies by cuddling them. Even in public. My poor 11 year old son!”

—Ash

“Carry them, even though they are nearly as big as me. (They are only 5 and 1. I'm just tiny.)”

—Dana

“Weeeell, my ‘babies' are 37 and almost-40 now, but still by trying to make things smooth for them.”

—Jan

“Wrap up together on the couch for movies—especially
The Princess Bride
.”

—Cari

 

M
y mom always tells me that I was her little girl for a short time, and then she shared me with the world. That has really stuck with me. She must be braver than I am, because I don't want to share my girls with the world. I want them home with me forever.

It was hard enough to send them off to preschool. Poet was shy at first, but now she runs through the door and doesn't even look back. Jagger is already headed in that direction, too, and she's my baby! Sometimes I just stare at my girls sleeping—their height, hair, how they're taking up the entire room, and how they are getting so big, so fast. I want to press a button and make time stop. But the genie is already out of the bottle. Poet is one hundred percent big girl now. Meanwhile, I'm in no rush to hurry Jagger out of her baby years. I'm like, want a bottle? Want your pacifier? No problem!

I think back to the crazy adventures I had when I wasn't much older than Poet, and I wonder how my mother managed not to have a total heart attack on a daily basis. One incident that really sticks out in my memory happened when I was doing
Punky
. I was probably eight at the time. I was a child spokesperson for the Just Say No to Drugs campaign, and Nancy Reagan was the chair, so she invited me to the White House Easter Egg Roll. When my mom, brother, and I got there the crowd of fans was gigantic, way bigger than we expected. In the enormous crowd, suddenly I lost sight of my mother. The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by these incredibly cool Secret Service guys who ushered me through the mob scene and into the White House. When my mom finally found me, I was in the Oval Office with my feet up on the table, eating Popeyes fried chicken. I wasn't a baby anymore.

I don't want to admit it to my girls, but some of the best experiences in my life happened when my parents weren't around, like at summer camp, which I
loved.
My mom exaggerated a little when I was five and said that I was already six, just so that I could go to sleepaway camp for two weeks. And from then until I was seventeen, I went every year. I even went back as a counselor. Now it blows my mind to realize that Poet is the same age I was when I went to sleepaway camp for the first time. I can't even imagine sending her yet!

Here I am arriving at summer camp with my sleeping bag and sunglasses, everything a tween needs!

 

Of course, my older brother Meeno was there, and I had Tori with me, too. That camp was so awesome. It doesn't exist anymore, which is so sad, because I really would send my girls there if I could. (In a few more years, when they're older!) It was in Calabasas, California, and I treasure every little memory. I remember the lanterns, the crafts we'd make, riding horses and dirt bikes, and going to dances. We'd run up and down the dunes at Point Dune, where the counselors would take us for overnight camping and tell us the most amazing stories. I remember my older friend, Chrissy, who'd pack all her stuff for the beach overnights in a black trash bag—including her curling iron. Of course, there were no outlets at the beach.

The boys and girls weren't separated at my camp (no wonder I loved it so much). There was this boy named Danny Wells who both Tori and I had huge crushes on. I swear, at age fourteen he had six-pack abs. So Tori and I spent one whole summer obsessing over him. Then the next summer, Danny and I got together. It was the full-on summer camp romance—sneaking away from the counselors and talking all night. I remember the song of that summer was the Bangles' “Eternal Flame,” and that song still comes to mind when I think of Danny. Tori was beyond upset with me for hooking up with him, and it got so bad that she actually moved her bunk away from mine. When Tori got upset, our other friend Chrissy tried to figure out why Tori was so crushed about this guy. She said, “Tori, what's he into?” Tori said, “He's a wrestler.” Chrissy's response? I will never forget this. She said, “Tori, he rolls around on the floor with another guy. You know what you need? You need a surfer.”

I learned that and so much more when my mother was nowhere nearby. Then I would come home and tell my mom about all of my crazy adventures and it became a really beautiful bonding experience for us. Even if it is hard to let go a little bit, it will make our kids full of more experiences, awe, and wonder. I know the thought of my kids becoming teenagers is enough to make me cry, but every thread that comes loose, every growing pain that makes them stronger, can also build strength and trust between us and our children.