Superhero Incognito

When Lauren was 14, I shared a secret with her. “You know, I really am a superhero. I just decided to carry these extra pounds so that you could have a normal childhood.”

She responded to my news by rolling her eyes and saying, “You’re a loser, Mom,” launching the volley of name-calling that continues to be our trademark way of saying, “I love you.”

“Moron!”

“Imbecile!”

“Nincompoop!”

“Dunce!”

“Dolt!”

The last one threw her off her game. “Dolt? What’s a dolt?”

“Look it up in the dictionary,” I said. “It’ll be—”

“—right next to your picture,” we finished, in unison.