THE LONG COLD SUMMER - PART II

It had been a month since Alex was diagnosed with Cold Urticaria and we were starting to settle in to our new reality. My folks were in town for a visit and Jen and I had a much-needed first date-night in God knows how long. Things seemed “normal” for the first time in what felt like forever. But all that was shattered when I took Arden to her 8-year-old check up the next morning. In this case Jen had correctly diagnosed her with Type 1 Diabetes thanks to WebMD. However, we didn’t know exactly what that entailed and we were instantly thrown into a frenzied crash course on the disease when our pediatrician said she had to be checked into the E.R. immediately to get her blood sugar stabilized.

I didn’t know much about the disease other than once having a cat with diabetes that I had to shoot up with insulin twice a day. And I knew that sugar wasn’t a diabetic’s best friend so while we waited to get authorized to go to the E.R. I said to Arden, “Let’s go get the biggest sugar-coated donut we can find in the cafeteria,” thinking this would be the last bit of sugar she ever ate. And while I watched her eating that donut, blissfully unaware of her diagnosis, my heart sank further and further with each bite she took.

She was soon checked into the E.R. where they plugged her veins with catheters and drips and attached her to all kinds of machines. A never-ending flux of doctors and nurses would come in and out and talk to me like I knew what was going on. Once “stable” they moved her into the hospital for the next twenty-four hours where they would stick her with needles every few hours and prick her fingers more often than that. Jen and I spent eight straight hours talking to endocrinologists and dieticians and diabetes instructors. Gone were the days of the regimented two-needle day; now she would have to have one kind of insulin at night and be injected with another kind before every meal or snack. We’re talking 5-8 shots a day. The “good news” was that she could eat basically whatever she wanted, if we gave her the right amount insulin. But that meant counting carbs, weighing food and pricking her fingers before and after meals. It meant rotating injection sites and finger prick locations. It meant watching out for dangerous low blood sugars and checking her numbers at midnight and 3:00 AM. And what about school? It was starting in two weeks and there was only a nurse on premises one day a week. Who would shoot her up? Who would take care of her if she went low and passed out? The information came fast and furious and I prayed that just a tenth of it would stick. And then suddenly we were sent home. That was it. They needed the bed. It was like the day after Arden was born. Same hospital. Same feeling of loading her into the car and thinking, “Now what?” But in this case there was no joy and wonderment. There was only the fear that if we fuck up, she could die.

But I have to hand it to Arden; she was a real trooper at the hospital. She didn’t cry once. Not from the shots, not from the finger pricks and not from the knowledge that her junk food junkie days were over. If anything she was in her element having dozens of people dote all over her. They all thought she was a riot as she made wacky Vine videos from her hospital bed and taught the night nurse how to play Minecraft. But then reality set in when we got home.

On the outside Arden was doing great. She was taking her shots without incident and saying witty things like, “Shoot me up, Mama, I’m hungry.” But internally she wasn’t processing things as well. She was turning her fear of germs into full-blown OCD. Freaking out if someone wore shoes in the house and washing her hands until they bled. And then there was the hair. It continued to fall out. Now by the fistful with each bath or shower. The doctors all said it was unrelated to the diabetes. So what was it? Our dermatologist said it was probably nothing, but if we wanted to subject Arden to a painful scalp biopsy we could determine what it wasn’t. But we couldn’t put her through that. Not after all she’d already been through. So we just watched the hair continue to fall out.

Jen’s a tough woman. She’s got a mouth like a sailor and will whip your ass in drinking and darts. She doesn’t cry often. But with this tumultuous summer and now seeing Arden’s scalp poking through her thinning curls she was becoming undone. She was crying all the time. Even though I wanted to cry at times too, I couldn’t because one of us needed to be strong at all times. One of us needed to stay an optimist for the other, even if we didn’t believe what we were saying. But it wasn’t working. Jen was a constant mess and I started to understand why couples get divorced when they lose a child. It’s not because they don’t love each other anymore, it’s because they can’t stand the pain the other one carries. It’s a constant reminder of your struggles and suffering. But that was just a flickering understanding. I knew as couple we were stronger than that. I knew we would survive, and mercifully Arden’s hair loss started to lessen and we finally learned that sometimes when there’s a shock to the system your hair stops growing and when new follicles emerge they push the old ones out. So it meant Arden’s hair was actually coming back. This was a symbolic turning point for us. It meant hopefully things would be getting better soon.

It’s now been five months since Alex was diagnosed with her cold allergy and four months since Arden was diagnosed with diabetes and I have to say that while it’s been tough and there’s been plenty of bumps in the road, we’ve finally found a new new normal for our lives. We’re now used to counting carbs, and finger pricks and insulin shots are just part of our daily routine. Where we once had a diaper bag, now we have a knapsack filled with alcohol swabs, syringes, Epipens and warm clothes for Alex. And I’m happy to report that Arden’s OCD is getting better and she’s taught herself how to self-inject in order to avoid the “stupid nurses” at school. I prefer the term “uneducated in the ways of diabetes,” but stupid will suffice. I still have to get up at 3:00AM to check her blood every night and will probably have to do that until she heads off to college, but just like having a newborn, you just get used to being tired. As for Alex, we decided, much to the chagrin of our allergist, that we weren’t going to put her on any medications at all. None. We were going to wait until the weather got colder and see if we really needed it. Well it’s starting to get cold here in Los Angeles and thankfully there have been no real breakouts since the summer. Not from the bath. Not from the sweat on her brow. And she’s been fine in air-conditioned environments. We’re hoping that as we’ve gotten further away from those initial incidents that her system has had time to recuperate and maybe her allergy isn’t as bad as originally diagnosed, or maybe even that it was an acute occurrence. Perhaps one day soon she’ll even eat ice cream again. But even if she can, we’ll always keep that Epipen handy. As for Arden, you can’t outgrow Type 1 Diabetes. It’s there for life, but Arden has one of the best endocrinology teams in the country and she’s hoping to get on a pump soon, to free her up even more. She’s about to audition for the school play and her grades are still good. And instead of ignoring her disease she’s out there fighting for a cure. She did an hour interview for Radio Disney to spread awareness and she’s raised over $5000 for the JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) with their Walk to Cure Diabetes last month. Alex is also thriving in her first year of elementary school. Amazing us with what comes out of her mouth each day. And Jen’s back to that tough chick I know and love, and believe it or not we’re about to celebrate twenty years together. And I couldn’t be happier about that. So things are all right. We’re finding our new normal. And we even had another date night last week. Our first once since Arden’s diagnosis. And it was a good one. Sandra Bullock was great in Gravity.

Arden doing her interview on Radio Disney. 

 First Day of School wearing their Medic Alert Bracelets.

 Alex and Arden at the Walk to Cure Diabetes

A note I got from Arden yesterday that not only tells me her blood sugar and what she wants for breakfast, but also that she's doing all right. Better than all right. 

THE LONG COLD SUMMER

At the beginning of the summer I had two seemingly healthy kids who didn’t have a care in the world. Well, actually Arden had developed an unhealthy fear of germs, thanks to her second grade health class, and Alex had developed a case of separation anxiety after getting lost in the mall. Other than that, they seemed perfectly happy and healthy. That was until we stopped off at Yogurtland one afternoon and Alex said her teeth hurt. When we got into the car it wasn’t it her teeth that were bothering her anymore, it was her tongue. It was getting bigger. And so were her lips. She thought it was funny. I thought I was going to shit my pants. Off we rushed to the emergency room.

“Thanks” to Alex’s anaphylactic reaction we were hurried in to see a doctor immediately where Alex was given a big ole cocktail of adrenaline, Benadryl and steroids. That did the trick, but she was kept under observation for the next five hours. During that time I was trying to figure out what she had eaten. She had several toppings on her frozen yogurt so maybe there was some cross-contamination with something she was allergic to. But what? The only thing we knew she was allergic to was penicillin and I was pretty sure there weren’t any penicillin-flavored gummy bears on her yogurt. At the end of the night we were told to avoid the typical allergy inducing foods such as chocolate and nuts and strawberries. They also gave us an Epipen because if Alex got another reaction before her system reset, “It could be bad.” Not the most reassuring words I’ve ever heard.

The next day went without incident until after dinner when I gave Alex a Popsicle and her lips started to swell. Back we went to the E.R.  Jen and I both scoured the ingredients of the Popsicle to see if there was a match with anything from Yogurtland. The only thing we found in common was guar gum, which is in basically everything – dairy, meat, baked goods, condiments. We thought it would suck if she were allergic to something like that. Little did we know it was worse. Meanwhile, while I sat in Children’s Hospital with Alex asleep in my arms and my iPhone battery dying by the second, I saw someone on Facebook suggest maybe she was allergic to the cold. The cold? There’s no way. But I looked it up. It was a real thing so I asked the doctor. He said WebMD was the worst thing to happen to hypochondriacs and parents alike. Unfortunately I’m both. He said she wasn’t allergic to the cold. But something inside me couldn’t help but wonder.

Two days later we went up to Lake Arrowhead for a quick family vacation. It was 115 degrees when we arrived so as soon as we checked into the resort we headed down to the lake for a quick dip. The water was chilly so the kids took their time wading into the lake. I watched Alex carefully and noticed she was starting to turn red where the water touched her legs. I pointed it out to Jen who took a closer look. Alex had red welts all over her legs. We told Alex to get out of the water but before she could she turned ghostly white and started to convulse and throw up. She was going into anaphylactic shock. Her organs were shutting down. But because we thought she had a food allergy the Epipen was miles away in the hotel room. So Jen rushed ahead with Arden while I carried Alex’s limp body up the side of the mountain. We eventually met in the parking lot where the valet gave us directions to the local hospital, ten miles away. Alex started to wretch again. Jen commanded me to use the Epipen. I’ll tell you, if you haven’t used one before, it’s not easy. It’s not the physical act of stabbing your child in the leg that’s difficult. It’s mental hurdle of the action. And I was told later that many parents can’t bring themselves to do it, even in a crisis. But I did it. And I instantly knew Alex’s lungs were working because I had never heard her scream so loud. We then tore off for the tiny mountain hospital where the doctor on call said it was a good thing I had that Epipen because, “It could’ve been bad.”

24 hours later we were at an allergist’s office back in Los Angeles where it was determined that Alex had a rare condition known as Cold Urticaria and Angioedema. She was allergic to the cold, which meant no more cold beverages, no more air conditioning. She could never swim in the ocean again or get caught in the rain. Our research showed that most people with this condition couldn’t walk past the cold aisle at the grocery store without breaking out. Our hearts were breaking by the second. The doctor wanted to put her on three different kinds of allergy medications for life and even then it wouldn’t totally prevent an outbreak or another case of anaphylaxis. Our world had been rocked. We would have to change the way we lived. And for the next few weeks the smallest things would cause her to break out. Her own wet hair after a bath would cause her to get welts on her forehead. Her own sweat cooling on her brow after running around at the park would cause her to break out. An orange from the refrigerator would make her face look like Heath Ledger’s Joker. And hearing Alex say things like, “When I can eat ice cream again…” would break our hearts even more because “when” would likely mean “never.” Our whole life was about to change, but still not even the way we expected. Because, Arden, not Alex, suddenly started to lose weight. It didn’t matter how much she ate, she was getting thinner. And her thirst was unquenchable. And then her hair started falling out. So we took her to the doctor only to find out she had developed Type 1 Diabetes.

Tomorrow: Part II

40 (FORTY)

It’s been a while since my last post and a lot has obviously happened since then. There have been many misadventures like on Easter weekend when Alex mistakenly downed a mimosa thinking it was orange juice. Or the continued “fun” of receiving iPad text messages from a 7-year-old, most of which point out my deficiencies as a parent i.e. “Hey Daddy, you do a bad job doing my hair.” Or deciding to take a family vacation with Bacon. Wait. You can’t take a dog into restaurants? What’s that? You can’t take a dog into Hearst Castle? Huh? The dog doesn’t want to be left alone in a strange hotel room? 

There have also been many milestones. The girls both had birthdays and Arden got glasses. Alex swore an allegiance to the Super Friends and we all got to witness the final flyby of the Endeavour, signaling the end of the space shuttle program. This in itself was a bittersweet moment for me. It brought back childhood memories of waking up at the crack of dawn to watch the shuttles launch on TV and remembering how excited I got when there were new pictures of Saturn in the Boston Globe. Between that and Star Wars, I wanted to be an astronaut. So it was sad to see the end of something so integral to my youth. But I was also happy to feel that excitement once again, if only for a brief moment. And in that same moment, I got to see that same spark of excitement in Arden.

I guess I’m waxing poetic about the past because this past summer we also saw the passing of the girls’ great grandmother (Jen’s grandmother) Gertrude Thornley. She was one of the first female marines and served during World War II. At her funeral I heard so many touching stories about her. Things I never knew. And I also heard how she touched so many lives. And at the end of the service, when the marines played Taps and saluted her tombstone, I just about lost it. But it made me think about the legacy that we leave behind.

Okay, okay, the real reason I’m getting all nostalgic today is because I turned 40 this past weekend. I know, I know 40 is the new 20. But still, a lot happens in 40 year’s time. And even though I don’t feel any older, besides the chronic heartburn, the high triglycerides and the need to now bend over and cough at my annual check up, it still gives me pause. It’s still a milestone. But a good milestone. That’s why Jen threw me a whopper of a party that included people from all different chapters of my life – family, high school, college, industry friends, friends of friends who became better friends than the friends who introduced us and now none of us know where the original friends are today. I felt like I was on This Is Your Life. And it felt great to think about the past.

But certain aspects of our lives happen by destiny. Others by chance.  And a few days ago I was reminded of one of those big chance encounters. I learned of the passing of Phylis (Fox) Ravel, my college drama teacher. She died of complications due to cancer. Apparently they diagnosed her late so she decided to forgo treatment and enjoy her final days. I bring her up because when I was in college she was writing a play (Censored: On Final Approach) that would go on to be performed nationally. It was a vehicle for one of her students and she asked me if I would take a small, but “pivotal” role in that play. Well it turns out that the student she was writing the play for would one day be my wife. So without this playwright, who I haven’t talked to since I graduated college almost twenty years ago, I would have never met Jen and had the two wonderful children that I have today. So I would say it was definitely a pivotal role Phylis Ravel offered me that day.

I’m excited to be 40. I’m excited to see my kids growing up. I’m excited to see Arden throw herself into everything she does whether it’s teaching herself fashion design or figuring out how to make Microsoft Word do things I never knew it could do. (And I’ve been using it for over 20 years.) I’m excited to see Alex finally sleep through the night and start to solve problems on her own. I’m excited to see my girls look out for each other (most of the time.) And I’m especially excited that I get to watch all of this with the woman I met and fell in love with while helping my drama teacher workshop a play, nineteen years ago. I truly am excited to be 40.

Arden's first text message

Arden in her new specs

 

Alex and Super Bacon

The Girls and Great Grandma Gert

SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA GO

I’ve written about the perks of being a stay-at-home dad (the women who flirt with you because they think you’re “safe”; the unnecessary kindness of strangers because they think you’re a helpless sack of testosterone). And I’ve obviously written about my various misadventures. But I haven’t really gone into many of the drawbacks of being an actual man in this traditionally female role. More specifically being a man with two daughters. A man who can no longer take his two daughters to the men’s room.

Fortunately I’ve never been the cause for an emergency trip to the bathroom. I think when you’re a parent your system just shuts down while you’re on child watch. Children on the other hand gots to go when they gots to go. On the weekends when we’re out with the family and nature calls, Jen has the privilege of taking the girls to the bathroom. During the week, when Arden was a toddler, I’d take her into the men’s room and line the toilet with enough toilet paper to make her feel like she was sitting on a pillow top bed. Same with Alex. But today, with Arden being 6 and refusing to use the men’s room, yet being too afraid to go to the women’s room herself, I found myself in a bit of bind…

While out on a Costco run with the girls this afternoon Alex said she had to pee. Now if you’ve read this blog long enough you know that Alex has a “lazy bladder,” which means she never has to pee. In fact we have to remind her to pee. So when she said, “Daddy, I gotta pee,” I knew we were in trouble. But knowing what our local Costco’s bathroom looks like I urged Alex to try and make it until we got home. Of course on the way out the door Arden says to me, “You know, I think I gotta go pee too.” I said, “Well I know you can wait until we get home.” But about half way there Alex started to cry. She really had to go. Crap. So I pulled over at an Albertson’s and rushed inside and asked where the bathroom was. We went into the back of the store and I tried to get the girls to use the men’s room. Arden, in her typical sass said, “Maybe if it was a one-er.” But it wasn’t a “one-er.” And Arden wasn’t budging. If the ladies room had been a one-er, this would be a no-brainer, we’d all go into the ladies room, lock the door and do our business. But this was a full-on restroom with multiple stalls and a bevy of sinks. So I asked the girls again if they could wait until we got home. I got a resounding, “No.” So it looked like we were all going into the ladies room.

I knocked on the door and called inside to see if anyone was in there. No response. So I hurried the girls into the handicap stall. Alex went first. When she was finished she insisted she had to wash her hands immediately so I let her out of the stall and put Arden on the pot. Then my biggest fear happened, a woman entered the bathroom and took the stall next to us. I figured I’d just camp out in the stall with Arden until the woman left. But then Alex starts yelling, “I can’t reach the soap!” I decided not to answer because I didn’t want this woman to know I was standing in the stall next to her, trying not to look at the skivvies wrapped around her ankles. But then Alex yelled to me again, “I can’t reach the soap!” So I put on my best Mrs. Doubtfire-meets-Monty Python voice and said, “I’ll be there in a minute, sweetie.” Then Alex said, “Daddy, why are you talking in that funny voice?” The urine stream in the next stall stopped immediately. Alex then said, “Hurry up, Daddy!” But I didn’t want to leave the stall and face this woman. But apparently she didn’t want to leave the stall either. We were at a stall-mate. Then Arden said, “What are we waiting for…DADDY?”  I shushed her and hurried out of the stall and said, “Let’s go!” The girls said in unison, “We have to wash our hands!” Why did I raise such germaphobes? I quickly scrubbed their hands and dragged them out of the bathroom protesting, “We need to dry our hands too!” I shot back, “We’re air-drying them today!” As we left a trail of water in aisle six I looked back and saw a security guard walking after us. I don’t know if I was paranoid, or if the guy just needed a box of ninety-nine cents strawberries. Either way I got in the car and sped off as fast as I could.

DOG DAYS

Whether my wife wants to admit it or not, she’s got baby fever. When one of our friends has a baby, even one of our fringe friends, I’ll wake up on a Sunday morning to the smell of a quiche in the oven, because we’re having a “Brunch to meet the new baby.” And whenever she holds that new baby in her arms she says to me, “Dontcha want another one? Dontcha?” No. I’ve done my sentence. I’ve put in my time as a stay-at-home dad. I’m done. I even went to see an urologist this past summer to discuss getting the boys snipped. Granted I chickened out, but it had nothing to do with my desire to be done procreating. It had more to do about the idea of smelling my own burning flesh well it was cauterized. Anyway, with Arden in first grade and Alex now in preschool full-time, I’ve finally got my pre-kid daytime life back. Or so I thought…

I don’t know how it happened (well maybe I do), but not a month after Alex started her full-day preschool school program in January, we got a puppy.

Sometime over the summer Jen met a cute little French Bulldog and decided if we were ever to get a dog, that’s the kind we should get – they’re small, they’re cute and they don’t bark. So at the beginning of the year we started to discuss getting a puppy. And to Jen that meant we were getting a puppy so she told the girls we were going to get one. Point of no return, right? I thought wrong. After doing a little research on puppies I realized, they’re a lot of work. And I started to tell Jen about all the trouble involved with getting a puppy – eating furniture, peeing on the carpets, vet bills. Eventually she said to me, “Way to suck the fun out of getting a puppy.” She knows I can be guilted into almost anything. But I held strong, “I don’t want a puppy. I just got my pre-kid life back. I want to keep it that way for a while.” And she said, “Fine. You tell the kids they’re not getting a puppy.” So I said (to myself,) “Fine. I will.” And I fully intended to tell Arden when I picked her up from school that day. I had it all worked out. I was going to say, “We’re not ready for a puppy. But in the meantime, how about you and me skip school one day and go to Disneyland?” I knew I could appeal to her sense of Space Mountain. And then when I arrived at school she showed me a picture she made in art class. It was a French Bulldog. I was sunk. I was getting a puppy whether I liked it or not. So I told Jen, “Okay, let’s do this.” But I told her the deal was that I would take care of the puppy in the morning when she got ready for work, and during the week when I was home working. By default I also got the nightshift because Jen would never hear the puppy whine. She could sleep through an atomic blast and not even stir. Her responsibility would be taking care of the dog the rest of the time – evenings and weekends. She said, “Deal.”

So I found a good breeder who had a cute little cream puppy and arranged for the family to check him out at the park that weekend. Ten minutes later we were driving to PetSmart to buy all the essentials for the newest member our household – Bacon.

I quickly learned that raising a puppy is much like raising a baby. As Jen put it, “Puppies are like babies. Only mobile. And on speed.” And they pee on the floor. Every fifteen minutes. And of course my deal with Jen instantly went out the window. Deep down I knew this going in. But if I wanted Jen to cook dinner, I would have to watch the dog. If I wanted her to do the dishes. I would have to watch the dog. If she needed to clean up my half-assed attempts to keep the house in order, on the weekends, I would have to watch the dog. And watching a puppy isn’t easy. You have to watch them like hawk. Even taking them out every thirty minutes doesn’t guarantee they won’t piss on the rug.

I was in hell. I couldn’t do any work because I was constantly watching the dog for accidents. I couldn’t even pay attention to my kids, if I wanted the puppy to not chew on the furniture. I was already bad at multitasking, as the title of this blog suggests, but now I couldn’t even attempt my half-ass attempts at keeping the house in order. Dishes remained in the sink. Laundry piled up. I couldn’t even find the time to shave. Sometimes I’d just skip showering all together. Yes, we had a crate, but at that point I didn’t know you could crate them during the day. I honestly wanted to give the dog back.

Cut to two weeks later: I’m sitting in a veterinary ER on a Friday night, because our brand new little French Bulldog puppy had eaten something toxic and couldn’t stop throwing up. $600 and a roll of Tums later, I’m sleeping on the living room floor next to Bacon’s crate, making sure he makes it through the night. At dawn he’s licking my face, happy to see me. And you know what? I was happy to see him too.

I’ve since learned that you can crate a dog during day. Though if I don’t want him to cry I have to pretend I’m leaving the house. So I grab an energy bar and a Coke Zero and wave goodbye and then sneak around the back of the house, into my office and work for a few hours. Then we have lunch together and he sacks out on the couch next to me while I finish my work on my laptop. And now Bacon can tell me when he wants to go out (he sits in front of the gate and gives a headfake to the front door). It may be every 30 minutes, but at least I don’t have to watch him in between. We’re starting to understand each other. He may still nip a bit. I may still find him gnawing on a chair leg. But hey, he’s a puppy. My puppy. And I love him. I guess Jen’s baby fever was contagious.  

BONDING - THE NEXT GENERATION

I saw Star Wars in the theatre seven times when it was first released in 1977. I may have only been four years old, but I can still vividly recall the first time Darth Vader marched onto the big screen. Like many of my generation, that moment and my fascination with the world of Star Wars has stayed with me to the point where almost 35 years later, I’m still contemplating going against my religion and getting a light saber tattoo.

Five years ago there was a Star Wars convention in Los Angeles, only the fourth official Star Wars convention in its then 30-year history. I thought it might be fun to go with the man who started me on this crazy journey, all those years ago. And I was pleasantly surprised when my father said he would gladly fly out from Boston for the event. I could go into detail about how this 60-year-old man snuck me into the sold-out Carrie Fisher panel or how one of the vintage collectable vendors actually knew my father by name, but ultimately it added up to one of the best father-son bonding experiences I’ve had in my adult life. And it’s something that I will forever treasure. So a couple weeks ago when a friend asked me if I wanted to take my six-year-old daughter Arden, on an all-expenses paid trip to George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch in San Francisco, the place where most of the Star Wars films were assembled, I immediately said, “F@$% yeah!”

With tomorrow’s re-release of Star Wars: Episode 1: The Phantom Menace in 3D, George Lucas decided to do something different for this particular press junket. Instead of the same old cynical reporters flying up to the Ranch for a weekend of nostalgia, this time George only wanted kid reporters so that he could introduce Star Wars to a whole new generation. He wanted to give them a tour of the Ranch, have them meet with technical geniuses behind his creations and then offer them a tour of ILM (Industrial, Light & Magic, George’s special effects company behind not only Star Wars, but virtually all effects-heavy blockbusters from Ghostbusters to Transformers.) And then George wanted to show the kids the first advanced screening of the Phantom Menace in 3D. So my awesome friend Chapin, who works at MySpace asked me if Arden could be their kid reporter. However, there would be one little catch. I would have to “tag-a-long.” :)

So Chapin and I quickly whipped up some fun and irreverent interview questions for Arden to ask and Jen ran out to buy Arden a new Star Wars t-shirt to wear on camera and then I deleted all my music off my iPhone so I could film as much of the event as possible. After that, Arden and I packed our bags and jetted off to San Francisco.

First let me say that Arden, and quite possibly myself now too, have been hotel ruined. A couple weeks ago my sister got married in Cancun at the Ritz-Carlton and not more than two weeks later Arden and I find ourselves staying at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco. And not only was the room paid for, but they also covered all the incidentals. Which meant Ritz-Carlton style room service. Oh yeah. Though Arden was slightly more excited about the free cotton balls she found in the bathroom, which she took home to stuff a felt pillow she was making. Anyway, I don’t think we can go back to a Best Western again. At least not happily.

I could wax poetic about every last detail of the weekend, from the frost on the ground, to the wild turkeys running through the woods, but that would probably only entertain me, so I’ll just tell you about some of the highlights…

- Checking into the hotel and finding a bag of Star Wars SWAG, on the bed, that included a light saber and a note that read, “Don’t forget to bring your light saber tomorrow for Jedi training.”

- Riding across the Golden Gate Bridge and having Arden declare, “Why the heck do they call it the Golden Gate Bridge if it’s red?”

- Having a “Star Wars Breakfast” at the Ranch that included “Yoda’s Yogurt.”

- Proudly watching Arden interview the technical geniuses behind the movies on camera and not breaking a smile when she asked, “Have you ever said, ‘No’ to George Lucas?”

- Jealously watching Arden having a private light saber training session.

- Buying copious amounts of “Skywalker Ranch” merchandise at the gift shop.

- Taking Arden on a tour of Chinatown at night.

- The next morning having the Visual Effects Supervisor ask if he could join Arden and me for breakfast in the ILM commissary

- Seeing a working R2D2 wandering around the ILM building.

- Seeing the actual prop of Han Solo in Carbonite.

- Having Arden turn down dinner with a friend so, “I can have room service with just my Daddy.”

- Seeing the first 3D press screening of The Phantom Menace.

- Watching Arden shed a tear as she said goodbye to her new Jedi best friend, Cyan.

As a lifelong fan of Star Wars, this was a dream come true as both a father and a fan boy. I felt like a Make A Wish patient minus the death sentence. I literally woke up at 4:00 AM that first morning because I was so excited to be going to the Ranch. I was like a kid on Christmas morning. And it felt like Christmas. Every facet of the weekend felt like I was unwrapping another present. And not once did I get a pair socks. Well, maybe the box lunch they gave me on day two could have been better, but like my experience with my father five years before, this was one of the best father-daughter bonding experiences I could possibly imagine. Not only was it amazing to be able to share something you love with someone you love, but to watch my daughter really discover Star Wars for the first time and really love it too, was the greatest gift of all.

Below is a video of Arden giving her report for MySpace. Enjoy and May the Force Be With You.



Arden reporting for MySpace at the Skywalker Ranch from Rick Suvalle on Vimeo.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

The Los Angeles Unified School District gets a bad rap. But last year, in kindergarten, Arden learned all the fundamentals of reading and now, not even half-way through first grade, she can read. I mean really read. When I was in kindergarten we made collages out of our mothers' Vogue magazines and watched our teacher make applesauce out of the crab apples we found in the woods. First grade was spent drawing pictures of my imaginary home planet Xenazonamus and learning the Pledge of Allegiance (neither of which are taught in school today.) I didn’t start to read until second grade. The book was called “I Am Sam” (not to be confused with the terrible Sean Penn movie or the protagonist in Green Eggs and Ham.) And as a reward for reading my first 10-page book, unassisted, my folks presented me with a Greedo action figure from Star Wars. If my parents had a scanner and actually knew what a scanner did, I’d post a picture of myself proud and front-toothless holding up my prize (now worth over $300 if I didn’t open it up.) But I digress…

Arden can now read pretty much anything these days, whereas Alex, who’s now 3-years-old still can’t recognize her own name. In fact this morning, after dropping Arden off at school, Alex looked up at the Hollywood Sign and said, “Hey, that’s my name on the mountain.” Close. Anyway, on the actual drive to school this morning, Arden starts reading all the signs and billboards we’ve passed a thousand times before. She sees a sign that says, “Keys” and asks, “Why does that sign say ‘keys’ on it?” I said, “Because they sell keys there.” “Huh.” We then passed a building and Arden says, “Citizens Medical Group? Is that like a doctor’s office or something?” I said, “That’s exactly what it is.” Arden says, “I had no idea. It’s kind of like a whole new world when you can read.” I smiled and said, “It is.” We then passed an HIV awareness billboard that featured a retro cartoon of two men about to kiss with the caption, “New Love?” Arden says, “New Love? What’s that billboard selling?” I replied, “I must have missed that one.”