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Lieutenant Dan

August 12, 2011

It’s been fascinating for me to watch Milo reach certain milestones and to see how babies, though made of the same genetic material (or at least half of it) are so totally different.

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.

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Callen’s Wolf Pack

July 30, 2011

The first time I met my friend Meredith Wolf, she felt me up.  I knew then and there, she was a special lady—smart, beautiful, funny. I don’t let just anyone “fluff the girls”, you know.  So when she invited me to a fundraising event to support the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation International, I was honored.

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.

Say Hello To My Little Friend

July 14, 2011

That there folks is a photo of the top of my head.

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!

The Lesbian And The Libertarian

July 7, 2011

Recently I was witness to a rather heated conversation between a same sex oriented family friend and a politically active family member.  I won’t use their real names here (to protect the innocent?) but shall simply refer to them respectfully and respectively as the Lesbian and the Libertarian.

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.

You Are My Sunshine

June 24, 2011
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At the end of May we had to say goodbye to our beloved nanny Lena as she has a previous commitment and won’t be able to work for us this summer.

Around that same time, Milo’s favorite toy, a wooden sun that belongs to a farm animal puzzle went missing. We searched high and low for the puzzle piece to no avail and wrote it off as officially lost.

Then yesterday Lena was back at our house helping out with Milo and Monkey for a couple of hours and Voila!, the missing sun was miraculously found in a basket, under a stack of UNO cards.

Coincidence?  I think not.

Our sunshine is back! We missed you, girl.

Coffee Talk

June 21, 2011

For the love of Pete, hang up the GD phone when you’re in line at Starbucks.

In case you didn’t notice, you’re being a total rude ass to the Barista trying to take your order, the person on the phone who you keep telling “Hold on a sec,” and the people in line behind you who have to listen to your inane conversation and wait 15 minutes for you to order a latte.

P.S. No one thinks you’re that important. Except you.

My Dad

June 19, 2011

My father has been handicapped for the majority of his life.  He was a Vietnam helicopter pilot, a war hero for all intents and purposes, honored with the Silver Star after rescuing a fellow pilot whose aircraft crashed. Shortly thereafter his own helicopter was shot down and he was wounded in the left wrist and knee.

He is an extremely private person and during my childhood rarely spoke of his injuries or his time in the Army.

Occasionally an inquisitive friend of mine would ask him, “What happened to your leg?”  And he would shyly reply, “A snake bit me.”

Growing up, his disability went virtually unnoticed by my brother and I.  He had a severe limp (he still does), but he never let it interfere with us or the things we wanted to do.  Though he couldn’t run, or ride a bike, he taught us how to do those things, as well as play basketball, baseball and football.  He supported and encouraged us and participated by coaching our teams and being our biggest fans.

In more recent years he’s become involved with Vietnam Veterans organizations and I think—I hope—is proud of his service.  I know I am.

Happy Father’s Day Dad!

Blog Schmog

June 17, 2011

BeingSuper.com is Being Super Lame.

I know. I KNOW.

It’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I’m back from vacay and feeling refreshed.

Get ready for a whole lotta Super-ness.

Yay!

Bonus

June 6, 2011

One of the best things about summer?

Flip flops, sandals, thongs and just plain bare feet means less socks that I have to try and match up out of the dryer.

Bliss.

What are some of your less conventional summer faves?

Sub Text

May 21, 2011

A couple of weeks ago I attended an overnight field trip to the Denver Zoo with Monkey’s third grade class.  And while I was “Bunking with the Beasts,” Brent received the following text message:

In case you were wondering, this message was not from me.

At the time, I was sleeping on a conference room floor, at the zoo, with 90 third graders. And needless to say, I was not the least bit horny.

That, combined with the fact that neither of us recognized the phone number made us come to the realization that Brent was not the intended receiver of this titillating text.  So we had a good giggle and dismissed it as operator error.

Still, I remained curious.  After all, someone sent my husband an extremely naughty text message.  I had to be sure it was truly a mistake.

So I did what any rational woman would do—I blocked my phone and called the number.  To no avail…it went straight to a generic voice message.

And then Brent brought up a point I had not considered before—a text message is typically sent to someone you know, a name in your contact list, not a phone number.  Especially a message of this nature. So even though Brent didn’t recognize the sender, the sender obviously had Brent listed as a contact in their phone.

We have since discovered the identity of the horny texter and sure enough, we know this person.  However, in the interest of tact (and yes, I have some), I will not reveal this person on my blog.

But it’s kind of killing me. It’s that good.