The girls have been invited to a slew of birthday parties as of late. They’re invited to parties for children in their respective classes from school and invited to parties from neighborhood kids and other kids we know. We’ve been to parties at Chuck E. Cheese’s and we’ve been to parties at Inflatation Nation, Kangaroo Jacks and The Jumping Monkey. We’ve been to parties at the Botanical Gardens, parties at the Zoo, parties at Tidewater Gymnastics Academy and parties at J.W. Tumbles. And let me just say that this J.W. Tumbles place is pretty popular with the 5 and under set. The girls were invited to two parties at the same J.W. Tumbles on the same day one right after the other. Whew!
So, I was reminded today of a joke I heard once. A little girl who wandering by herself through the cosmetics department at the mall. She kept pointing to a large display and say, “That’s my name, that’s my name, that’s my name.” None of the department store associates could understand what she was doing and it became obvious to them that she had been separate from her mother. One associate went up to the girl to ask her if she was lost and what her name was. Her mother rushes over from another counter and says, “Clinque! Get over here!”
And what could have made me think of that joke? I was putting in my study time, going over the anatomy of the female reproductive system and thought, “How messed up would it be if your name was Labia?” That got me to laughing.
Then I got to thinking about this game DH,my brother-in-law (BIL), and our parents played one night called, “What’s the Worst Name You Ever Heard?”. We all know about the mom who named her kid Female thinking that is was pronounced Fe-mah-lay and about the mom with the twins named Lemonjello and Organejello (uh, that would be Lemon Jell-O and Orange Jell-O).
What about the parents that insist of doing a mash up of there names? Sometimes it works, but sometimes you get some doozies! You know, Dad is Wade, Mom is Maxine, so the daughter is . . . .Wadine?
DH had the pleasure of meeting a friend of a colleague whose name was (or actually still is) Lasagna. Seriously. He talked to her over the phone first and when she said Lasagna, he was certain he had misheard her. He offered up LaTanya and LaJuana but she stopped him and said, “No. Lasagna. Like the food. ” Wow. A friend of ours had a niece whose name was Jodeci, yes like the R&B group. The friend went on to say that the mom named the baby based on the group that to which the child was conceived. Two words on that one: Over – Share. We went around the table laughing until we cried until my BIL said a friend of his worked in a school where there were a set of siblings whose names were (drumroll, please) YaRoyalty, YaHighness and YaMajesty.
SHUT. THE. HELL. UP
Seriously. Can you imagine? You’re in class and the PA (that’s the public address for you youngin’s) comes on telling YaRoyalty to come to the office. Even worse, pretend you’re a substitute teacher taking roll and YaMajesty is in your class. All I can think of is what do you say when that child raises his or her hand? Yes, YaMajesty? Should I curtsey, too?
So, I’m putting my foot down in protest of these cracked-out names. Never should there be a Labia running around, or pretty much any child named after a body part. VaGina is still vagina, I don’t care what you say. Be proud of your country, and express your political affiliation, but if you name your child Obamaisha. . .well, all I’m going to say is — No, You Can’t. No names found in an ABC store — yes, I’m talking to you who is considering naming your twins Chardonnay and Tanqueray. When I was in college one of the RAs did this presentation about STDs and how to keep ourselves safe. The brochure she handed out was called “Chlamydia is not a flower” — yeah, it’s not a first name either.
Co is really into baby dolls. She is forever dragging around some plush baby or pushing it around a stroller. She’ll hug it, she’ll rock it, she’ll wrap it up in an over-sized blanket and tow it around the house. She’ll give it a plug (a.k.a “binky“), she’ll put it in her high chair, and basically do all of the things you do with a baby — though, I’ve told her drawing on Baby with crayons is not okay. There are times of course where Baby has stroller tread on her face or has been flung out of the crib/car/over the stairs/down the hall. Of course, who needs a baby doll when your big sister is more than happy to crawl up into your lap and be rocked a while?