Might as Well Laugh About It Now (2 page)

After the insurance company estimated the damage I remarked to a friend, “Maybe we shouldn’t rebuild it. We could just put the house on the market with some truthful advertising: ‘Large, open floor plan. Lots of natural light. Great mountain views.’ ”

She added, “Don’t forget ‘drive-thru kitchen.’ ”

Dealing with the many repercussions of the fire kept me from giving the journals much thought at all, except the notion that it was probably a blessing in disguise because I’m certain I would have been embarrassed to have my children . . . or anyone . . . read my free-form, four a.m., dyslexic, often unintelligible musings.

About a year after the fire, my manager called to say that several publishing houses were interested in having me write my full autobiography. I responded: “What? Come on! I’m only half dead!”

I wasn’t ready to do that kind of public retrospective, but when I thought it over in a more personal way, I realized how much some of my experiences and their resulting insights had helped to shape my outlook on life. Perhaps someday those perceptions would be of interest to my children, just as I’m fascinated reading my own mother’s journals now. I asked Marcia Wilkie, the coauthor of my first book,
Behind the Smile
, to help me write down some of my memories.

We found ourselves laughing, crying, and seeing the now-deeper significance of each incident and adventure, even if it was not understood at the time I was going through it. Marcia then suggested that the stories reflected common experiences shared by many others, and that they might benefit people beyond my immediate family.

Growing up in the entertainment business, I have lived much of my life in the public eye. Many of these stories are very personal so it felt like a big leap of faith to make them public, but then I looked at it from a different point of view. I had gained so much insight over the years from people who shared their personal experiences with me, from something as simple as how to amuse a child with a colander to something as profound as how to survive incredible loss. I saw a common trait in those who moved forward through life with admirable enthusiasm—each of them believed that the best way to face hardship is with a good sense of perspective and an even better sense of humor. From the time I was a small girl I began to live by the thought that if you’re going to laugh about it in the future, well . . . you might as well laugh about it now!

Written here are my thoughts on some of my life experiences, thoughts inherited from a bevy of wise women . . . and even some men!! We decided to write them in short “busy-person-friendly” chapters, as stand-alone essays rather than a chronological narrative.

I’m blessed with good friends and countless living angels in my life, so I’ve decided to identify others only by what they do for a living or as a “friend.” I would never want anyone to feel left out or overlooked. After all, this book represents only a small handful of the numerous ways my life has been changed by others. Only public figures, my family members, my best friend, Patty, and my longtime manager and guardian angel, Karl, will be written about by name.

I’ve been as accurate on the who, where, and when as my memory—and maybe my brothers’ memories—will allow. Intuition works well for me in the present moment, but it’s not so great for recalling the past. Growing up as I did in a performing family, my memories of the hundreds of places we have been and the thousands of people we have met sometimes blend together. Besides, with a family as big as mine, the “who” is often impossible to keep track of. Eight brothers, eight kids, numerous nieces, nephews, and now grandnieces and grandnephews arriving at every turn—my memory bank is full!!

I can’t promise that I’ve remembered events in the order in which they occurred, but this book isn’t about looking back. It’s a collection of thoughts that have kept me moving forward. I hope you will feel the appreciation I have for my many blessings, including you! Please feel free to laugh at my wonderful, crazy, and challenging life. I do.

—Marie Osmond

The Most Unforgettable Moment I’ll Never Remember

We came up with a spoof of
Dancing with the Stars
for YouTube called “Dancing with the Starved”! This is filmmaker Liz Lachman, writer Marcia Wilkie, dance partner Jonathan Roberts and me as my doll and me as me…getting down with some fun.

J
ane Seymour is a doll. The other women on season five of
Dancing with the Stars
were also dolls, but there was no question that Jane was the biggest doll. Though I was the “original” doll among the five remaining female celebrity competitors on the show, all of us could claim immortality in vinyl.

We had all been modeled into twelve-inch Barbie-style play dolls at some point in our careers. My play doll debuted during the original
Donny and Marie
variety show, when I was sixteen years old. Mel B had her look-alike Spice Girl doll. Jennie Garth had been made into a Kelly Taylor doll, her character from
Beverly Hills, 90210
. Sabrina Bryan was the most current doll as Dorinda of the Cheetah Girls. Jane Seymour’s
Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman
doll was made of porcelain, elegantly costumed, and towered two inches over our dolls, making her the biggest doll.

Being dolls might never have come up in conversation among the five of us, except that I made a video spoof about rehearsing for
Dancing with the Stars
featuring my Marie doll.

I decided to make the video, “Dancing with the Starved,” because I had to find a way to laugh about the situation I had put myself in. I was on a ballroom dancing show and I didn’t know how to dance! My brothers and I had learned some basic tap steps growing up, but most of our dance moves were very similar to
Saturday Night Fever
steps: a lot of pointing, a few lunges, big scoops with the arms, and constant head bobbing.

Heading into the first week of rehearsals with my professional partner, Jonathan Roberts, I had no illusions that I’d be a “natural” at the technique of ballroom. I knew it would take a lot of effort. I did, however, fool myself into thinking that I was in pretty good shape. I had lost some weight with NutriSystem and had been walking, as well as doing some yoga, biking, and hiking. I thought I was somewhat prepared for the road ahead. Think again! After the first three hours, I was more like roadkill! There are moves involved in ballroom dancing that require so much flexibility, I didn’t know how any person with an actual skeleton could possibly do them.

After my second day of rehearsals, my muscles were so sore I had to crawl up the stairs to my bedroom. I thought if I could lie down for fifteen or twenty minutes I would no longer “feel the burn” in
every
single connective tissue in my body and would soon be fine again. I should have known better. The moment I stopped moving, my body tried to hang up the “Closed for the Season” sign. I could barely pop the childproof cap off of the bottle of ibuprofen. The thought of getting up for a glass of water was unbearable, so I called out to the first kid who passed by the bedroom door. It was my ten-year-old, Brandon.

“Sweetheart, can you get Mommy a glass of water?”

“I can’t carry anything else right now, Mom,” he told me, displaying his full hands to me.

By this time, I couldn’t really turn my neck to see what he was preoccupied with.

“Just set that stuff here on the bed and run quick and get me a glass of water. Okay?”

Brandon shrugged. “Okay. I guess. Don’t squash it.”

He unloaded his hands onto the bed and disappeared out the door.

In my peripheral vision, I could see that the object that Brandon was worried about me squashing was now moving toward me. It only took a second to register that it was his pet snake, Hisssssss.

When Brandon had acquired the snake two months earlier, I had told him he could keep it in an aquarium in his room with the understanding that I didn’t want to have to feed it, touch it, hear it, clean it, or even see it if at all possible. I like pets with four feet and a neck, not pets that are four feet long and can wrap around your neck! If it can’t wear a collar, I’d rather it lived with someone else. I’ve always liked pets that can greet you at the door—not ones that slither across your pillow when you’re helplessly immobile with muscles that have locked up. A week before, I would have jumped up and run into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, until the snake was taken away, but all I could do was lay there in pain, watching Hisssssss stick his tongue out at me.

I thought about Eve in the Garden of Eden, being “chatted up” by the serpent. I like to think that if I were Eve, I would never have fallen for a delicious forbidden apple and my perfect life of simplicity in the garden would have gone on and on and on. Probably the only irritation Eve faced pre-serpent was Adam complaining that his abs would never look great because he was missing a rib.

But, lying on my bed in pain, I was seeing it all from a different perspective. I would have traded paradise for a massage, a bath full of Epsom salts, and that glass of water so I could take this ibuprofen.

So I could be at home with my children as much as possible, Jonathan commuted to Utah every Wednesday through Saturday to teach me the dance or multiple dances we would be performing the following Monday on live television for 22 to 25 million viewers. Some teachers give you only information. Others, like Jonathan, give you skills and confidence to be the best possible. He was a perfect teacher and guide for me.

After the kids went off to school in the morning, I met with a physical trainer for an hour to help me through stretching exercises so I could be limber enough to rehearse with Jonathan. Then Jonathan and I started the process of learning the new dances. Bit by bit, we rehearsed every move again and again, for at least four hours. The show’s camera crew was at almost every rehearsal and seemed thrilled to catch any slip, stumble, sweaty brow, look of frustration, and inability to pull off a move. I’m pretty sure they had an endless supply from my rehearsals alone.

After rehearsal, I’d race out the door (or limp out, to be more exact) to be home when the kids arrived, have dinner with them, and squeeze in some family time. Usually around nine p.m., when the younger ones were all in bed, I’d change back into dance clothes and meet with Jonathan again from ten p.m. to one a.m. As soon as my aching body would adjust to one set of dance moves, it would be time to move on to a whole new ballroom style and even more complicated choreography.

On Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, we rehearsed on the set during the day, did the shows, and then rehearsed for the next week every night. I had to make room in my memory bank for hundreds of new dance steps, so I erased my brothers’ names and their birthdays. Sorry, Tito, Marlon, and Jermaine.

The costume fittings happened on Sunday mornings and then it was off to the spray-tan room. If I hadn’t been self-conscious enough about the revealing costumes and having four sets of wardrobe assistants’ hands push and pull my body into spandex and fishnets and corsets and push-ups and squish-downs . . . well, the spray-tan room would finish the job, quick.