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The TRUTH About Motherhood

Tag: Moulin Rouge

  • I Let My 5-Year-Old Watch Moulin Rouge and Now We’re Seeing the Musical for Her 20th Birthday

    I Let My 5-Year-Old Watch Moulin Rouge and Now We’re Seeing the Musical for Her 20th Birthday

    Estimated reading time: 4 minutes

    Let me tell you about the weekend that’s about to validate one of my most questionable parenting decisions…EVER! Our family of four is heading to Chicago to celebrate Bella turning 20 this Easter weekend by seeing Moulin Rouge! The Musical at the Cadillac Palace Theatre via Broadway in Chicago. Why this show? Because it’s been her favorite movie since she was 5. I know this because she chose Moulin Rouge as her 5th birthday party theme that year. Just one of the many so-called “parenting fails” that actually turned out pretty damn well.

    Look, I’m not the mom who clutched her pearls at PG-13 movies ( we all remember the DUFF incident) or frantically covered eyes during kiss scenes. When 5-year-old Bella stumbled upon Moulin Rouge during our movie night, I considered changing it for about three seconds before thinking, “Eh, she’ll either love it or not give one f*ck about it.” Turns out, she was transfixed by the colors, the music, and yes, Ewan McGregor’s face. She still is and I can’t blame her. Obie Wan is quite the silver fox

    When her kindergarten teacher called concerned about Bella’s detailed drawings of “the elephant love medley room,” I simply replied, “She has an eye for architecture.” When the other moms at pick-up whispered about my letting her watch “that courtesan movie,” I just smiled, sipped my spicy matcha latte and thought to myself, “Bitch have you not read my blog?”. Fifteen years later, Bella and I still laugh about it while scrolling through TikTok on the couch together. That’s right, if your son’s snapping my daughters, I’ve probably laughed at his Gen-Z failed attempt at “game”. Y’all are from the 90’s R&B era, your sons should know better. Do better Gen X/ Millennial parents.

    That’s the thing about Bella and I – we’ve always been more besties than the typical mother-daughter duo. Tbh, since my girls have gotten older, its like living in a sorority house these days; we share clothes, playlists, and an unhealthy obsession with SVU and true crime podcasts. Our group texts would make my own mother faint. So when Broadway in Chicago announced Moulin Rouge was coming through town, you can bet your ever lovin mother butts, we were going. Scoring tickets wasn’t just a birthday gift – it was our next adventure together and getting those tickets was my mission.

    I’ve set alerts on my phone for ticket drops and spent more time on the Broadway in Chicago website than I care to admit. Seriously, at this point I feel like either their biggest fan or their stalker. The Tony Award-winning production is running for a limited three-week engagement through April 20, and I refused to miss it. The current cast features Arianna Rosario as Satine and Jay Armstrong Johnson as Christian, and according to my deep-dive research (yes, I stalked their Instagrams), they’re incredible.

    little girl celebrating moulin rouge party broadway chicago

    Moulin Rouge + Broadway +Chicago = Best.Day.Ever.

    Bella’s already planned our entire Chicago weekend – where to eat (some cute fusion gastropub she found), what to wear (something heavily sequined, obviously), and where to take photos for maximum social clout (so we meet again Bean). My husband and other daughter just shake their heads at us, but they’re used to our spontaneous shenanigans by now. Hey, were all on this ride together and no one gets of until I say so. You hear me?

    “Do you think they’ll kick us out if we sing along?” Bella texted me yesterday.

    “Only one way to find out,” I replied, because that’s the kind of mom I am and we will definitely be singing along.

    The show incorporates music spanning 160 years, from classical to contemporary pop. Bella’s already made us a pre-road trip playlist featuring all the mashups from the soundtrack. Our family road trips have always been heavy on the sing-alongs, much to my husband’s chagrin. “It’s like living with a three-person girl band that only knows songs from movie soundtracks,” he complains, but I catch him humming along every time. And if you want to know the truth, what we lack in talent we more than make up for in unquestionable confidence in ourselves.

    What I love most about this upcoming weekend isn’t just seeing the show – it’s watching Bella experience it. There’s something magical about seeing your adult kid connect with something that shaped their childhood. That movie sparked her love for theater, art, and music in ways I never could have planned with “age-appropriate” content.

    So here’s to the moms who don’t follow the parenting playbook. The ones who let their kids watch slightly inappropriate movies that somehow turn into core memories. The ones whose daughters grow up to be their best friends. Don’t be jealous, you too could have made the unpopular choice to take your 9 and 7-year old to see The DUFF instead of something rated-E for everyone.

    This weekend, we’ll be the ones in the theater with the slightly-too-loud reactions, probably tearing up during “Come What May” while squeezing each other’s hands. And later, dissecting every costume detail over late-night drinks, because that’s what best friends do.

    No regrets. Not a single one. Happy birthday, baby girl!

  • Bellapalooza!

    Bellapalooza!

    I never had birthday parties as a kid – not yearly, like most kids.

    Well, I had ONE that I remember – shared with my brother who was born 728 days after me. One party. For two kids. Sporadically. That was it. So when I turned 8 and realized nobody was going to make sure I felt special on my day, I started baking birthday cakes for my family myself. I took that job seriously because I understood something at 8 years old that most adults never figure out: being forgotten on your birthday is a special kind of lonely.

    Fast forward to me becoming a mother, and let me be very clear: I went absolutely fucking all out.

    Themed parties. Cakes driven in from Chicago. Multiple celebrations. The works. Because when you didn’t get celebrated as a kid, you become the kind of mom who celebrates like it’s a national holiday. You become the mom who throws Bellapalooza.

    This year – well, technically this year is 2026 and Bella just turned 21, but I’m resharing this post from March 2010 when she turned 5 because something in me needs you to understand what that little girl meant to me then, and what that grown woman means to me now.

    When Bella was 4, she chose Moulin Rouge as her birthday party theme.

    Not Frozen. Not Cinderella. Not something a preschooler is “supposed” to want. She looked at me with that determined little face and said Moulin Rouge, and I thought – yes. This is MY kid. This is the girl who knows what she wants and isn’t apologizing for it.

    We did the whole thing in hot pink and black. Daddy made the cake (he does every year, and it’s one of my favorite traditions). Grandma made her a Pink Diamond costume. And this tiny 4-year-old walked around her party like she owned the place, completely unbothered by the fact that most people thought it was weird.

    I took a million photos because I was already doing that thing mothers do – the thing where you’re watching your kid and you suddenly realize they’re not going to be little anymore. Like watching sand slip through your fingers in real time. One second she’s eating cake for the first time at her first birthday, and the next she’s opening gifts and saying things like “Oh my gosh, thank you all so much. I wasn’t expecting so many gifts!”

    Who is this little adult? Where did my baby go?

    I got her a musical birthday card – the kind that plays a song when you open it. She and her sister are obsessed with these cards. This one said something sappy about happiness and love and dreams coming true, and it played “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

    I about lost it.

    I was standing there with my phone camera, trying to capture the moment, but really I was trying to hold onto time itself. Trying to freeze her at that exact second where she was pure joy and wonder and completely unselfconscious happiness. That real smile – not the one for the camera, but the actual real one that only shows up when something genuinely delights you.

    And I thought: I need her to remember this. I need her to know that someone in her life thinks her birthday is THE most important day of the year. That she is worth celebrating loudly and unapologetically in a world that constantly tells mothers to tone it down.

    Because I know what it’s like to not feel that way.When you grow up not being celebrated, you don’t just become a mom who throws big parties. You become a mom who’s trying to rewrite your own story through your kids. You become obsessed with creating memories that matter, moments that stick, experiences they can’t forget even if they want to.

    Every year is memorable. Every year is commemorated. Every year is BELLAPALOOZA because Bella gets to be a kid only once, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let those years slip by without her knowing how absolutely treasured she is.

    Her actual birthday is Wednesday and we will celebrate in style, as we always do. It is one of the most important days of my life. More important than New Year’s. More important than Christmas. Because it’s the day I became a mother. The day I was born as a mother. The day I got to be the person for my daughter that nobody was for me.

    In that moment when I first held her, I was transformed. Changed forever. Not in some magical, Hallmark-card way, but in a real, bone-deep, I-will-never-be-the-same way.

    Happy Birthday to my Bella – my pink-loving, strong-willed, knows-exactly-who-she-is daughter. You were that magical 5-year-old in the Moulin Rouge costume, and now you’re 21, and I’m still not ready for time to move this fast.

    But I’m so damn proud of the woman you’re becoming.

    And I’m still not apologizing for celebrating you like you matter.

    Because you do.

    XX