Free Kris Jenner . . . And All Things Kardashian by Kris Jenner Page B

sight with Kimberly for all of us.
    N ow I was twenty-four and had two babies, and I had no idea it would be so hard. Everyone told me that life would change with a second baby. Let me tell you: change it did! I tell new moms now that one is like one, but two is like twenty. I was overwhelmed, but life went on. My mom and dad came up to visit as much as possible, and Robert’s parents, Helen and Arthur, and his extended family were a huge part of our lives.
    The definition of happiness for me is spending time with family, and we did so much of it back then. Robert’s aunt Dorothy and her husband, Jack—who we always called Auntie Dorothy and Uncle Jack—would come and take Kimberly and Kourtney to Douglas Park in Santa Monica while everyone else made dinner. Robert’s cousin Cici, who was by now one of my closest friends and confidantes, was always the first one in the kitchen. We had this huge Armenian family, and everyone helped with the cooking and the kids. Those years were fabulous.
    From 1980 to 1983, I was all about being the perfect wife and mother: raising babies, forming traditions, and settling into my life’s dream. I found so much joy in creating routines—especially holidays and special occasions—and keeping my house the way I lovedit. I loved potting plants. I loved creating the schedules. I loved everything about the life I had with Robert and our two children.
    Every morning, after Robert went to work, I would have the whole house to myself. We had amazing people working for us, and I would make sure the house was picture-perfect. I made breakfast for the babies, I played tennis with my friends, I met friends for lunch. I went shopping for the most adorable clothes for our two girls, who were always perfectly groomed, with big bows in their hair. Then I would come home and play with the babies some more.
    I obsessively cleaned my house, straightened the drawers, swept the floors, and threw loads and loads of laundry in the washing machine, even though I had a housekeeper. If I walked past a table and it was dirty or dusty, I had to grab a bottle of Windex or Pledge and make it shine. It gave me great satisfaction just to clean out the refrigerator. If you opened my refrigerator door, everything was pristine and perfect inside. (Funny enough, all my kids today do the same thing. The inside of Kimberly’s refrigerator looks exactly like mine did thirty years ago, everything perfectly clean and organized.)
    As you surely know by now, I’ve always been a perfectionist, type A personality. Everything has to be a certain way, and the world around me has to be in perfect order if I am to be relaxed and move on to do something new, different, or fun. That’s just who I am. I find joy in buying something new for my house, decorating, and dressing my kids. Back in the beginning years of my marriage to Robert, it was a good day if it ended with me bathing the babies in a bubble bath, filled with the cutest bath toys, and afterward dressing them in their pink satin Baby Dior nightgowns. I loved brushing their hair, turning on a movie, or reading them to sleep with a book. The biggest joy in my life was taking care of those babies. I knew I’d been blessed.
    On some nights, once the babies were in bed and the nannywas on the watch, Robert and I were able to have date nights. With babies tucked in, everybody safe and sound in our gorgeous house on Tower Lane, we’d tiptoe downstairs, where we would dress up and head out for a night in Beverly Hills. We were living
la vida loca
!
    Robert was quite the dresser. He would put on a gorgeous sports coat, great slacks, and beautiful Gucci loafers. His hair was always swept back perfectly and his nails were always manicured. Again, the perfect guy in every way. We’d get into one of his Rolls-Royces and hit the town. It was quite the life: everything was perfect, perfect, perfect . . . until imperfections began creeping in.
    It began with something strange. In 1982,