Bellybuttons, can you really break a seal?

So, I know that bellybuttons are a touchy topic.  Some people are grossed out by the mere word, "bellybutton", while it makes others giggle (I fall into that category) but for some, it simply creates unnecessary concern that the bellybutton is the only thing that keeps them standing upright. 

Take my husband, for example.  Although a cynical man, questioning everything, doesn't buy into the newest fads or conspiracy theories, is convinced that if someone pokes him too hard in his bellybutton, it will break his seal and therefore, he will deflate. 



Now, as a grown, logical woman, I find this concept to be ridiculous.  I mean, come on.  We all know that the bellybutton is simply what remains after the umbilical cord has been cut.  There is no magical inflator thingy that they use at the hospital to push air into you and then fill you up with air, like a balloon. (Although, I would imagine it would be really interesting if they did and filled the baby up with helium.) 

Where do people get this theory?  Do parents tell their kids this so that they won't play with their bellybuttons or put things in it, like marbles or brussel sprouts?  I think this mystery will elude me forever.

Pick and choose your battles

So, I, like every mother, wants what is best for their children.  They want the best clothes, best toys, best vacations.  We want the best nutrition, the best education, the best personal experiences.  Yet, how can we provide this for our children if we, as grown adults, can stoup to arguing with a nine month old?

Today, my nine month old foster daughter decided that she was not happy sitting in her play pen playing with her mountain of toys.  She was not happy with free reign to crawl to all the cool places in the living room.  She didn't want to watch Little Bear and certainly was not interested in your rocking horse.  She didn't want to walk around the ottoman, play with her foster brother or even drink her milk.  She wanted my bowl of cereal. 

Now, as a good mother, I know that babies without teeth should not partake in things like Trix.  They are round, rough, hard and she can choke. Not to mention that they are not good for anyone, especially her, soaking in the yummy goodness that is flavored milk.  She simply can not have them.  So I chose to ignore her pouty eyes and whimpers every time I picked up the spoon.  I looked past those big brown eyes, her drool encrusted fingers hanging casually from her toothless mouth and continue to endure the cereal for her own good.  As the octaves of her fit raised and the milk cup was tossed at me in a feeble attempt to gain my attention, I looked down at her and simply stated, "No."

What was I thinking?  Telling a nine month old she couldn't have something?  Was I a cruel mother who enjoyed watching the baby wither about, hurt by my mean word?  No, I just wanted to finish my cereal and go about my day.  Louder and louder she got, giving me the what for, telling me what and who I was.  I looked at her again, with a bit more bass and said, "NO."

She stopped, looked up at me, startled for a sheer second, before she got a concentrated look on her face, then she closed her mouth.  I figured I had been victorious.  Look at me, I taught her how to understand the word "no" and she was compliant. I was the mother of the year!  I had won, dancing around in my mind, I sat back again, consuming the last of my cereal, when I heard a small sound.  I stopped chewing and looked at the baby.  She was looking at me intently.  "No.", she said.  I was astounded.  I couldn't have just heard that.  There's no way she just said that to me.  Before it dawned on me, she said it again.  "No."

I was floored.  How dare she argue with me?  Wasn't I the adult?  Wasn't I the one who made all of the decisions.  I was in charge.  Again, she peered up at me and said, "No."

I sat straight up and said, "Don't you argue with me.  I said no."

She looked at me.  Blinking, she said, "No."

Surely my ears had deceived me.  Over and over again, she said "No."  Louder and louder, with more conviction, breaking me down, watching my power crumble around me.  I was helpless.  She was taking charge and I was losing my position within the hierarchy of the family to her.  My son watched, interested in the way the baby consumed the position, taking it over for all the children in the house.  I knew that I had to do something before I was completely overthrown.

So, I turned her chair around and put on Yo, Gabba, Gabba. 

It was my only defense.  Distracted, she put her movement of mutiny on hold for another day.  I may have slyly won this battle, but I feel that it is just a matter of time before I will have to rebuild my armies and visit this battlefield again.

Blood is thicker than water

Here I am, sitting in the living room at 4 AM, making a ridiculous amount of international phone calls to get my father, is who is deathly ill, moved from a 3rd world country to a military hospital in Germany.  I struggle through all of the numbers, searching endlessly and tirelessly for the person who might be able to help me out with my daddy.  My daddy. 
We had a falling out in 2007 and hadn't spoken until last year, and even that was a cold and emotionless email.  Then, out of the blue, I get a call from my cousin who says, "your dad is really sick, sorry to tell you that, but he wants to speak to you".  What's a girl to do?
First thing I do is have international calling put on my phone.  Now I am working my tail off, between a newborn, a six year old with a broken leg, a sick husband, a master's program and work, to make sure that I can get my daddy the best care he can get.  Because blood is thicker than water.
Keep him in your thoughts, prayers, mantras, healing energy or whatever it takes.  I don't care if you call on the Goddess, Jesus or Allah, just call.  Although he has had his moments, although we have said some hateful things to one another, he's still my daddy.  And I will take care of him because I love him. 

Unlike a dog, how can a turtle be naked?

Well, I am sitting in class, contemplating this topic, and thinking to myself, wow, I can't believe I am contemplating this. 

Technically, a turtle can be totally naked, but then it would be dead.  I mean, it requires a shell to keep its innards safe, so how could you take that away?  It's not like it moves from shell to shell like a hermit crab.  It's not like he can say, "well, I don't really like the rooms in this shell" or "the view is just not as great as the one from that Tudor style shell".  So, you ask, how can a turtle be naked, unlike a dog... how can a dog really be naked?

Random Question: You've rented a sky-writer to propose to your significant other, but it's completely overcast. What will you do?

You've rented a sky-writer to propose to your significant other, but it's completely overcast. What will you do?

Well, the most sense would be to reschedule...I mean, come on, there has to be an "overcast" clause in there somewhere.  But if the greedy bastards don't want to come off of their money, then I would opt for a colorful colored "smoke".  I mean, they do it at air shows, how hard can it be to get a hold of something like that.  


Of course, being the eccentric and different person that I am, I would have already chosen something more colorful than just white because I would want it to stand out.  I mean, sure, clouds and puffs of smoke in the sky are one thing, but huge "MARRY ME" in purple lettering??  That goes all the way.  

This is so cool, I actually found this on the internet.  That is one lucky Marsha :)

When shopping becomes a chore

I love to shop.  I can shop with the best of them.  I can take down some serious sales without batting an eye.  However, today, I met my match.  Two hours and only two stores, I realized that I don't have it in me anymore.  I took Mini Witch to the mall tonight to buy a dress for her dance on Thursday.  I knew that it would take a bit to find "just the right" dress, but I didn't know that it would take as long as it did.  Of course, I am that parent that believes that you have to try all of it on because I'm not taking it back once you have it.  If it doesn't fit, that's your problem, not mine.  Some how, she managed to not only get a really cute dress out of me, but also tops, pants, skirts, socks (yes, even now, those are considered "attire" instead of just socks) and a lengthy trip to Victoria's Secret.  Needless to say, I was exhausted and wanted to know where the heck $400 went.  Of course, I was mom of the year, the greatest, most awesome-ist mom in the world! (for now, at least).  One thing's for sure... at least she got the dress she needed for Thursday....and I gained an ulcer and a lighter wallet.

Random Question:If you were a cannibal, what would you wear to dinner?

If I were a cannibal, what would I wear to dinner?

First of all, did I invite dinner or was it already served?  I mean, if I invited dinner, of course, I wouldn't want dinner to know that I had invited them to BE dinner.  In that case, I would probably wear something to the tune of a "classy" jumpsuit.  Valor stains too easily, so I guess a good cotton, with enough room to give chase if I needed to.  Black, so no one would recognize the blood.. that is, of course, if I haven't hired me a good cook.

Now, if I already had dinner waiting, I guess, probably my pajamas.  I mean, that's what I wear generally at home, why would dinner be any different?

Way too much thought went into this.