Xiobhan: All About the X

Don't go getting all excited. This may not last.

Blowing the dust off of the ‘ol blog for Siobhan C.  And it's a meme no less!  Let’s be honest here, I have always felt a certain kinship with women named Siobhan. They have shared my dismay at impossible pronunciations, and my excitement at getting ANYTHING personalized, so here goes.  FOR YOU...

Who was your favorite teacher?

“Doerf.” Diane Doerfler. My creative writing teacher, coach, and mentor at Brookfield High School. She was plain, favoring tweed blazers and slacks. She was intense and demanded respect, and effort. She had long since shed herself of her husband, surrounding herself with companions that meant the most to her...eight dogs. She lived a quiet life in a cabin in the woods, just Doerf and her books. My writing sounded best when read aloud by her. And she always chose my writing to read aloud, because out of the other kids in the class, I was considered one of the best. She made me feel special and gifted and I don’t think I have written with such passion and commitment since. I was writing for her.

If you could have one day to do over which would it be?

The day my father died. I have no idea how I could have changed the fact that he dropped dead in the middle of a business meeting, but he was here in DC, and I was less than two miles away. Maybe I could have called him, told him to go the hospital, been en route to the office building, performed the CPR that no one else did, something.  Something to change the very worst day in my entire life. Something that would have allowed him to walk me down the aisle five months later, to meet the most amazing kids ever, to prevent our family from fracturing. Something.

 I'm springing for drinks, what will you have?

Oooo...after that last question I sure could use a drink. Something fruity and vodka-y. Surprise me.

 What do you miss most about the salad days?

The dressing.

Dog or cat?

DOG DOG DOG 

What was your favorite subject in school?

Reading, writing, reading some more. I just couldn’t understand kids who complained about being asked to read, or write.  I was doing it anyway! It was a vacation from Math and Science. 

What are you reading now?

I am trying to encourage Beck to read more, and to enjoy it.  His class has a 100-minute a week reading challenge, and he has fallen behind…choosing iphone Minecraft over 20 minutes a day of a good book. Now that I am making him do something, it’s less fun.  In fact, it has become a battle. So my response? Mom and Beck Book Club! I read with him, and I read his books, so that we can talk about them. We pick a cozy spot, and sometimes we make a fort. Reading is more fun with a friend, right?  I am on book 2 of the Percy Jackson series and they are pretty fun reads.  He is starting to catch-up.

Who is your favorite president of all time?

I am going to go ahead and say Reagan. Not because of his policies, his leadership, or his administration, but because he was president for the eight years I was growing up, and he just WAS. My parents adored him, he looked presidential, and nice -- like a grandpa, and at that time in my life, it seems unquestionable that he would be president forever.

Did you have a family nickname as a kid?

Thank God no. “Little Siobhan,” maybe. My mother was “Big Siobhan.” In fifth grade awful Mrs. Beiter asked me what me nickname was and on the spot I said, “Shivvy!” No one had ever called me “Shivvy” but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Things went south when I did not actually respond to “Shivvy” and she yelled at me in my new nickname, which made it a whole lot less fun.

What's your favorite restaurant?

Eventide, in Arlington. It’s where Sander and I like to go for date night. It’s nothing special, but it’s special enough for us.

When you grew up, did you get to be what you wanted?

I’m not sure I ever knew what I wanted to be, honestly. I’ll say yes. Because I’m happy. I knew I wanted to be happy. 

My daughter came out of the bathroom last night tooting through a little cardboard tube "I found a whistle in the garbage!" #youguessedit

My parents were in Jennifer Aniston’s house!

Admittedly, it wasn’t Jennifer’s when they visited. It belonged to a couple named Ed and Cynthia Lasker and they had more money than God or Gates. Ed’s father was Albert Lasker, the father of modern day advertising who also once owned and sold the Chicago cubs to one of his “minor” partners, Wrigley.  His son Ed became a movie producer in the 40s and ran around with Howard Hughes before becoming a successful business man in his own right. The stories he shared were amazing.

At the time, and this was in the late 80s, my father was working with Ed.. .on what I have no idea…but when he went to LA for business meetings he would stay with the Laskers. On a few occasions, my mother would join him. I have seen snapshots of the house, but never in my head did I see this stunning and massive architectural gem. I remember they had two Rottweilers my mother was scared to death of, and that they had elephant tusks flanking an entry way (probably antique and probably illegally real).  I also remember the views, and the glass. It is important to note, that the higher up you are in Bel-Air, the more valuable the house. Cynthia once noted, “We look down on the Reagans!”  

On my parent’s first visit, my mother caught my father relieving himself, out on the balcony, into a large potted plant. She asked, “What the hell are you doing?” He said, “There is a Picasso over the toilet! I can't piss in front of a Picasso.” Hopefully the Reagans weren’t looking up at the time.

Jennifer Aniston Buys Big Digs in Bel Air

 

Sadly, I have been sitting here at my desk so long, and barely moving, that my lights just turned off.  Now I have to wave my arms around. Stupid electricty-saving motion-detecting sensor thingy.

You'll all be happy to know that we survived one of the worst bouts of stomach flu to ever hit our house. It rolled from me, to my daughter, to my husband, to my son over the course of four days.  I could write more but really...do you want to know how Beck was so worn out from throwing up that he slept through diarrhea? I didn't think so.  (This Mom stuff is pure glamour!) Thank goodness they didn't lose the weight that SJM and I did. I guess it wasn't ALL bad.

Things are getting better

Last week, for the first time since I was a 19 year-old intern and thought I had deleted a database marketing firm's database, I burst into tears at my desk. I have been working hard, staying late, and feeling pretty under appreciated.  One nastygram of an email was all it took for me to lose my shit. (I'm an awesome leader!!!) Since our new office has glass walls, I pretty much had to crawl under my desk to cry which made me feel even more pathetic.  And once you start, it's hard to stop. I knew I needed a break, there's just never a good time to take one.

This week, my husband had an overnight work retreat at a lovely Inn a few hours away. He said, "You're coming with me." But I can't!  "Yes. You. Can."

So I went, and I only checked my Blackberry four times an hour. I also got a massage, took a run, watched a bunch of some terrible Bravo show called "Million Dollar Listing" with the most despicable people I have ever seen in my life, and all that doing nothing made me feel alot better. 

You know what also made me feel better? When we got home, the big news was that the dog tried to drink out of  the toilet while Beck was using it. Crash wouldn't stop drinking and Beck couldn't stop peeing. Pissing on the dog's head was the highlight of his six year-old existence, and the re-telling of the story was a close second. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn't just walked in the door, and kissed the dog....on his head.

It's 10pm and I'm tired

The husband is downstairs watching The Hurt Locker and from the five minutes I saw from the kitchen, getting ice water, it is not the film for me.

Lulu is still not asleep and the more I yell at her the more she cries and says, "I not tired!" The more frustrated I get, the guiltier I feel.  I came home late, have been checking email nonstop and she has been badgering me to play my pretty ponies...."But you promised, Mama!  You promised!"

Cue Cats in the Cradle.

Actually, cue Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk because I have sung it to her every night for the past three months. We are to the point where she sings along and acts out lyrics, covering her head with the blanket and then popping up at "come out at night." We use her brother's nightlight to sky rocket "away from me."It's heartfelt and sad and prophetic as one day they will.  I do live to set them free.

The link below features the song, but it also features scenes from one of the weirder films of the past few years. Still it's lovely and I adore singing it to my children.  Even if it doesn't actually make them sleep, it's a special time for us.  Well, for me. While I still have them.

 

I should have said "Lientology" so I don't get sued.

Did anyone read the new People story about the Travolta family and their new baby? First, let me say congratulations. It is always a miracle when a new life comes into this world. It is doubly so when the parents are 48 and 56, respectively, and that baby is healthy. Little Ben is adorable.  I got the mail, sat down and started reading.

And wow, am I weirded out.  The entire article sounds like it was co-authored by Scientology reps. Almost every answer to every question references Scientology or "their Church."  They dropped the names of famous Scientologists like "our good friend Kirstie Alley" came by and "his favorite teddy Bear is the one Lisa Marie Presley gave him." (What? No Tom Cruise or Leah Remini shout outs?)  The following are just a samples of the responses:

 "We are fortunate to have our church, because they offer a course that has many helpful techniques to make pregnancy easier."

"I had never had a C-section before...but John gave me an assist, a hands-on Scientology process for getting you into communication with your body and relieving stress."

In response to the silent birth: "L. Ron Hubard discovered the single source of stress, worry, self-doubt and psychosomatic illness, which is the reactive mind. This part of the mind records all words and perceptions in times of pain and unconsciousness and these have adverse effects on people later in life."

"(When the baby cries) we use another Scientology assist called a Locational Assist, in which you point out things in the environment and get him to look at them. This gets them extroverted and to stop crying pretty quickly." (I hope you guys didn't pay for that course. L. Ron Hubbard did not invent shaking things at babies to distract them, no matter what the Church leaders tell you.  Great aliens in the sky they offer a lot of courses!)

Let's be clear. No matter how bat shit crazy Scientology is, I'm all for religious freedom. You can worship a pair of gold toe socks if it makes you a better, kinder, more generous person.  My concern here, is that their son was autistic and because their "church" doesn't recognize autism, they denied his condition. In this article, for the first time, they say the word autism.

"We met with doctors all over the world and tried many different approaches.....autism and seizures are two handicaps that have not been resolved as well as other conditions." There is a side bar mentioning the importance of autism research, and the goals of the foundation, but on the foundation web page? No. Mention. Of. Autism. In fact, it mentions everything BUT autism.

The Jett Travolta Foundation shall endeavor to use its resources specifically to assist and provide relief to children with vision, hearing, mobility, communication, behavior learning impairments or other special medical, environmental, health or educational needs. It may also use its resources, and make grants to educate the public about the need for a clean environment, provide relief and assistance to children who are victims of natural or man-made disasters, and to fund children’s educational programs.

I wouldn't wish the loss of a child on anyone. The pain is unimaginable to me. But this effort feels misguided.  It reads like the whole article is a promotional piece for Scientology.. .as if a deal was brokered. "Ok. You can talk about this fake 'autism' thing, and we'll look the other way, but you need to give as many mentions as possible about the Church and the benefits of our practices and for your convenience, we have prepared some talking points for you." It also makes me believe that there is Church involvement and/or funding in the effort which raises serious validity and motive issues.

If the Travoltas really want to fund research into the causes of autism, and treatment of autism, (which there is speculation they never did properly for their own child) they can't do it as top spokespeople for the Church of Scientology.

I have been ruined

A few months ago I had a business trip to Orlando. The convention was right smack in the center of Disney World so I began planning early how I was going to bring the kids and kill two bird with one stone. I mean, taking your kids to Walt Disney World is a mandatory parenting right of passage made difficult by the fact that I would rather gargle hot coals than actually GO to Disney World. So a business trip was a perfect scenario.  I attend meetings and conferences, and our awesome new au pair Mis Nik takes them all over the god forsaken place. And? I get the room paid for!

I am not a Disney girl. I am not, nor have I ever been, a fan of the Disney industrial complex, the princess fantasy bs*, or in general, the merchandising and commercial aspects of their business that (I am assuming) are  the most profitable.  That being said, one of my best friends lives and breathes for Mickey Mouse.

When I got the itinerary for the trip, he was the first person I called for advice. He was so excited about the idea of  my children at Disney World, that he volunteered to come with us and take them around. (YAY!) And then he volunteered his partner. And then his partner pressured my husband to come too. And then they invited more people and it became a "thing." So much of a thing that they said..."We'll just rent a plane." (Did you know that you can rent a plane the way people rent cars? No? Me neither.) You can, and it is amazing. It is air travel the way God intended. (You know what is also amazing? Having filthy rich friends. Hey guys! I love you!) 

Since I was new to this whole private aviation thing and asked alot of dumb questions, here is what you need to know for the next time you get the invitation:

1) You can bring whatever you want

Me: Can I bring my big shampoo? (Yes.) Can I bring juices for the kids?  (Yes) Can I bring a razor to shave my legs......

Friend: Honey, you can bring a loaded gun.

There is no security. There are no lines, no TSA pat downs or body scans.  There is just you, the plane and the pilot. This is because.....

2) You don't go through the airport

Private planes take off from those small air parks and air fields you see off the side of the road and always wonder about.  It couldn't be easier. You drive up and park your car. A nice guy in Dockers and an FAA badge comes over, welcomes you and takes the bags to put them in the back of an impossibly small aircraft. You'll want to bring your nerve pills. Which brings us to...

3) It's about the Size of Tommy Bradford's Eight is Enough Van

The pilots were sitting in front of us the whole time while I swiveled back in forth in a big leather chair. Do you all remember those big conversion vans from the 80s?  The ones with the recliners in the back, carpet on the walls and a little table to play Crazy 8s? My neighbors had one and it was like a living room on wheels, curtains on the windows and everything. Private planes are THE SAME THING. Only in the sky. I fully expected the pilot to turn around and yell, "If I have to stop this plane!" but he didn't. They were both very nice. We got in, we took off, we landed. Road trip! Or, in this case Cloud trip!

4) You set the schedule.

Me: "We're late! What time does the plane leave?"

Friend: "The plane leaves when I tell the plane to leave." (You can go ahead and re-read that last line. I'll wait.  The synapses of my brain just would not transmit that information. There was an audible "fzzt fzzt" sound. What? What do you mean? You TELL the plane when to leave? Aren't there...like... schedules with air traffic control and things like that?  I have no idea how it works. It is is all a wonderful combination of automatic and magic that I like to call "Automagic.") Pulling up to a plane, hopping in and taking off shaves hours off of your travel time.

4) You will never want to fly commercial again.

The only thing easier is teleportation. I do actually have concern that the children were exposed to this insane luxury so young.  On the way back to the airport, after what turned out to be a delightful trip, Beck asked "We get our own plane again, right?"

Now that I have your attention

And now that you know that I am not above using naked rock stars to get it.... where to begin?

Grandma

This time last year we were wrapping up our renovation and I was moving on to Grandma's which as you may recall looked like a set from that 70s show. It took about three months of weekends to empty the place. It also took three separate moving-sized donation vans and finally a dumpster. (Sadly, a piano that could not by moved out of the basement had to be taken apart. With an ax. It wasn't in great shape, but you never want to see that kind of fate befall a major musical instrument.) Those were long days, and while we encouraged her continually to tackle alot of it herself "bit by bit," it was just too overwhelming and in the end we made some tough decisions and tossed a lot.

So, over the course of the spring I spent most of my spare time at her house, cleaning, culling, meeting contractors, etc. When I wasn't at her house I was at the paint store, the tile store, Home Depot, or the cabinetry place. We gutted the kitchen, pulled up carpet to discover red oak hardwoods that had never seen the light of day, (who wants hardwoods? They have this new stuff called 'linoleum!' and you can nail it right down!) We replaced doors, swapped out most lighting fixtures, painted every thing, installed recessed lighting, hung fakey wood blinds and generally made it look better than it had ever looked while Jane and Norm lived there. Thank God and praise the Lord for HGTV because if you watch enough home improvement programs you get great ideas for ways to renovate and stage a home for a quick sale. We had three offers the first open house.  We closed less than three weeks later. The relief was amazing. I came to the realization that while I was incredibly stressed out, and juggling far too much...  I'M GOOD AT THIS. And I enjoy it. In a perverse way. 

So we sold her house late summer.  Jane has been with us now almost a year and while I kid about having my 82 year-old mother-in-law living with us, it's not bad. I love her, and she is the sweetest person I know.  She has her own space and she likes to maintain her independance. She frets, is forgetful, talks about the weather nonstop and has a nasty habit of falling asleep in front of the Tv.. slumped over.. which freaks me out....("San! Check your mother!") But other than that, the kids adore her and she is helpful and watches them every now and then. (And by watches them I mean turns on awful cartoons at maximum volume and feeds them "orange crunchies" an hour before dinner. That being said, I am able to do laundry. There are merits.

Next up! I flew in a private plane and outside of marrying my husband and giving birth to my children it was pretty much one of the greatest experiences of my life.

I should be a hand model.

More here!