Happy Chaos

by Soleil Moon Frye

  Jagger’s middle name, Joseph, came from my godfather, who had passed away the year before she was born. He was the patriarch of my family—he’d been there when I was born, and he walked me down the aisle when I was married. We wanted him to live on in our family, and naming Jagger after him felt like the most natural tribute in the world. Then we came up with her other middle name—Blue—just because we loved it so much.

  There are whole blog posts devoted to wacky Hollywood names, and a few of those have definitely mentioned our kids, but in my family, unconventional names are the norm. My brother’s name is Meeno, and he literally named himself. My mother lived with him in India when he was little. He was a few years old, and one day as they were hiking, a monk asked his name. My mother said, “Miro” (his given name), and he turned and said, “No longer Miro; now Meeno.” So Meeno it was. His girls are named Bindi and Mette. We’ve got my godbrother, Joachim, his sons, Orpheau and Jobim, not to mention other wonderful wild names in our family. So Soleil, Poet, and Jagger are just more entries in a grand family tradition. When my friends and I sit around talking about names, we turn to everything for inspiration—literary references, favorite places, special family members—whatever is truly meaningful to us.

  Now that my girls are five and two, I like to think that they’re the perfect embodiments of their names. But the truth is, they could have the most traditional names in the world, or the most unusual. And no matter what we named them, they’d still be utterly unique and completely themselves.

  S.P.S.

  Everyone’s got an opinion . . .

  Some people choose to keep their baby names a secret before giving birth, and others decide to share it with the world. Just remember that people will always have an opinion. It would be great if all those opinions were nothing but positive, but the fact is that they won’t always be. So just be prepared . . . and if people say, “How interesting,” just smile and say, “Thanks, I think so.” Not that I am speaking from personal experience or anything. :)

  Keeping a list . . .

  I love coming up with baby names. It is one of my favorite things to do. I have friends who walk around with lists or keep names in a secret diary—even the ones who don’t have babies yet. It is awesome. A really fun thing to do is to keep a little journal. When you are inspired by something or someone, write it down. Then go back and add to it from time to time. I still have names that I came up with when I was twelve. Don’t be afraid to be imaginative and to have fun.

  A little sentence to finish . . .

  If I could go by any name other than my own, it would be....

  “When I was younger I wanted my name to be Samantha. Now I’m happier with my own name.”

  —Sherry

  A family of wacky names: Mette, Meeno, Soleil, Poet, Jagger, Bindi . . . and Jason

  “Isabella.”

  —Carrie

  “Natalia, the name that my father wanted to give me, but my mother won that one. I am now Nicole. . . eh, still an N person. :o)”

  —Nicole A.G.

  “Mommy is just fine :)”

  —Amy L.

  15

  Happy Birthday

  Question of the day: What was your favorite birthday party ever?

  “When I turned Sweet 16! I woke up to 16 balloons in my room, and later had a wonderful party with lots of friends and family. It was still the best one yet!”

  —Jeannette C.

  “The only sleepover I ever had. My mom rarely let kids spend the night, so it was a special treat to have several over at once.”

  —Dana

  “My daughters’ 13th dance party in my garage.”

  —Natalie

  “When I turned 16 and my parents had a surprise party for me and they invited a bunch of my friends and we played volleyball and went swimming and had a BBQ.”

  —Yolanda

  “My favorite party was when I was 18, but I’m still young and I expect to have another great one when I hit 30 and 60 and 90!!!”

  —Tazia

  Just like holidays, birthdays have always been incredibly important to me. To this day I can remember almost every birthday celebration I’ve ever had. And it’s not about the presents. What I remember most is how my mother showered me with attention, made my favorite foods, and always made me feel special and loved.

  For my sweet sixteen my mom had the awesome idea to have a reggae bash. She rented a party boat that would take us around Marina del Rey, and she thought it would be really cute for me to stand at the front of the boat as it pulled in to the dock, where all of my friends would be waiting for me. Try to picture this: me waving to everyone I knew, decked out in all my teenage glory. One of the highlights of my life is when I bump into my friend Kevin Connolly and we burst out laughing, remembering how ridiculous I looked standing there in the bow of the boat, in my skintight cherry-red dress and cowboy boots, waving to everyone. In retrospect, it is hilarious.

  Another birthday that stands out was my twelfth. It was a big party, and the last season of Punky—a huge milestone in my life. I was dressed in the coolest eighties trends—hot pink lace bloomers under a black spandex dress with hot pink polka dots. The hotel banquet room was filled with pink balloons, and everyone was there—family, and friends I’d grown up with in and out of the business. I was laughing and hugging everyone, and then in walked my special surprise: Johnny Depp. He was starring in 21 Jump Street at the time, and I had met him a few times before. We shared the same publicist, Jeff, who knew what a massive crush I had on Johnny, so this was his birthday gift to me. He came to the party with his buddy C. Thomas Howell. I still remember what Johnny was wearing: a yellow shirt and gray jacket. I’m pretty sure that a twelve-year-old’s birthday party in a hotel banquet room was not Johnny’s usual scene, but he was totally sweet about it. We were surrounded by kids, and photographers were all lined up in front of us, and after a while I could tell that the guys were ready to leave, but the route out was blocked. So I grabbed each of them by the hand and said, “Follow me!” While my friends watched in total surprise, I led Johnny and C. Thomas Howell through the crowd and out of the banquet room, and went running through the halls of the hotel, down steps, and down more halls and stairs, and finally all the way down to the lobby, where I located a bar. How did I know at age twelve where the bar was, or that these guys would appreciate being led there? I don’t know. Let’s just say I was precocious.

  Here I am with the gorgeous Johnny Depp and C. Thomas Howell at my twelfth-birthday party.

  After the party, my brother Meeno loaded me and a few of my friends into his black Camaro (the height of cool at the time), and we listened to Lenny Kravitz booming from his car stereo while he drove us up into the mountains. He’d bought us some cherry-flavored cigars (I know—disgusting), and we sat perched over the city, puffing away. I probably threw up after the cigar, but the night was perfect.

  I want my own girls’ birthdays to be just as perfect, minus the cherry cigars. One year I made Poet’s birthday a little too memorable—for the dads, anyway. It was a Tinker Bell–themed party, and let’s just say that the Tinker Bell I hired was very pretty and really filled out her costume. It’s no surprise that the next birthday characters were two people dressed up in Mickey and Minnie Mouse suits. Unfortunately their car broke down in front of our house, so my lasting memory of them was Mickey and Minnie waiting for a tow truck.

  For Poet’s fifth birthday, we had a Grease birthday, and it was a blast. We had the full fifties theme with makeup stations, dress-up stations, and of course a dance party. And just so Jagger didn’t feel left out, we made her the party host. She greeted everyone, and then at the end she got a special gift from the birthday girl. And we do the same when it’s Jagger’s birthday. Poet is the host. Because the last thing you want at a birthday are hurt feelings. Or hot Tinker Bells.

  S.P.S.

  Fun ideas . . .

  Even elaborate birthday parties don’t have to be expensive. For our G
rease party, I went online and found discounted Halloween costumes and spandex pants. A friend set up the makeup station, and another friend sprayed the girls’ hair into wild fifties styles. And a dance party costs nothing if you’re willing to play DJ. Here are some other fun ideas:• Do-it-yourself goodie bags—Fill mason jars with candy, and give each of the kids a rubber-stamp-decorated brown paper sack to fill with candy to take home.

  • Fairy/treasure hunts—This is one of my favorite things to do at birthdays. Throw a bunch of fun goodies in a bag, and then put them all over the yard or park and the kids can go find them.

  • Crafts—Buy a bunch of inexpensive frames and let the kids decorate them with paint, stickers, and glitter.

  • Giving back—Planning a birthday that connects kids to giving back is amazing. Talking to them about bringing toys for kids in need and taking action is a great way to raise children with a sense of compassion and awareness.

  Remember that it’s not a competition . . .

  We all want a happy birthday boy or girl, but it’s important not to compare ourselves to other people. I’ve never seen a kid who wasn’t happy just to get together with their friends and eat some pizza and cake. Sounds like a party to me!

  Prepare the birthday boy or girl . . .

  Lots of kids—particularly the little ones—have breakdowns at their birthday parties. I will never forget the one birthday when Poet cried as the cake came out, and it broke my heart. It’s good to sit down and have your kids be part of the planning process. Poet and I had a blast on her last birthday putting out the candy and coming up with the cake she wanted. She loves party planning.

  Involving siblings . . .

  I really believe in involving siblings in the process. Poet and Jagger are already talking about plans for Jagger’s next birthday. They are picking out themes and music. I love hearing them talk about it with such excitement. I feel like the more they can help each other, the more supportive they are in celebrating their birthdays.

  A little sentence to finish . . .

  The best present I have ever gotten for my birthday was....

  “A clean house.”

  —Ash

  “Sheets with teddy bears on them, because when I pointed them out to my dad I swear he was not listening!”

  —Jeannette M.

  “My first Easy Bake Oven. The best gift that I have ever received as an adult for my birthday was a pair of tickets to see Wicked from my other half. And you think they don’t pay attention at times. :o)”

  —Nicole A.G.

  “A Walkman for my eleventh birthday. My Dad was a musician and that was the year I really started getting into music so he got me the Walkman. He passed away a few months later, but I’m glad we got to bond over something that was so important to him.”

  —Sheila

  “An ice cream bday cake—those were A-list back then.”

  —Mikala

  “Waking up to a homemade baby bassinet in my bedroom made by my mom with all matching bedding she sewed and a sweet baby doll inside. I will never forget it.”

  —Collette

  “A green and yellow bicycle for my 7th birthday . . . I had wanted it so badly and have never forgotten it!!”

  —Betsy

  Poet and me dressed up as Frenchie and Rizzo at her Grease birthday party

  16

  Yes, Michael Jackson Was My Babysitter

  Question of the day: When trying to find a babysitter for your children, what do you look for most?

  “I have a special needs daughter (7 yrs old) so I only let my mom watch her, or a friend’s 17 yr old daughter who I’ve known since my daughter was 2 yrs. old. She knows all of my daughter’s needs. If I were to look for another sitter, it would be someone who I think is trustworthy, responsible and who will play with Sade and not just sit there and play video games and text all night.”

  —Becky

  “I look for people I know and I trust can handle my kids. Four is a lot against one.”

  —Carrie

  “I look to the girls that work in our nursery at church, or that work with my mother-in-law at her daycare.”

  —Amy L.

  So there I was sitting with Michael Jackson, alone in his Jacuzzi, talking about life, love, and the secrets of the world. I was eight years old. Yes, I know you are probably horrified, or at least a little confused as you read this, wondering how in the world I got there, so let me take you back a few weeks.

  Two weeks earlier my friend Kidada Jones invited me to go to a Bruce Springsteen concert with Michael Jackson. Her father, Quincy Jones, and her family were very close to Michael. So there we were on the Punky set when the limo pulled up. My mother, Kidada, and I jumped in and were off to see Bruce. We were sitting in box seats when Michael walked in with the most glamorous woman I had ever seen. She was stunning, and her name was Elizabeth Taylor. Michael was kind and soft-spoken. I gave him a gold yo-yo as a gift, and he played with it under the table for the rest of the night. Elizabeth Taylor wore an enormous emerald ring, and I asked her if she had gotten it from a candy machine. She smiled at my naïveté. The night was fun, and at the end, Michael invited us to come over to his house sometime.

  Two weeks later my mother and I were eating vegan tomato soup in Michael Jackson’s kitchen. He was dressed in his famous red coat and white glove as the three of us sat at a table. My mother spoke of her travels to India and living in an ashram as he told us about his healthy eating habits. Bubbles, his chimpanzee, joined us throughout the evening. Michael took my mother and me on a tour of his home. We saw his elaborate costumes encased in glass, his bedroom, all of his knickknacks, and his stunning recording studio. Later that evening, Kidada joined us. Her father was there recording with Michael, and my mother had to leave to work on a party for Dennis Hopper. They were going to screen Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in his movie theater later in the evening, and I begged my mom to let me stay. My mother finally said yes, and there I was exploring the candy station at his ranch in North Hollywood.

  We watched Willy Wonka, and Michael and I sat next to each other. He had a way of speaking as if he were a child, too. I remember him leaning in, our heads close together as we whispered and giggled. After the movie, Kidada left, and it was just Michael and me. He then said, “Come on, let me show you the animals.” We went outside on his stunning property and began walking over a bridge when a swan jumped out at me. Michael threw me to the ground in an effort to protect me. He explained that the female swan was pregnant and so the male swan was protecting her. Seemed normal, I guess.

  We saw his beautiful llama and then went back to his house. It was around this time that he went to change Bubbles and I found myself alone in the foyer of his mansion. All of a sudden on the intercom I could hear Michael saying, “I see you.” I looked around, for the first time feeling slightly uneasy, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. I think once he realized he had freaked me out, he came out to get me. “Want to take a Jacuzzi?” he said. I replied, “Sure.” I was excited and thought it would be fun. I remember having a hard time finding the right bathing suit, but I finally settled on a dark green one.

  So there we sat in his Jacuzzi, talking about life. As I mentioned earlier, even at five, I wanted to know people’s entire life stories. I was eight then, so I asked Michael plenty of questions. I remember him talking about the fact that he related more to kids than adults, and that grown-ups never completely understood him. He sat across from me and we had a dialogue as if we were peers—a true heart-to-heart. He never made me feel like this was a bizarre situation. It just seemed as if he really wanted someone to talk to, someone who would make no judgments about him. After the Jacuzzi we went down to the arcade and played games until my mom came to pick me up. Michael never left my side that night, and when we parted, he was very kind. I never saw him again after that, and I am not sure that I even told my mom about the Jacuzzi until recently. This story is not one I have shared often, but now
I realize, if even for only one night, Michael Jackson was my babysitter. As strange as it all sounds—and I know it sounds strange—it was a highlight in my young life.

  Recently, I was in a situation where I really needed extra help. I had a big meeting and found myself locked out of my car down at the beach with the kids. I called everyone I knew and trusted but couldn’t reach anyone. My husband was able to get me halfway to the meeting in his car, but not all the way due to his own hectic schedule. The only person I could get ahold of was my Teamster stepfather, Shawn. He and I had a strained relationship over the years, but he was immediately ready to help me. Jason pulled into the parking lot of Yum Yum Donuts, and I jumped out of our car with my two girls and into Shawn’s giant gray truck. We were off to the Valley, where my meeting was. I ran into my meeting frazzled, but when I came out, I found my stepfather pulling up with my happy girls in tow, holding on to Slurpees. They also were holding signed head shots of the Laker Girls. Apparently, the Slurpees were free because, according to my five-year-old, “The Laker Girls let us spin the wheel.” I looked at my stepfather, wondering what 7-Eleven he had taken the girls to. His response was “One that had Laker Girls.” Fair enough, I suppose.