Back to Bellybuttons
Have I written about this already? Does it matter? I didn't think so.
The motivation for this post came from Jay's new obsession with Dooce's blog. Like any freshly speared blog addict, he combed through the archives as I haven't taken the time to do...and he found a picture with a caption revealing that Dooce's belly button is named Fred. Fred the bellybutton. Yep, my Karlyn, sorry to break it to you, but your naming of my bellybutton was evidently not as original as we might have thought.
You see, we three K sisters (Kate, Karlyn, and Kerri) have this belly button bonding thing going on.
I think it started as a result of Kerri's thumb-sucking, belly-button-fingering childhood. Right thumb always in mouth, index finger hooked over her little button nose, left index finger in a belly button. Note I said a belly button, NOT her bellybutton. She wasn't at all picky.
Now Kerri always slept with Karlyn until... well, until she was old enough to want privacy... like 10 or 11? (Feel free to correct me, K2 or K3.) And I don't blame her a bit - Karlyn has had a double bed for as long as I can remember and she is just the snuggliest person to sleep with. So very often, the belly button Kerri had her finger in belonged to Karlyn. Belly buttons became a central facet of our lives in the late 1980s. So I suppose it only seemed proper that they be named. And have personalities assigned. (Don't ask me, I only tell the stories.)
Karlyn's belly button is Billy. He's Karlyn's gay fashion consultant. Perhaps that's a stereotype, but I'd say he's done a fabulous job. Kar is way more stylin' than I am.
My belly button, as I alluded to above, is Fred. Though he is not above exchanging a belly kiss hello with Billy, he is definitely "not into that sort of thing". Mainly I refer to him as "the pudgy bald guy".
Kerri's belly button is Peneth... pronounced "Pea-neth" with a lisp. I couldn't begin to assign a gender. I wish I could explain Peneth, but I think my brain shuts down everytime the younger Ks have tried to clarify. Or else they've only giggled and rolled their eyes at my confusion. It could be the second option. Sometimes that 8 and 10.5 year age gap really hits hard. Sometimes we barely feel it.
Happily, all the buttons will be reunited at Christmas this year. I just hope it doesn't snow like it did last year over the holiday. Jay will sulk for weeks if he misses another winter storm...