Rebirth

Something wonderful has happened. Something we’ve been waiting for…

Brent adopted my Monkey.  Legally.

She’s considered him her Dad for years, but we always had these little things (school records, passport applications, that pesky last name) that would pop up to remind us that he wasn’t.  Not quite anyway.

While this is something we’ve wanted for a long time, we didn’t start the process until last year.  Timing is everything, especially with a legal maneuver of this magnitude. And the timing was finally right.

The paperwork itself took about nine months to complete and then we waited nearly three months for a court hearing.

As with any gestation of a baby (my 11-year-old baby), there was a lot of emotionality that came with this period of time as well.

Leading up to our hearing date, I was a basket case—sobbing at the drop of a hat, having anxious dreams, even nesting to some degree.

And Monkey became extra fidgety as well. I could tell she was nervous, waiting.

But when the day finally arrived, we were ready.

The whole family gathered in the courtroom; there was a lot of anticipation.

And just like the moment of her actual birth, when the judge announced, “Congratulations!  You’re a family,” there was an audible gasp of joy; mom, dad and baby simultaneously cried, and then we held our daughter.

Mug Shot

I bought this chalkboard mug for Brent as a stocking stuffer last year and it immediately became his new fave.

I have to admit I bought it solely for selfish purposes.  I saw it and thought, “Won’t I be such a good wife writing daily sweet nothings, I love you’s, world’s greatest husband blah blah blah?”

And it started out that way. Really, it did. An “I love you” here, a “you make me smile” there…

But it quickly evolved (devolved?) into sexual references, inappropriate song lyrics, naughty limericks and the occasional pornographic sketch.

Seriously.  Best wife. EVER.

Mission Accomplished

After All, It’s A Small World

Last Friday night, Brent and I watched the Colorado Avalanche blow out the Chicago Blackhawks in an amazing streak-ending game.  The Avalanche were so awesome in fact, that they scored two of their six goals within about 30 seconds of each other, prompting me to accept a few celebratory high fives (much to Brent’s chagrin) from the gentleman whose season tickets happen to be next to ours.

Fast forward to this afternoon.

Brent and I decided to do some last minute D.C. sight seeing before catching our evening flight back to Denver.  We visited the Library of Congress and the Newseum (BTW–if you haven’t been, GO!), and decided to grab a quick bite to eat before heading to the airport.

We were sitting at the bar at The Capital Grille, enjoying beers and cobb salads, when a man sat in the bar stool next to mine.  It was Mr. High Five.  Yes it was!

He didn’t recognize me, but of course I had to say hello (making Brent cringe), because I’m that girl, the one who’ll talk to anyone.  Anyway, Mr. High Five and I reminisced about the game for a moment and then we left.

But crazy coincidence, right?  I mean, what are the odds?  Seriously, what are the odds?

I need a statistician.  Like, now.

The Bitch Is Back

It’s been about a year since I last posted on this blog.

I’m not entirely sure why I stopped writing.   I could blame it on a wicked case of writer’s block, but I’d be lying.  There are dozens of legitimate reasons I can give for it —my business really took off in 2012 and I got too busy, there are some pending legal actions I’m involved in and my attorney recommended I back off for a bit (more on this later) etc.

But the fact is, I just didn’t want to write anymore.

That sounds so strange to me now, because it’s against my nature.  A writer writes.  That’s just how it is.

So I’ve decided to stop fighting nature and start again, the way I did four years ago:

Today is my husband’s 41st birthday…and right now I am on a flight to Washington, D.C. I’ve been to D.C. before about 11 years ago, but I’m more excited about this trip because I get to rewrite history.  Well, my history at least.

When you go through a life altering event such as a divorce, you tend to start partitioning your memories into different stages of your life:  “during my first marriage,”  “after the divorce,” etc.

A little story…

During my first marriage (see how I did that?), just after Monkey was born, we took our first family vacation to Washington, D.C. to visit my in-laws who were living in Virginia at the time.  Overall it was a great trip.  We saw all the major monuments and museums and even got private tours of the White House and the Pentagon, which at the time was a big deal (less than one year after 9/11) thanks to my then brother-in-law pulling some strings.

However there is one memory that haunts me from that trip.

It was about five in the afternoon and we had been on a marathon site-seeing tour in 100 degree heat since early morning.  We picked up some sandwiches and decided to have a picnic on a bench near the Washington Monument.  

At this point our 6-month-old Monkey was hot, tired, hungry and losing her shit. I held her, trying to soothe her, walk with her, feed her, whatever.  My ex sat on the bench eating his sandwich, glaring at me and getting more and more pissed off with every passing minute.  Eventually she quieted down, but the damage had been done.  He was angry and frustrated—at the baby for crying and at me for not being able to calm her.  A large marital spat ensued right there in the shadow of the monument resulting in my sandwich being thrown on the ground and me pushing my baby away in her stroller.

And that’s my Washington Monument story.  It kind of sucks. And to this day every time I watch that scene from Forrest Gump where he and Jenny jump into the reflecting pool to find each other, it’s all I think about.

SO, on this trip to D.C. my wonderful husband and I will stand in front of the Washington Monument and kiss, thereby replacing the memory of my only visit to D.C. (during my first marriage) with the memory of my best trip to D.C.

It’s all about new beginnings.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Last week was my husband’s 40th birthday, marking BeingSuper.com’s three year anniversary.

As I was planning this year’s birthday getaway it occurred to me that it is quite fitting that I celebrate the birth of a wonderful man—my favorite husband and, quite literally, a genius—while also celebrating the birth of this blog.  After all, Brent is the one who first encouraged me to start a blog, to express my creativity.  He was born an entrepreneur and has given me the support and confidence to become one myself. It’s almost impossible to be complacent around him.

My favorite thing to do with him (OK, my second favorite thing to do with him) is work.  Plan, brainstorm, execute. We work amazingly well together for a husband/wife team and collaboration is  our aphrodisiac.  There are a lot of high fives and fist bumps at our house, followed by hot, “let me tell you about this great idea” sex.

So I’d like to use this blog post to say thanks.

Thank you Baby for all you do for me and our family. Thank you for inspiring me.

And thank you readers for hanging tough with me for the past three years.

You may have noticed that my writing has gotten a little scarce lately.  This is mainly due to just being incredibly busy (four kids, running a business, laundry…blah, blah, blah), but I still plan to keep on Being Super.

Super February

The Felt Cafe 7 in Denim blue.

A gift from my valentine.

Picture it:  khakis, cable knit sweater and a braid in my hair, riding into a New England cape town to buy a baguette and fresh flowers…

Or just cruising through my ‘hood.  When the snow melts.

Either way, it’s Super.