Julia Roberts is one of the rare celebrities who lives a relatively ordinary existence. She has been married to cinematographer Daniel Moder for 19 years, and the couple appears to be extremely happy.
he couple has three children: twins Phinnaeus and Hazel, both 16, and a son, Henry, 14.
Both Roberts and Moder try to keep their children out of the public eye, which is why we rarely see them attending public events or sharing images on social media.
However, we saw Hazel in the presence of her father at the Cannes Film Festival in France in July.
The two were there to promote the film Flag Day. Moder was the choreographer, and Sean Penn, was the director.
While Penn’s children played characters in the film, Hazel did not, but she attended the ceremony to support her father’s efforts.
Hazel’s amazing beauty drew everyone’s attention.
While some claim she inherited her mother’s nose, many believe she’s a striking likeness of her handsome father, so it’s no surprise she’s attractive herself. Hazel has blonde hair and blue eyes.
She was dressed in a soft yellow long lace gown and black Mary Jane heels. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her make-up was modest. A true woman!
Moder was clearly proud of his girl and spent the entire evening by her side.
Whether Hazel or her siblings are interested in pursuing professions in the film industry is unknown because their parents rarely speak about their children and prefer to keep them out of the spotlight, which is understandable given Roberts’ grounded nature.
Despite her great income, which is reported to be approximately $250 million, she has never acted like a diva and has always maintained a humble demeanor.
In 2016, Hazel and her brothers played minor roles in Robert’s film Mother’s Day.
In 2018, Roberts told Harper’s Bazaar about her children:
“I don’t think they’ll ever understand (my fame). I think I told you once that when they started figuring it out, they were like, ‘You’re famous?’”
“And I said, ‘I think a lot of people might have seen the movie that I’m in or might know who I am.’”
She then discussed the issues that today’s youngsters experience, saying, “It’s different than when I might have said to my mom, ‘Mom, you don’t know what it’s like to be a teenager today,’ even though she probably did.”
Danny and I have no idea what it’s like to be an adolescent today. When my children ask me questions, I just tell them, ‘I’m going to say no and check into it because I have no idea what we’re talking about.’”
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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