Table of Contents
Im often asked if I had stage parents.
I answer,Absolutely! They were there for me every stage of my life.
To my mother and father, Olive and George Osmond.
In their wisdom they chose to laugh every single day. Now, every single day, I choose to do the same.
A lot goes on behind the scenes that you never get to see to make the most of what you do get to see.
Ive never regretted following my intuition. Sometimes it has to shout to be heard over the noise of my crazy and hectic life, but sooner or later I do listen. If Im wise and want to save myself a lot of unneeded stress, its sooner.
Has my intuition made my life more fulfilling or even easier? In the long run, yes. In the immediate future, the answer most likely is no. The direction I get from my intuition usually involves either a big leap of faith or, at the very least, a hassle. This book is the result of a small hassle, a huge hassle, then a big leap of faith, which brought me the immense gift of recounting my many blessings and the valuable life lessons that keep me moving forward every day.
Labor Day weekend of 2005, I had a speaking engagement for a group of young women at a retreat outside of Los Angeles. I often take advantage of these quick work trips as a chance to take along one of my kids for some solo Mommy time. This trip my daughter Brianna, who was then seven, would have me all to herself. We planned to fly into Burbank and stay at Aunt Pattys house (my best friend since age ten, Patty Leoni). Patty has no children of her own, so Ive told her that she needs to help me raise all of mine! My kids love her as much as I do.
As I was packing, my intuition nudged me with the thought that I should take my youngest daughter, Abby, on this trip as well. Of course, I dismissed it. Abby was two and a half at that time and already had a very big personality. She enjoys life in a huge way. On the other hand, when shes stubborn, shes a small mountain. It would have been too much to handle a rambunctious toddler. Besides, she was in the process of potty training, and that alone takes a watchful eye.
I checked in on Brianna to make sure she was packing a swimsuit so she could go in Aunt Pattys pool. I looked over at Abby, napping in her crib. Again, my intuitive voice said: Take her, too.
No, I thought, its not practical. Abby doesnt know how to swim and it will be too dangerous around Pattys pool. Besides, Patty has gorgeous dcor and many delicate collectibles that I was certain Abby would not be able to resist getting her pudgy little fingers on. No. I wouldnt take her this trip.
I picked out something to wear the next day for the speech. As I was zipping up the garment bag, my intuition informed me that, like it or not, I really needed to take Abby along.
Okay, I thought. Fine! I give in. I dont know why Im taking Abby, but I will.
I had to double-time it to get the packing done. As I located all of the gear a toddler needs for a two-day trip, my logical side was berating my decision. My list was long and my time was short and so was my patience. I had about five minutes to pack clothing, diapers, baby wipes, sippy cups, binkies, blankies, a swim vest, a car seat, toys, baby sunblock, and a stroller before I needed to leave for the airport. This fun mommy-daughter trip was suddenly a lot more complicated, going from two small carry-on bags to four checked bags.
My thoughts were still the same the next morning as I stood at Pattys bathroom mirror, trying to put on makeup and focus on my speech while Abby stood at my knees practicing her own favorite new phrase: Why, Mommy?
I would soon be able to answer that question for myself. As Patty and I loaded the little girls into her car to head out to the mountains for my engagement, my cell phone rang.
A good friend of mine was calling to tell me that my house was on fire and it was being shown on the morning news. The fire had started in the garage. The gas tanks of two WaveRunners we stored there had caused a huge explosion and the fire had spread very rapidly.
The first words out of my mouth were, Where are my kids?
My friend reassured me that all of my children were safe from harm. My home office and Abby and Briannas shared bedroom were on the side of the house that was consumed in flames. The good news was that the fire department was quickly on the scene, preventing the entire house from going up in a blaze.
My first reaction was tears of relief. Somehow I knew, listening to my friend, that it was going to be okay in the big picture. I turned to look at my two little girls riding in the back of the car. Abby, not understanding this news development, sat in her car seat, chatting to the doll Aunt Patty had given her. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that my children were all safe, and filled with awe as I understood why my intuition had told me to take Abby along on this trip. What if she had been in her crib? Even if she wasnt, I knew my curious and strong-willed baby could have been in great danger. I shuddered to think of the ramifications if she had been there.
It wasnt until I returned home that I realized the extent of the loss. My home office was nonexistent: almost everything was either melted or burned up altogether.
Among my possessions in the completely destroyed category were my personal journals that I had started writing, at my mothers urging, at age ten. Over thirty years of memories of places Ive traveled, people Ive worked with, career highlights, struggles in love and life, great times with family, becoming a mother to each of my children, cute moments from the kids, funny stuff that happened along the way, the hard times, and much more were gone.
After the insurance company estimated the damage I remarked to a friend, Maybe we shouldnt 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, Dont 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 Im 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! Im only half dead!
I wasnt 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 Im fascinated reading my own mothers journals now. I asked Marcia Wilkie, the coauthor of my first book,
