Skip to main content

Name Calling

Names are funny.  They can say so much about a person.  Choosing names for our kids was a huge challenge.  I'm sure other families go through the same thing, but as two teachers, we tried to avoid using names of any students we had taught.  It ruled out a lot of names.  Then there was the rhyme game.  If you can make it rhyme with anatomy or body functions - it's out.  Next you have to look at initials.  I'm B.S., which I think is hilarious, but we didn't want our kids to have to worry about their initials spelling something or standing for something off colored.  Plus, we wanted something that "fit" with our family, whatever that means.  It was exhausting, but when we landed on the right name, we knew.      

About a year or so ago, Sawyer approached me out of the blue, "You can call me Beaver now."

"What?" I asked. 

"Beaver is my new name."

"Interesting.  Can I ask why?"

"Because Beavers are good at cutting trees down, and so am I."

"Gottcha."  At least it made sense now.  "But I like Sawyer.  I think I'll stick with that."  

Everyone else he met, was given the new name.  He was persistent, and the self-name change lasted longer than I had anticipated.  I was thankful when he finally let it go.  The irony is a sawyer, by definition, is one who sawsSo, I guess we did alright picking out his name after all.

He isn't the only one who has considered changing his name.  We have been reading a book by Judy Blume in which the character tries to change her name.  Contemplating this idea, Fischer told me he would like us to consider changing his name to "Mr. Great Fish" because he caught the biggest trout when he went fishing with his dad and brother. 

Mr. Great Fish, very descriptive.  I wonder if he'd consider letting us call him Fischer for short.    

Maybe it's a kid thing, or maybe it's genetics - when I was a kid, I really wanted a new name too.  I thought Samantha would be so much more fitting than my birthname.  I was kind of a tomboy, so I thought it would be great if people could just call me, "Sam."  Because, well, you know...Bobbi...

I guess my parents did alright too.     

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Pink Stinks

Our girls, like most four-year-old girls, love pink.  And purple.  And sparkly things, unicorns, butterflies, lizards and cats.  But especially pink.  Their brothers aren't so fond of pink.  They prefer the color dirt.  I know this because it's what they have chosen for the color of our walls, windows, light switches and their socks.   "Do you like pink?"  Emerson asked Fischer one day not long ago. "No." "Why?" "Because pink stinks !" Cue 'angry tears and screaming.' This of course delighted her brother who began using the line anytime he wanted to see her cry.  Which was often.  It didn't change her passion for the color, however.  She still demanded the pink plate, pink cup, pink shirt, pink shoes, and pink gum if she had the choice.  Because pink is the best when you're four.   Fast forward a couple of weeks.  The girls were collecting pieces of garbage off the van floor.  Why?  I don't know, b...

Triple Threat

 People think we are raising twins, but they're wrong.  We actually have triplets: Emerson, Carter, and Carterror.  It's true.  Carterror doesn't hang around often, but when the days are long and naps have been missed, she comes out swinging.   Today, when we should have been napping, we ran errands.  We needed some grain for our cows, so before picking up the boys from school, we stopped at the feed store.  The girls spent a little time looking at all the fish, birds, and pets they have for sale.  Immediately, after telling them not to touch the tanks, Carter tried to go fishing.  That's when I realized Carterror had arrived.  I called her name to stop her and realized her shirt was exceptionally lumpy.   "What's in there?" I asked, pointing to her newly developed bosom.   "My kitty," she replied, pulling out a stuffed cat from her sweatshirt.  A minute later, we were walking down an isle of bovine parapher...

Fear Factor

 Did you know that it has been not  scientifically proven that a baby can smell her mother's presence through a closed door.  It's probably the smell of fear that they are actually attuned to, but nonetheless.  I hold my breath and walk on tiptoe past the baby's room and still get busted nearly every time.  My fear is pungent. Besides waking the babies, I have another fear currently in the forefront of my mind.  Don't mind me, this is just another episode of True Confessions.. .  Here it is: the boys are getting so much outside time that they are building up incredible endurance.  It's great really, but it is   becoming  so hard to wear them out. It used to be an hour at the playground and we were golden.  Now, they basically put in an eight-hour workday, and it's just a warm-up!  Does anybody have a treadmill....?  Real school is going to be a bit of an adjustment for the big guy next fall.    Speaking of s...