Well, 2011 sucked. Don’t get me wrong, there were definite high points. Bink graduating from high school, our family Disney Cruise etc., but overall, it was a difficult year.

And my resolutions?

Lose the baby weight—I did that, but then I gained about 10 pounds back. Hmph.

Finish the Bathroom —it’s basically done. There are still a few things I’d like to do with it, but the major stuff is complete. Not a total bust.

The GD cursing—at some point during the year I said “Fuck it, ” and haven’t really thought about it since. Oh well.

But with the new year, comes a new resolution.

2011 was all about bobbing and weaving and minimizing the blows. 2012 will be about doing Super things—living life, not reacting to it.

My goal is to do twelve Super things (one per month), with one caveat…”Super-ness” is solely defined by me.

And I already started.

As of January 2, I am a card-carrying bone marrow donor. It is something I have always wanted to do, but thought the process was long and complicated. Turns out, it’s not. You can join the registry online and give your DNA sample through the mail. Visit www.bethematch.com and you can be Super too.

And keep checking back for some serious Super to come.

Happy (belated) New Year!

I remember thinking, “This time next year, things will be different,” and feeling better. That seems so trite now, but when you’re frozen, the passing of time can be the greatest blessing. I knew my family would never be the same.  But that was okay. Change doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. In that moment, I just wanted all of us to survive.

And we did.

It wasn’t easy.  The past year has been a struggle, day-to-day. Sometimes hour-to-hour.  But we made it through—a little older, a whole lot wiser.

And now we’re making plans again, we’re moving ahead.  No longer at a standstill.  No longer in that place. And I’m looking forward…to everything.

I’ve written about my Dad’s time in Vietnam before (my Mom served too!), but I don’t think anyone has ever recognized his service in such a way before.  He stood up on stage and held Monkey’s hand while being presented with student artwork and applauded. It was very emotional.

He was honored.

Vietnam, circa 1968. My Dad goofing around in his barracks. Gotta love the pin-up girl and Budweiser cans.

Happy Veteran’s Day!

On Saturday night Boy! got hit with a nasty stomach virus and spent Sunday with his head in the toilet.  In turn, our Sunday-planned family pumpkin carving time was not as productive as we had hoped.  With nine (count ‘em) pumpkins to be carved, we completed three.

Monkey produced an awesome Scooby Doo and my Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter was not too shabby either.  Photos, you ask?  Not a one.  Sorry.

This year we were down two trick-or-treaters from last year.  One due to illness (see above) and the other because 18-years-old is just too old for that time honored tradition.

We rarely do “cute” costumes, but this year was all about scary–ish.

Monkey was convincing as The Grudge.

And Buddy was a super cute scary (and rarely seen) blond Vampire.

Bink dressed as Mrs. Krueger (Freddy’s wife), while her boyfriend was Big Daddy Mike, pimp at large, and passed out candy to the neighborhood peeps.

Another notable costume came from my nephew Blake who said he was a Nerd. However the jury’s still out on that due to an uncanny resemblance to Brent—missed belt loop, Sharpie and notecards in shirt pocket et al.

Trick-or-Treating went well—great weather, great friends—but toward the end of the night there was a rumbly in my tumbly.  At first I thought it was from all the Twizzlers Monkey passed me en route (I’ve trained her well), but when we barely made it home in time for me to stick my head in the toilet, I knew the virus had spread.

Meanwhile, Brent was trying to put the kids to bed, clean up the house and unclog the kitchen sink all while dealing with a  few rogue after-hours trick-or-treaters.

Long night. Good night.

Until next year…

Today is your first birthday and I don’t want to sound cliché, but man that flew by fast.

With all the preparation and nesting that an impending mother does, you can never know truly what to expect. Babies are full of surprises. And you are no exception to this rule. There are so many things about you that are different than I thought they would be:

Your hair. You are blond. Really blond. And I am not. I was POSITIVE that you would have dark hair like me and I still can’t believe it sometimes. Daddy thinks this is quite funny and will randomly whisper in my ear “Look at the beautiful blond baby, ” just to rub it in a little. But even with your flaxen locks, you are undeniably mine—our eyes are identical.

Your name. Officially your name is Miles but it was always Daddy’s intention to call you Milo. At first I wasn’t crazy about this because there is a movie about a cat named Milo. I wasn’t thrilled about giving my child a pet’s name and we all know how I feel about cats, so I declared that I would only refer to you by your formal name. And then we brought you home and you became Buddy. I don’t know why or how this happened, but it just seems to fit. The entire family has adopted this nickname for you. The irony of this is that I actually used to have a dog named Buddy.

The kids. OMG, they love you. Your brother and sisters pretty much think you are the most awesome person in the world. They fight over you, impatiently waiting their respective turn to hold or play with you. This only relents when a poopy diaper is detected and you are quickly handed back to the nearest parent, because let’s face it, that’s not fun for anyone.

Me. You have taught me so much about myself. I am a completely different parent than I was 9 years ago. I’m more relaxed and able to enjoy babyhood in a way that first time parents simply cannot. Sometimes, when we are alone, I will sit and hold you and we will press our foreheads together while you play with my necklace or the buttons on my shirt and then you’ll rest that little blond head on my shoulder and it is my most favorite thing.

I’ve said from the beginning that you are a special blessing. And I know now what God’s plan was/is. You are a life saver. Literally. This past year has been a difficult one at Steiner Haus and you have been our family’s saving grace. Thank God for you.

And Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

Monkey was what I call a “text book baby”.  If a child rearing book said she would be rolling over at four months old, by God, she was rolling over at four months old.  She did everything according to “the book”; crawling, walking, talking etc.

Milo on the other hand, is writing his own book.  At 11 months old, he is on the verge of walking.  I expect him to stand up and take off at literally any moment, totally screwing his unprepared parents in the process.  However, he has never really crawled.

He does what we affectionately refer to as the Lieutenant Dan wounded solider crawl in which he propels himself forward with his right foot while dragging his left leg behind him. It is comically adorable. And quite effective.

JDRF holds a special place in Meredith’s heart, as her oldest son Callen was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes when he was just 20 months old.  Since then Meredith and her husband Matt have banded their family and friends together to form Callen’s Wolf Pack and participate in JDRF’s Walk To Cure Diabetes.

This year, in order to achieve their goal of raising $8,000, they hosted a Bowling Cocktail Party.  I joined six other ladies from the ‘hood to form team Ball Busters.

Team Ball Busters, from left: Lenny, Blair, Super, Jen, Clare, Jody and Carol

Open bar, unlimited bowling and great friends for a good cause…does it get any better?

All said and done, $5,800 was raised for JDRF.

Thank you Meredith, for allowing me to be a part of the Wolf Pack.

Note:  If you’d like to become a member of Callen’s Wolf Pack and help meet their fundraising goal, please click here to make a donation.  All donations support the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation International and are tax-deductible.

You see that little round, bald-ish area?

That’s José.

José is a pilar cyst.  Pilar cysts are non-cancerous cysts that most commonly grow on the scalp.  They generally affect middle-aged (ahem) women and their occurrence can be genetic.

José first came to visit me about a year ago when I was pregnant.  My dermatologist offered to remove him back then, but as childbirth was impending I decided to forego any unnecessary surgical procedures.

Since then, José has grown to approximately the size of an M&M (regular, not peanut) and has overstayed his welcome.

So tomorrow José will be leaving via an outpatient excision.  I will be accompanied by my sister-in-law Lisa, who is a paramedical esthetician and loves nothing more than to marvel at mildly grotesque skin oddities.

Adios Amigo!

It started out innocently enough. The Libertarian was telling the story of the first date with his longtime girlfriend in which her lesbian co-worker acted as chaperone.  In relaying the story, he used the D-word (rhymes with bike) to describe said chaperone.

The Lesbian exclaimed, “You can’t say that word!”

To which the Libertarian defensively replied, “It’s a free country, I can say anything I want.” (Crickets chirping, pins dropping).

And she replied, “That’s like calling a black person the N-word!” (Who knew?)

This exchange occurred at a party in the presence of mixed company and I, for one, felt a tad uncomfortable.  And confused.  After all, the Lesbian and the Libertarian have known each other for years; they’ve spent major holidays together.  So why were both taking such offense to each other’s comments now?

They have since kissed and made up (so to speak), and remain friends.

Moral of the story?   Know your audience. And expand your vocabulary.