Happy Birthday Private Body

The diva has two obsessions as of recently- singing happy birthday to anyone and anything ALL OF THE TIME, and streaking naked through the house shouting "I am totally naked". I am not sure whether to be amused, or concerned. For now amused works, as long as we don't have guests. As far as the damn happy birthday song, We go through this entire routine, she decides who I have to sing happy birthday to, we sing, she produces a cake of some sort (yesterday she made one by stacking her hair products on top of one another), then the candles are blown out and we move on to the next person, or item that needs the happy birthday song. Last night the two obsessions met in a weird and funny way. The diva has been proving to us since birth that she is indeed her own person, with the strangest little quirks.

Last night, Daddy-o's friend Jeremy (Uncle Jeremy) spent the night here so they could get up before dawn and get on the road for the Green Mountain State (The Diva and I will follow by plane this evening). The Diva loves Uncle Jeremy and spent the evening glued to his side showing off like only she can. I was washing her up, getting ready for bed and she made a naked beeline for the family room and her audience. I steered her back to the bathroom and said "Diva, we don't show people our private bodies". To which the diva replied, to the tune of happy birthday "Happy Birthday, private body, happy birthday to you!" She truly kills me. As I told my husband, she was in her birthday suit, so it was somewhat appropriate, right? Right?

Off We Go

Tomorrow is the day. Our move becomes complete. Our family heads to Vermont. The last few days have been foggy. Or blurry. Or something. It seems unreal that the day is here and we will actually be uprooting our lives and starting fresh. Really fresh. I am talking unemployed and homeless (well we do have a temporary place to stay). Nothing has come through for us on the job front just yet, but we are hoping that when we are up close and personal no one will be able to resist our talent, our charm, our need to work in order to avoid living on the street. I am hopeful that this will be the case. We have left what is comfortable to us to make a better life for ourselves, our daughter, and any future children we are blessed with. We will have lots of family near by ( and at this moment I am considering that a bonus, check in for a status report in about a month). When I look at what I want for our children, Florida just doesn't have it. Again, I may sing a different tune in 20 below weather while shoveling snow this winter. But we'll see. Anyway, Vermont here we come!!!

My Mama loves Obama

Sorry, I couldn't resist the cheesy rhyming title. It speaks the truth. My mother is a huge Obama supporter. Some may say she is a bit obsessed with this presidential election. Okay, so I say she is a bit obsessed, but after reading this I challenge you to disagree. We will complete our move to Vermont on Monday. Since I like to procrastinate about things of immediate importance and obsess over things that can wait awhile, I have decided thatThe Diva's third birthday party should be a luau. It will be January, and hideously cold, so what better way to celebrate? The Diva's third birthday will also fall on the day that our new president is sworn into office. What you are about to read is a conversation with my crazy (and I mean that in the nicest way) mother. I love my mother, and things like this are what make her so dear to my heart.

Me: So Mom, I was thinking about having a luau for Diva's third birthday. Wouldn't that be funny?
Mom: Oh sure, that's a good idea, but what about having an Obama themed party, if he is elected president?
Me: Mom, you have got to be kidding me, it's a toddler birthday party!!!
Mom: Well, Barack Obama lived in Hawaii, so you could still have a luau.

I brought the topic back up to my mom the other day and she had forgotten all about her brilliant idea. I had to remind her of her insanity.

Daddy's Friends

My child is interesting. I don't know where she comes up with the things that come out of her 2 year old mouth. I think she may have been here before. The whole defining body parts issue has always left me wondering if I am approaching it correctly. I know many people say that children should know the correct names for their body parts, but for me, having my little girl announce that she has a vagina is too much for me. And trust that she will indeed announce to someone, at an inconvenient time that she indeed has a vagina. I am not ready for that, and I am pretty sure her granparents, the target cashier, the publix grocery bagger, etc. aren't ready either. So for us, it is simply her area. It is an area, on her body, so I am not lying. I am just not giving specifics. So the whole breasts/chest thing has been tricky too. We have just called it a chest, and left it at that. Until last night. We were getting ready to go to dinner and Annika put her hand across my chest and said "These are daddy's friends". Well, the girl speaks the truth, but there is nothing that has been said or done in front of her to warrant such a comment. I swear. I am neurotic about not exposing Annika to anything too inappropriate. So I just don't know where it came from, but it is killing me! So in my mind, my breasts will now and forever be "daddy's friends".

What's in a name?

I have been dying to start this blog, but I sat around for what seemed like forever trying to find a clever title. I can't, so I am going with this one. No one will appreciate it besides me, but hey, it is MY BLOG, right? The name came to me as I was thinking about my family dynamic. As it happens, I am white. My husband is black. (He prefer's to be referred to as black, so you probably won't see the words african-american in my blogs.) We are in an "inter-racial" marriage, to be politically correct. For me it is just a marriage, but I don't have any others to compare it too, so I won't ever know if there is truly any difference, other than the occasional dirty look or ignorant question. We are just Mama to a Diva and Daddy-o, trying to keep the love alive, raise our daughter, and not kill each other in the process.
So, back to the whole blite not whack title, as I am sure by now you are at the edge of your chair. When our daughter was born, we realized that we didn't agree on how to define her ethnicity. She clearly not white, not black. As I sometimes say (corny as it sounds) she is beautifully blended. My husband prefers to say she is mixed. It just doesn't sound right to me. When I hear mixed, I can think of nothing but a bag of nuts. That's just me. Not the vision one hopes for when referring to their precious little gift from God. I lean toward the politically correct and call her biracial. My husband says it sounds so technical. So I decided that we would say she is blite. After all, we can't be saying she is whack. So blite is our happy medium. Nobody else has really caught on, but maybe we'll start a movement or something. You never know.