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.

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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.

Peanut M&M

Blue.

Talkin’ ‘Bout My Resolution

Last January I wrote this post about my New Year’s resolutions and, at the time, was taking them very seriously.

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!

The Naughty List

Don’t let his cuteness fool you…he’s naughty.

Looking Forward

One year ago our family was in crisis and I was at a total loss.  But that’s the trademark of a crisis—not knowing what to do.  So I did the only thing that I could think of.  The thing I admittedly don’t do often enough.  I prayed to God.  Or rather begged…for His help.

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.

Veteran’s Day

I just returned from Monkey’s school’s Veteran’s Day Celebration.  They put on a wonderful program with music, photos and guest speakers and honored all of the veterans in attendance from World War II to present day.

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!

Halloween Hangover

The Spooky Season was a bit of a rough one at Steiner Haus this year, but I am still good for my BeingSuper obligatory Halloween post…just a couple of days late.

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…

One

Dear Milo,

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!