The Case Against Junior
I'm not a fan of Junior. Here's why:
1) Two people, one house, one name. Confusing. There are plenty of names to go around. They're completely free so there's no need to economize.
2) Two people, one house, one name. Nicknames! Big Jim and Little Jim. Old Susan and Young Susan. You want to be big and old or little and young? You pick.
3) Great expectations. He will be just like me only smaller. Or better. Or never quite as good. Or never quite as rich. Or handsome. Or smart. He'll be just like me but he won't make the mistakes I made because I'll make sure he doesn't. Or else.
4) This is my son, Junior. This is my other son, What's-His-Face.
5) This is my son, Junior. This is my daughter, the Girl.
6) This is my son, Junior. I wanted to name him something else but there was a lot of pressure to name him Junior. Maybe I'll have another son someday and I'll be able to give him a name I like.
I have ranted on message board upon message board about these very things for years. Years. Ranted. So, that being said. What did I do? I, Suzanne, named my youngest daughter...wait for it...Susannah.
No, I really did.
It really didn't have anything to do with my name being Suzanne. That is, I didn't name her that to honor myself in any way. Which is not to say that I didn't realize that Suzanne and Susannah are variations on a theme. I obviously knew that and I did give it a lot of thought before finally greenlighting the name for which Rick and the kids were campaigning. Would it bother me if people thought I was naming her Suzanne, Jr? Yeah, probably. How much? Just a little.
Still, even though I didn't actually name her after me I don't think it would be very self aware to suggest that her name being a variant of mine is just a coincidence. Surely some deep and secret desire to have a namesake didn't factor somewhere into the decision.
And, my brother and sister-in-law are about to bring an 8th generation William G into the world. The G changes. Some of these William G's have gone by Will. Some by their middle name. Some, like my brother, by an unrelated nickname. I should be opposed (from an abstract perspective and not from a having-any-say-in-the-matter perspective, natch) to their choice of William G based on the reasons stated above but I'm not. I think its nice. I love that they are going to call him Will; a return to a nickname of 4 generations ago. I like that they aren't using the same G that's been used for the past 3 generations.
Am I a hypocrite then? A scofflaw making a mockery of my own self-imposed rules of naming?
Ralph Waldo Emerson wouldn't think so. He tells us in one of his many famous quotes, "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of litte minds". Of course, this sounds to me to be an awful lot like moral relativism but...that's a different blog altogether.
And Ralph Waldo Emerson? Son of Rebecca Waldo Emerson? His four children? Waldo, Ellen, Edith and Edward Waldo.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Peanut Allergies are Not Funny
I know that. I do.
But when I took Henry to soccer tonight I walked by the lunch tables at the school where he practices and there were two tables upon which the phrase "NUT-FREE TABLE" was written boldy and frequently. There wasn't a better name for that table? Maybe, "SAFE TABLE"? I'm guessing that no one actually thought of the slightly more humiliating "NO-NUTS TABLE" or they would have gone with that.
If you're a 10-year old boy with a peanut allergy do you really need the additional burden of being one of the "No-Nuts"? I keep thinking that some poor kid is risking anaphylaxis everyday just to avoid having to sit at that table. Shrinking into himself in an attempt to disappear when the cafeteria monitor shouts out, "Are all of the NUT-FREE students at the proper table?"
Maybe I'm not giving today's youth the benefit of the doubt. I suppose its possible that kids today are more tolerant of the differences among them and they could be more sympathetic to their peers than were the children of my generation but I don't buy it.
For one thing, I know their parents.
I went to school with them.
I know that. I do.
But when I took Henry to soccer tonight I walked by the lunch tables at the school where he practices and there were two tables upon which the phrase "NUT-FREE TABLE" was written boldy and frequently. There wasn't a better name for that table? Maybe, "SAFE TABLE"? I'm guessing that no one actually thought of the slightly more humiliating "NO-NUTS TABLE" or they would have gone with that.
If you're a 10-year old boy with a peanut allergy do you really need the additional burden of being one of the "No-Nuts"? I keep thinking that some poor kid is risking anaphylaxis everyday just to avoid having to sit at that table. Shrinking into himself in an attempt to disappear when the cafeteria monitor shouts out, "Are all of the NUT-FREE students at the proper table?"
Maybe I'm not giving today's youth the benefit of the doubt. I suppose its possible that kids today are more tolerant of the differences among them and they could be more sympathetic to their peers than were the children of my generation but I don't buy it.
For one thing, I know their parents.
I went to school with them.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
I had just turned six when my grandparents gifted me with an adorable 6-week old kitten. I can only imagine my expression as the answer to a year's worth of prayers was lifted from my grandmother's handbag. I know that my parents faces were ashen and their voices tight and abnormally high pitched as they expressed words of delight to absolutely no one who was convinced.
We weren't even listening, really, my grandparents, my brother and I. We were busy cooing and fawning over the tiny fur baby. There were saucers of milk to fetch and balls of yarn to send pinballing around the living room.
And there had to be a name.
I gave it some thought and after a day decided upon Butterscotch because the kitten had one butterscotch paw. My father had a particular distaste for butterscotch and suggested Isis. I liked that name because I was a fan of the Saturday morning show about a girl superhero by the same name. That's how a 6-week old farm kitten ended up with the rather lofty and imperious name of Isis.
If you name a kitten after an Egyptian fertility goddess and then don't bother to have her spayed do you really have any right to be angry when the cat runs off for three days and then comes home pregnant? Probably not. But anger isn't based in logic.
Isis did not live a long and happy life, I'm sorry to say. She was the bane of my parents' existence during her short time on Earth; the victim of family politics and unhappy childhoods left unresolved. She was at times the only friend I had in the world and at times the catalyst (I know) for interactions that left indelible scars on my psyche. Her impact on me was such that, in the end, she had more than grown into her name.
Just before turning 21, I moved out of my parents home (again) and into an apartment with a woman whom I had only recently met at work. Her boyfriend was allergic to cats and even though he lived far away and never visited the apartment, cats were out of the question. I really wanted a cat but I was young and nervous about being on my own and Roommate was older and wise and made me feel safer. Not having a cat was a small price to pay for the comfort she provided.
Her relationship was tumultuous on its best day and the break-ups were frequent and loud (at least on her end) and never stuck for long. But I knew it was finally over on the evening when she emerged from her room with her arms crossed over her chest in a protective posture and said, "You can get a cat now."
I didn't have a name in mind when I brought the orange and white tabby back to the apartment. Roommate and I watched this kitten leave the comfort of my lap to explore the small space with extreme caution only to quickly return to me and eventually fall into a peaceful sleep. I thought of quiet, sweet names. Tabitha, like the kitten from Beatrix Potter, was the front-runner.
Later that evening, Roommate and I sat in the living room watching television while Kitten wandered about the apartment. Suddenly a flash of orange streaked by. Again the other way. Back again. Again. Again. And then this time she took a mighty leap into air and landed so that she was hugging a doorframe in a such a way that one paw was on the wall of the living room and the other paw on the wall of my bedroom. There she clung for the briefest second before her tiny body slid all the way down the doorframe and then she was off again.
"That cat is crazy," Roommate said.
I named her on the spot. Zelda. After the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald, as I'm sure most of you already guessed.
Zelda was with me through three years of 60-hour work weeks combined with 12-credit hour semesters. So was Roommate. Both of them provided me with enormous comfort and support and encouragement albeit in entirely different ways. Zelda definitely outgrew her name, settling into a calm and quiet cathood after her reckless youth.
Shortly after we married, my husband and I adopted two kittens. We named one Tess, after the Thomas Hardy character. The other we called Remy after a favorite brand of cognac. It was a time in our lives when we had the luxury of doing a lot of reading. And drinking.
Tess the cat died suddenly at a young age from an unknown malady. That combined with the rather violent end met by the pair of mourning doves that lived in my pergola whom I named Tristan and Isolde led to my currently held belief that it is smug at best to name living things after tragic literary figures. As it stands right now, I'm 2 birds and 2 cats to the bad with Zelda somehow escaping a fiery death.
Remy, by the way, continues to get better with age.
We weren't even listening, really, my grandparents, my brother and I. We were busy cooing and fawning over the tiny fur baby. There were saucers of milk to fetch and balls of yarn to send pinballing around the living room.
And there had to be a name.
I gave it some thought and after a day decided upon Butterscotch because the kitten had one butterscotch paw. My father had a particular distaste for butterscotch and suggested Isis. I liked that name because I was a fan of the Saturday morning show about a girl superhero by the same name. That's how a 6-week old farm kitten ended up with the rather lofty and imperious name of Isis.
If you name a kitten after an Egyptian fertility goddess and then don't bother to have her spayed do you really have any right to be angry when the cat runs off for three days and then comes home pregnant? Probably not. But anger isn't based in logic.
Isis did not live a long and happy life, I'm sorry to say. She was the bane of my parents' existence during her short time on Earth; the victim of family politics and unhappy childhoods left unresolved. She was at times the only friend I had in the world and at times the catalyst (I know) for interactions that left indelible scars on my psyche. Her impact on me was such that, in the end, she had more than grown into her name.
Just before turning 21, I moved out of my parents home (again) and into an apartment with a woman whom I had only recently met at work. Her boyfriend was allergic to cats and even though he lived far away and never visited the apartment, cats were out of the question. I really wanted a cat but I was young and nervous about being on my own and Roommate was older and wise and made me feel safer. Not having a cat was a small price to pay for the comfort she provided.
Her relationship was tumultuous on its best day and the break-ups were frequent and loud (at least on her end) and never stuck for long. But I knew it was finally over on the evening when she emerged from her room with her arms crossed over her chest in a protective posture and said, "You can get a cat now."
I didn't have a name in mind when I brought the orange and white tabby back to the apartment. Roommate and I watched this kitten leave the comfort of my lap to explore the small space with extreme caution only to quickly return to me and eventually fall into a peaceful sleep. I thought of quiet, sweet names. Tabitha, like the kitten from Beatrix Potter, was the front-runner.
Later that evening, Roommate and I sat in the living room watching television while Kitten wandered about the apartment. Suddenly a flash of orange streaked by. Again the other way. Back again. Again. Again. And then this time she took a mighty leap into air and landed so that she was hugging a doorframe in a such a way that one paw was on the wall of the living room and the other paw on the wall of my bedroom. There she clung for the briefest second before her tiny body slid all the way down the doorframe and then she was off again.
"That cat is crazy," Roommate said.
I named her on the spot. Zelda. After the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald, as I'm sure most of you already guessed.
Zelda was with me through three years of 60-hour work weeks combined with 12-credit hour semesters. So was Roommate. Both of them provided me with enormous comfort and support and encouragement albeit in entirely different ways. Zelda definitely outgrew her name, settling into a calm and quiet cathood after her reckless youth.
Shortly after we married, my husband and I adopted two kittens. We named one Tess, after the Thomas Hardy character. The other we called Remy after a favorite brand of cognac. It was a time in our lives when we had the luxury of doing a lot of reading. And drinking.
Tess the cat died suddenly at a young age from an unknown malady. That combined with the rather violent end met by the pair of mourning doves that lived in my pergola whom I named Tristan and Isolde led to my currently held belief that it is smug at best to name living things after tragic literary figures. As it stands right now, I'm 2 birds and 2 cats to the bad with Zelda somehow escaping a fiery death.
Remy, by the way, continues to get better with age.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Does This Name Make My Butt Look Big?
If there's one thing I'm good at its accepting criticism graciously. Well, that and training unicorns how to catch rainbows with their tails. Oh, and turning random objects into gold. Accepting criticism graciously, unicorn training and alchemy...these are all things I do well.
But even if you do accept criticism graciously, there really isn't anyone who isn't at least a little bit tweaked when someone dogs their kid's name.
My children are Eleanor, Henry and Susannah (alternately called Sadie). Here are comments about their names that I've received along with interpretations where appropriate for those readers who don't speak passive-aggressive:
"How interesting." = "How disgusting."
"Is that a family name?" = "Since no one actually likes that name you must be using it to honor someone who was so special that they were able to overcome the handicap of having such an ugly name." Could also mean, "That's a super name! If you're a great-grandpa."
"Those sure are old names."
"I haven't heard that one in a long time."
"I used to have a dog named that." & "That's my neighbor's dog's name." = "Um. That name is for dogs."
"Like the song?"
"Eh, its a name."
"That was my grandma's name." = "Um. That name is for grandmas."
"I don't like that. Its ugly." = "I don't like that. Its ugly."
You might think that last one was uttered by some impossibly impish child with that impossibly impish childlike way of saying whatever they're thinking. It was actually said by a full-grown adult whom I've known for most of my life. Hearing that made me long for the dulcet tones of, "Eh, its a name."
Normally, I appreciate candor but there are some things you just don't say to a women in her 8th month of pregnancy. Like:
"Wow. You're huge!"
"Are you sure its not twins?"
"Some people really put on weight in their faces, huh?"
"Please don't go into labor here."
"I don't like that [name]. Its ugly."
So, how should one respond they don't like the name someone has chosen for their child? What are the options?
1) Be honest.
2) Make a comment that doesn't commit one way or another.
3) Lie.
In most situations, I like to be honest. Its quicker. But in this situation, there's nothing to be gained by honesty. The kid is already named. The parents are already bonded to the child and the child's name. A blatant lack of enthusiasm is only going to be met with that special brand of smoldering hostility exclusive to parents whose kid has just been maligned in some way.
As much as I'm also a big fan wearing a mask of diplomacy there's nothing more transparent than a comment like, "How interesting." or "That certainly is a name!" Diplomatic and passive-aggressive are not the same.
That leaves lying. I'm not usually an advocate of lying but here's a case where it might serve a body well. I'm not saying one should jump up and down and throw a parade for a name they don't like. And, sure, its lying but is it really so bad to say, "Aw. That's cute" or "That's a nice name" and then change the subject?
I mean, one wouldn't say, "Hmmm. I don't really care for the looks of your baby. He bears too close a resemblance to my Great Uncle Hubert in his later years. Once the rheumatism had taken hold." Nor would one say, "Its been a while since I've seen a baby that looked like that!" We've all seen our share of revolting looking babies and yet I'll bet that most us have managed to stifle our gasps of horror and give a serviceable, "Awwww. What a cute little guy!"
And what is more closely tied to our babies than the very names we've bestowed upon them? We don't tell people, "This is the baby we named Thomas." We say, "This is Thomas." Shouldn't we take the courtesey of dishonesty that we show to ugly babies and extend it to ugly or ridiculous baby names?
On the off chance that Gwyneth Paltrow finds her way here I'd just like to take this opportunity to say that Apple is a reallydelicious crunchy juicy cute name.
I guess I'm going to need some practice.
If there's one thing I'm good at its accepting criticism graciously. Well, that and training unicorns how to catch rainbows with their tails. Oh, and turning random objects into gold. Accepting criticism graciously, unicorn training and alchemy...these are all things I do well.
But even if you do accept criticism graciously, there really isn't anyone who isn't at least a little bit tweaked when someone dogs their kid's name.
My children are Eleanor, Henry and Susannah (alternately called Sadie). Here are comments about their names that I've received along with interpretations where appropriate for those readers who don't speak passive-aggressive:
"How interesting." = "How disgusting."
"Is that a family name?" = "Since no one actually likes that name you must be using it to honor someone who was so special that they were able to overcome the handicap of having such an ugly name." Could also mean, "That's a super name! If you're a great-grandpa."
"Those sure are old names."
"I haven't heard that one in a long time."
"I used to have a dog named that." & "That's my neighbor's dog's name." = "Um. That name is for dogs."
"Like the song?"
"Eh, its a name."
"That was my grandma's name." = "Um. That name is for grandmas."
"I don't like that. Its ugly." = "I don't like that. Its ugly."
You might think that last one was uttered by some impossibly impish child with that impossibly impish childlike way of saying whatever they're thinking. It was actually said by a full-grown adult whom I've known for most of my life. Hearing that made me long for the dulcet tones of, "Eh, its a name."
Normally, I appreciate candor but there are some things you just don't say to a women in her 8th month of pregnancy. Like:
"Wow. You're huge!"
"Are you sure its not twins?"
"Some people really put on weight in their faces, huh?"
"Please don't go into labor here."
"I don't like that [name]. Its ugly."
So, how should one respond they don't like the name someone has chosen for their child? What are the options?
1) Be honest.
2) Make a comment that doesn't commit one way or another.
3) Lie.
In most situations, I like to be honest. Its quicker. But in this situation, there's nothing to be gained by honesty. The kid is already named. The parents are already bonded to the child and the child's name. A blatant lack of enthusiasm is only going to be met with that special brand of smoldering hostility exclusive to parents whose kid has just been maligned in some way.
As much as I'm also a big fan wearing a mask of diplomacy there's nothing more transparent than a comment like, "How interesting." or "That certainly is a name!" Diplomatic and passive-aggressive are not the same.
That leaves lying. I'm not usually an advocate of lying but here's a case where it might serve a body well. I'm not saying one should jump up and down and throw a parade for a name they don't like. And, sure, its lying but is it really so bad to say, "Aw. That's cute" or "That's a nice name" and then change the subject?
I mean, one wouldn't say, "Hmmm. I don't really care for the looks of your baby. He bears too close a resemblance to my Great Uncle Hubert in his later years. Once the rheumatism had taken hold." Nor would one say, "Its been a while since I've seen a baby that looked like that!" We've all seen our share of revolting looking babies and yet I'll bet that most us have managed to stifle our gasps of horror and give a serviceable, "Awwww. What a cute little guy!"
And what is more closely tied to our babies than the very names we've bestowed upon them? We don't tell people, "This is the baby we named Thomas." We say, "This is Thomas." Shouldn't we take the courtesey of dishonesty that we show to ugly babies and extend it to ugly or ridiculous baby names?
On the off chance that Gwyneth Paltrow finds her way here I'd just like to take this opportunity to say that Apple is a really
I guess I'm going to need some practice.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
"What are onomastics?" is what you might be asking yourself if you've read my previous blog entry, "And if its what I think it is, is that really an appropriate blog topic for a mother of three young children?"
The answer is, its not what you're thinking but, wow, you have a filthy mind and I can't believe you went there. Sure, that word is similar and I can see your confusion but I'm definitely not starting a blog about that. I'm not even going to put that word in this entry. What with google and all.
Onomastics is the completely not-dirty study of words and names...here's a dictionary definition:
1 a : the science or study of the origins and forms of words especially as used in a specialized field
b : the science or study of the origin and forms of proper names of persons or places
2 : the system underlying the formation and use of words especially for proper names or of words used in a specialized field
My interest in names is something that my friends have found annoying, disturbing, confusing, useful, interesting, annoying, concerning and/or messed up. Their take on it depends a lot on the particular friend, how the relationship is going, whether or not I am pregnant, whether or not they are pregnant, whether or not Madonna is pregnant and whether or not my online naming community is busy.
It started innocently enough. I was an impressionable young girl of 13. She was a vivacious redhead who played center defense on my soccer team. She had a baby name book at her house. She said I could borrow it. I did. End of story.
First, I just highlighted all the names that I liked. Soon, that wasn't enough and I was also making alphabetical lists of the names that I liked. Then I started seeking out more books and my lists grew longer and my parents started to get suspicious of how quickly I was going through highlighters. There was a lengthy discussion about the evils of huffing (or, as we called it back then, sniffing things). Actually, there wasn't any such discussion but there should have been. Then maybe that whole ugly scene that happened 4 years later could have been avoided.
As a college student spending time with other college students I learned that I would have to hide, as best I could, my enthusiasm for onomastics. Ok. Not so much that first year-and-a-half when I was at Ball State and my best friends were a teen mother and a handful of other girls all of whom were married at the end of the first year. But at Wayne State my friends were not thinking about marriage and babies. Some of them had not even been lesbians yet.
I wasn't thinking about marriage and babies either but its hard to convince people that you would be interested in names for any other reason.
Then, after much resistance, I was brought kicking and screaming to the internet. In a matter of weeks I found an online community that discussed nothing but baby names. Sure, most of them were expectant mothers but many were not. Not only were there discussions of baby names but there were sub-categories. Here you could discuss baby names for girls. There, baby names for boys. Baby names for twins. Baby names for girl/girl twins...and so on. These were my people. I was home.
Fast forward to today and this blog. I'm not sure where I'm going to go with it yet. Mostly because Rick is starting to clean the house and it seems wrong to sit here while he dusts. Besides, its harder to tell him all the ways that he's doing it wrong if I'm not watching.
The answer is, its not what you're thinking but, wow, you have a filthy mind and I can't believe you went there. Sure, that word is similar and I can see your confusion but I'm definitely not starting a blog about that. I'm not even going to put that word in this entry. What with google and all.
Onomastics is the completely not-dirty study of words and names...here's a dictionary definition:
1 a : the science or study of the origins and forms of words especially as used in a specialized field
b : the science or study of the origin and forms of proper names of persons or places
2 : the system underlying the formation and use of words especially for proper names or of words used in a specialized field
My interest in names is something that my friends have found annoying, disturbing, confusing, useful, interesting, annoying, concerning and/or messed up. Their take on it depends a lot on the particular friend, how the relationship is going, whether or not I am pregnant, whether or not they are pregnant, whether or not Madonna is pregnant and whether or not my online naming community is busy.
It started innocently enough. I was an impressionable young girl of 13. She was a vivacious redhead who played center defense on my soccer team. She had a baby name book at her house. She said I could borrow it. I did. End of story.
First, I just highlighted all the names that I liked. Soon, that wasn't enough and I was also making alphabetical lists of the names that I liked. Then I started seeking out more books and my lists grew longer and my parents started to get suspicious of how quickly I was going through highlighters. There was a lengthy discussion about the evils of huffing (or, as we called it back then, sniffing things). Actually, there wasn't any such discussion but there should have been. Then maybe that whole ugly scene that happened 4 years later could have been avoided.
As a college student spending time with other college students I learned that I would have to hide, as best I could, my enthusiasm for onomastics. Ok. Not so much that first year-and-a-half when I was at Ball State and my best friends were a teen mother and a handful of other girls all of whom were married at the end of the first year. But at Wayne State my friends were not thinking about marriage and babies. Some of them had not even been lesbians yet.
I wasn't thinking about marriage and babies either but its hard to convince people that you would be interested in names for any other reason.
Then, after much resistance, I was brought kicking and screaming to the internet. In a matter of weeks I found an online community that discussed nothing but baby names. Sure, most of them were expectant mothers but many were not. Not only were there discussions of baby names but there were sub-categories. Here you could discuss baby names for girls. There, baby names for boys. Baby names for twins. Baby names for girl/girl twins...and so on. These were my people. I was home.
Fast forward to today and this blog. I'm not sure where I'm going to go with it yet. Mostly because Rick is starting to clean the house and it seems wrong to sit here while he dusts. Besides, its harder to tell him all the ways that he's doing it wrong if I'm not watching.
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