Xiobhan: All About the X

Putting the “punch” in “punch list”

Oh, you’re still there!  Well, hello!

I hope you haven’t been sitting there, waiting patiently for new content this whole time. God love ya because I have been off being crazy.*

*Being crazy includes, but is not limited to: managing contractors and making major construction decisions, putting out fires at work, making roman soldier belts out of brown paper bags for Christmas pageants, bursting into tears randomly, ripping out flooded basement carpet and drywall, buying, wrapping and opening my own Christmas presents, scrubbing paint footprints off of a new flagstone patio in the dark and cold with a dish brush, yelling at small children for yelling, lamenting our useless (read homesick, lovesick, you-name-it-sick) new au pair, banging on the door of a downtown liquor store that was late in opening one morning (I wasn’t alone, you know. Two bums were just as annoyed that it was already 10:08am…), cleaning house and records retention (my god were we cheap in 1996, thank you ”Year End Summary” but to the shredder you go) and then this morning the car wouldn't start...

So we are wrapping up Project Grandma 2009.  The fence is going in today and the carpet should already be down. I am supposed to be putting together a punch list of all the little things left to do at our house before we begin Phase two: renovate her house to sell.   I am ready for them to be done with, and out of, my house.  I want to get back to normal but am not sure yet what the “new normal” will be like with Grandma living with us. I am optimistic. I know there will be moments where I want to strangle but the house is bigger now. I have more places to hide.  I will admit that I have less patience and less of a sense of humor than this time last year.  Sunday morning I made breakfast for a family that was still in bed.  I gave two warning calls up the stairs before I got to the “IT’S ON THE TABLE.” Beck came down and said, “Daddy says that you are a bossy cougar.” (A bossy cougar?? Or a “bossy cooker?”)  Beck said, “No. He said COUGAR.” He in fact DID say cooker, but I like the title of Bossy Cougar. I am going to go to “Things Remembered” and have it etched in bronze plate for my door here at work.

So we are surviving but I have anxiety because I am surrounded by thing that are Not Done and I feel that it is my job to do them. The more crazy things become, the more focused I become on the things that are Not Done and all I want is to have everything in it’s place and have a minute of peace but I have a two year-old and a five year-old and new 4,000 piece Lego sets in the house, electricians, painters, drywallers and tilers coming and going and at this moment it feels as if there will never, ever be a day of peace or cleanliness.

Found it!

I was only sort of kidding when I said I was looking for video of myself dancing at the homecoming because this is 2009 and not much happens without serious internet documentation. Well I found it! A clip has hit The Internets and you can’t even see me because I am wearing black and dancing behind somebody. Either way, I bring you, The Velveteens singing “Wasted with the Cooper!" (You’ll want to push that little arrow up to the 1:00 mark.)

It’s drinking games with the cooper
Well I cheat so I never lose
I hold back his ponytail while he pukes on his buckle shoes
He wipes his mouth and smiles at me, and hands me his barrel tools
Then I sit around making barrels while he spits and stares and drools
Wasted with the cooper! We’re really going to rock this town.
Building barrels in a stupor! We can’t hold our liquor down!

Music History Major- FAIL

So I did a quick YouTube search to find a nice video of myself skanking at my husband's 20th reunion. Here I am! Sort of....

Nothing will make you feel older than this guy's video description, written in 2007:

This is just me skanking to Rudie Can't Fail by the Clash. They're an underground new-wave band that have been getting some attention recently. They're okay if you like Korn.

Did you feel that? In your chest? It hurts, doesn't it?

We need one of these for the backyard

reunited (cause it feels so good)

I lived through my husband’s 20^th college reunion!  Woot!  Actually, I had a really good time. I was under no pressure to mingle, make conversation, be smart or witty or successful. I was just “the wife.” As long as I looked younger and thinner than his ex-girlfriends I was fine. The weather in Williamsburg was gorgeous…sunny and balmy– not at all like the rain that was predicted, so being outside with the kids was a joy. Sitting on the grass, drinking a cape cod, listening to the alumni band play REM covers, and watching the kids run around in circles.  I was, for the first time in weeks, stress free.

 Saturday night there was an alumni gala at the W&M conference center for all returning graduates. The average age was about 50 or so, and the featured music was an appropriate Motown revue.  That being said, the band that played during their intermission, for 8 brief songs, was the band that stole the show. The Velveteens were a W&M college band and they all graduated around ’99. To say “college band” does them a grave disservice because they were – and still are – awesome. I wrote about them once. Go here to listen to skalicious-ness.  On Saturday night I dressed to impress and wound up kick dancing myself into a cashmere-coated sweat with about five other fans/friends/class of ’99 graduates while men and gray-haired women in Chico’s formal stood around us and watched in amusement. Cashmere has really poor wicking properties, fyi.  And yes, lead singer Wilson, the sustainable/renewable energies consultant and failed jeopardy contestant, could still work a crowd. A few pounds heavier, sure, but the powder blue plaid polyester suit fit and the guys slid on their knees across the dance floor while playing their trombones just  like they did ten years ago. Except probably, with a bit more Advil the next morning.  

After going nuts on the dance floor I sat down at a mostly empty table.  An older woman leaned over and said, “Are you one of us?”  I asked, “”I’m sorry?”  “Are you class of ’74? This is a Class of ‘74 table.”  And yes, it was then that I noticed the silver Mylar “74” balloons anchored to the table with green and yellow sand bags. “Oh, sorry” I joked, “Guess I didn’t see those huge numbered balloons.”  I picked up my drink and left but in my head? I said, “Bitch, PLEASE! Do I look like I’m class of ’74? Honey I was BORN in ’74.” That’s ok. They were old and needed to sit.  Not me, even after jumping up and down and air-punching for 28 straight minutes

In other news, a woman I worked for, a woman with serious substance abuse issues and a medley of mental health disorders, died at 44 of cancer. I am shocked, and saddened. You wish things on people who make your life miserable but in the end, not really. She was an unhappy person for most of her life and I hope that she has found some sort of peace.

Lots of other news, like the construction , my mother’s new hip, good visits from old friends, but now I am racing to clock.  I will try and post more often.   

Change and sadness

I am sitting here at my desk trying to write an email to the mother of our au pair letting her know how amazing and wonderful her daughter is and how much we are going to miss her. It’s not easy.

Yolandi has been with us for two years and tomorrow night she flies home to South Africa. I will miss her so much I can’t bear it. Lulu has never known a day with her. It will be so weird.  A new girl arrived on Thursday. She is young and home sick. Yolandi has been a do-er. So far Mizlee has been a sitter and watcher. Oh, and a texter. Every few minutes. To her mom, her boyfriend, other au pairs she met in orientation. I am hoping this will change once Yolandi has gone, and it will be up to her to run things. She seems like such a teenager compared to the confident, independent woman who is leaving us.  It’s unfair to the new girl to compare her, but I am doing it anyway.  It’s clear to me that some girls see the au pair program as a fun way to travel and play with cute kids. Yo looked at it as what it really is... a job – and a hard one at that. She made our lives easier and more interesting. She was my wife and now I feel like I have lost that and quite possibly gained another child.

 We’ll see.  I’m trying to be fair, but we are all having trouble separating.  

School

I have been reading post after post today, looking at pic after pic, of small children going off to big schools.  Well, my guy started kindergarten last week and much like pre-K, for the first few days I walked him over to his teacher, and sat him on the low wall where the rest of his classmates wait until they all file into the school behind their teacher.   I enjoy walking Beck in, either to his class or to the wall. I like seeing all of his little friends, asking them questions, being silly. Nothing makes you feel more popular than being surrounded my five year-old girls asking about your shoes and hair.  I chat with small children, “Hi Giuseppe! I LOVE your new backpack. Very cool,” and then head into work. Most of the parents use the car pool lane to drop off their children. Our school doesn’t have buses, so cars line up in the back parking lot, traffic assistants from the fourth grade on up open the door for your child like it’s the Waldorf Astoria and say, “Good morning! Welcome to school!” They take a little hand and walk them safely over to the wall.  This morning, we tried the car pool lane for the first time.  As we crawled towards the drop off area, Beck started to choke up.  “NO mama! No! Pleeease walk me! PLEASE!” I explained to him that it was too late and that we were already in the lane. He started to whimper a bit and said, “I’m just not sure that I’m ready for this.”  We pulled to a stop, a blond girl with a shiny new orange sash opened up the door and said, “Hi Beck!” and my child took her hand and didn’t look back.  I’m not sure that I was ready for that.

I'm still here!

My husband just informed me that he is going to go see the 9:50pm showing of Harry Potter. 

 

Me: “What? Right now? It's 9:30!” 

Him: “Yeah!  So I better hurry!” 

 

Yes, I let my husband do whatever the hell he pleases. So what do I do in return after being all passive aggressive and bitchy, “no.. go have fun…”…? I take to the Internets to complain to you good people. Actively aggressive and bitchy! So now all seven of you that got through the high security know I am sitting in bed being grumpy because he is seeing a movie that I wanted to see too… without me.

 

Speaking of the high security, I guess I do owe an explanation.

 

I have always been lucky in that I have a husband completely disinterested in my online persona. He has known about this website for years, but has never worked very hard in looking for it.  My sister also knows, but she respects my privacy. She also isn't terribly internet savvy. My mother and brother, however, are another story. Last week I made the mistake of commenting on a family member's Flickr stream and in doing so, alerted them to my presence. I received a late night phone call requesting that I privatize all family photos and that I take more measures to protect my children from pedophiles. My brother was pretty rationale, “Look, Mom’s upset. She didn’t know. Can you just take some of the stuff down?”  My mother, the next day, was less so.

 

Me: “But Mom, I have security settings on there.”

Mom: “Your security settings mean nothing to pedophiles! If the North Koreans can hack into US government computers, than they can find your pictures!”

Me: “You think North Korean pedophiles are hacking my Flickr stream?”

Mom: “Nothing is safe! Nothing is secure!”

 

Apparently pictures of my daughter on the potty are as important as nuclear launch codes and that damn Kim Jung Il will stop at nothing to get them!  (Wow, this password protected stuff is liberating!!! I’m going to say more stuff about my crazy family!  Woot!!) So, yeah.  I imagined my very intelligent attorney brother doing a quick Google search on “Xio” and winding up HERE. Lord knows what else might pop up, from boring tweets “At a video shoot” to long dead sites where I signed up just to give it a test run, Vox, tumblr, I can’t even remember what.  I just didn’t need the shock/disappointment or lecture when they learned how I swear for ANYONE to see. Poop. Crap. Tits. Shit.

 

Lord have mercy someone remind me to fully delete this post if I ever unlock. Kim Jung il has probanly read it already anyway.

 

Changing Things Up

I know how to direct designers more than I know how to design. So, bear with me as I stumble and eff around with a new look and feel. The dog has been dead two years now. It's time. But dag!  She may be hard to get rid of. Tech support!!!!

Grapevine Fires

I am working on some neat (albeit stressful) projects here at work that include animation. I was sent this Death Cab video, and it's wonderful. It won Best Music Video at the Los Angeles Film Festival.