What's in a Name?

The other night, I gathered with some friends for a lovely dinner.  One of the topics discussed was names.

Our hostess with the mostest is dating a "Daniel", but we've all known him (since before high school) as "Danny".  His girlfriend HATES referring to him as Danny -- he is Dan.  Her reasoning?  It's hard to take a grown man seriously when they're using the diminutive form of their given name.  Joey for Joe, Nicky for Nick, Billy for Bill...

I completely understand.

Naming my kids was one of the hardest things to do.  I remember, when I was pregnant with my son, absolutely scouring the baby name websites and books.  I knew I wanted an Irish name and I knew I wanted it to be a strong name.  My rule was, you needed to say the child's name with "Attorney at Law" after it and not crack up laughing.

Try saying "Amber Destiny, Attorney at Law" and see if you don't crack a smile. (No offense intended to any of the Ambers or Destinys currently in the legal profession.)

Thus, one of my initial favorite names, Declan, was discarded.  I thought "Declan Sargent" sounded great... but "Deck Sargent" sounded like a porn star. (and someone, somewhere, at some time or another, would have shortened his name to Deck.)

Throw in things like avoiding initials that spell out something silly or rude (if I had married someone with the last name of Edwards or Evans, my initials would have spelled A-P-E).

Then there are the meanings... I considered the name Cameron until I found out the meaning was "crooked nose".  That pretty much ruined that.  Well, that and... I'm not a Cameron Diaz fan.

Which brings me to the next issue -- memories.  You can't name your kid the same thing as any ex-boyfriend or -girlfriend.  You can't use the same name as the 6th grade bully who made fun of your glasses.  The head cheerleader that you hated with a passion... these all go in the "no" pile.

Then there's things like family names.  Thankfully, I didn't get any pressure from my family (well, beyond my mother proclaiming that one of our name choices, Griffin, sounded like a dog's name) but I know of a lot of friends who dealt with unwavering pressure to name their little bundle of joy after Aunt Mildred or Uncle Eugene.

And, when you are pregnant, EVERYONE wants to know the names you are considering because EVERYONE has an opinion on what you should name your child.  And what you should not.  So, while you may absolutely love the name Grace or Cooper, someone will tell you about the Grace that tortured them in elementary school or the Cooper that stole their bike and tell you what an absolutely awful choice that would be to name your progeny. 

This is why I also know a LOT of expectant parents who refused to tell people the names they were considering.

Then there is my personal prejudice against "E" names, what I refer to as cheerleader names.  Now, before all of you with names that end in the "E" sound get your panties in a twist, let me explain... ;-)

There was a time in my early 20s where every single girl friend I had was this adorable, teeny, happy, fashionable, former cheerleader with a cute little "E" name: Becky, Traci, Stacey, Darci, Jenny, Cindy, Ashley, Mandy... you get the picture.  Every damn one of them.

And then there was me, with my heavy, plodding three syllables...

An  Dre  A.

Now, don't get me wrong... I've always liked my name.  But when faced with the overwhelming perkiness of all those "E" names, I felt like the baritone in the all-soprano choir.  And, while I indeed had the option of becoming an "E" name myself and going by "Andy". I don't think that would have made me any perkier... it just would have made me boyish.

One would think that since I felt so odd-man out with my non-"E" name that I would want my children to fit in and would purposefully name them an "E" name.  To them I say... you don't know my contrary nature.

So, a strong name. No diminutive.  No funny meanings. No bad initials.  No "E" names. No weird family names...

Now you know why I thought this whole naming a child thing was hard.

Eventually we settled on "Quinn" for our son.  And we used my maiden name as his middle name.  It's a strong, one syllable name (thus unable to be shortened) that means "wise" and his initials don't spell anything.  Perfect.

Quinn is ten now and would you like to know what his very best friend in the whole world has called him since he was three years old?  "Quinnie".

Crap.

Quinn and his best friend

An Ode to the Overwhelmed

A poem by Samantha Bennett

My friend, confidante, sometimes assistant, and fellow Mother of the Year shared this poem with me today.  "Could any poem be perfecter for us?"

Answer:  No.

Thanks for sharing Jenny.


And as you stand there
Late again
Because you forgot to allow time to park
And the elevator was slow
And you left 10 minutes late to begin with

With your shoes that pinch
And your pants that are a little too small
Since you started eating white bread again

And as you paw through your bag
Looking for the suite number
That you’re not sure you wrote down to begin with

Let us now praise you.

You, the untidy.
You, the careless.
You, the easily distracted by sparkly things.

The money you spend on late fees alone
Could feed a family in Africa –
Which reminds you that you meant to send in the kids’ Unicef money and
Forgot.

And that despite your best efforts
You rarely eat a square meal
You almost never get enough sleep
And exercise seems like a word that magazines have developed
Just to make you feel bad about yourself.

But you are good and brave.
You, flying by the seat of your pants
Making it work
Putting out fires
Saying your prayers
And dancing your dance of now and later and maybe and
I’ll–have-to-call-you-back-on-that-could-you-send-me-an-email-to-remind-me-to-call-you-back-on-that?

As innocent as each morning’s sunrise,
You are a fount of good intentions.
Your good humor is as graceful as a baby giraffe,
Even if that joke you were trying to make to the hotel clerk fell flat
And your toast at the wedding came out sounding a little… funny.

But you have gifts that no one knows about.
You have the strength to bend in the wind
You have the joyful spirit that loves a good belly laugh,
You have the wisdom to understand that everything will all come out all right in the end and
You have the faith to light a candle rather than curse the darkness.

That is, if you could find the book of matches from that romantic restaurant that you went to for your anniversary but since you didn’t have a reservation they made you wait at the bar for half an hour during which you had two appletinis and the rest of the night is a bit of a blur.

So much for the overpriced lingerie.

You are beautiful.

You are beautiful.

Frazzled and overworked and underpaid
You are the one who forgot your wallet
And forgot your receipt for the dry cleaners
And forgot your keys which you just set down five seconds ago, so where could they possibly have gone?

But you never forget to say, “I love you”
And you never forget to give a big smile to that nice parking guy
And you never fail to show endless patience when the
Too-tightly wrapped and overly-conscientious start to offer their
Oh-so-helpful suggestions about how you might feel better if you would just learn to alphabetize your spice rack.

You are beautiful.
So, wear the lingerie on Monday for no reason.
And why not just refuse to participate in the bake sale this year?
And give yourself a compliment for something you did well today.

Because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.