Might As Well Laugh About It Now

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  The Most Unforgettable Moment I’ll Never Remember

  Be Still

  Fake It When You Can’t Make It

  I’d Rather Play the Toilet

  The Ones Who Really Live Happily Ever After

  Hot Property: Great Open Floor Plan, Full Mountain Views

  Bloomin’ Cactus

  Needled

  The Most Consistent Man

  Boogie Woogie Twenty Miles in Fifteen Minutes Flat

  “Wise Men Say”

  The Frill Is Gone

  Fight or Flee

  WXR-Pee

  Live from Orem

  Let in the Joy

  Borrowed Bling

  Scatterbrain

  A Poseidon Adventure on the Love Boat

  Nun Gags

  Stuff

  In Search of a Last Name

  Dude, It’s for Me

  We Want You Around

  It’s Only Sand

  Dressed to Spill . . . Out

  You’ll Be There

  Acknowledgements

  New American Library

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  First published by New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, April 2009

  Copyright © Marie, Inc., 2009

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Osmond, Marie, 1959-

  Might as well laugh about it now/Marie Osmond with Marcia Wilkie. p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-05036-1

  1. Osmond, Marie, 1959- 2. Singers.—United States. I. Wilkie, Marcia. II. Title.

  ML420.O834A3 2009

  782.42164092—dc22

  [B]

  2008053921

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  I’m 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.

  I’ve 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 I’m wise and want to save myself a lot of unneeded stress, it’s 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” Patty’s house (my best friend since age ten, Patty Leoni). Patty has no children of her own, so I’ve 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 she’s stubborn, she’s 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 Patty’s pool. I looked over at Abby, napping in her crib. Again, my intuitive voice said: “Take her, too.”

  “No,” I thought, “it’s not practical. Abby doesn’t know how to swim and it will be too dangerous around Patty’s pool.” Besides, Patty has gorgeous décor and many delicate collectibles that I was certain Abby would not be able to resist getting her pudgy little fingers on. No. I wouldn’t 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 don’t know why I’m 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 Patty’s 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 s
tored 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 Brianna’s 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 wasn’t, 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 wasn’t 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 mother’s urging, at age ten. Over thirty years of memories of places I’ve traveled, people I’ve 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 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.

  Jane 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.