the perils of naming your baby

So everyone around me seems to be having babies, adopting babies, etc. (Not sure what that "etc." would represent there, but anyway.)  It brings to mind kids I knew when I was young with odd names--and since I spent a good deal of time last night ruminating on this important topic I thought I'd share.

First is Dusty Day, an aptly named boy with saggy jeans and, well, a dusty sort of look and always in need of a haircut (not unlike my youngest, come to think of it).

Moving on to a girl called Fashion, last name long forgotten.  I remember she was fabulously popular and looked sort of like Bo Derek with a frizzy perm.  I wonder about glamorous names like Fashion--a bit risky, isn't it?  What if adorable baby Fashion turns out to be a bit dumpy and fond of overalls?  Or what if your sweet little *Becky turns out to be a teenage malcontent with a closet full of Nine Inch Nails t-shirts?

Reminds me of two sisters I knew in 4-H called Happy and Jolly.  I don't remember them as particularly cheery girls (the result of all that resentment toward their parents and hours of enforced cross stitch, no doubt.)

dh had childhood friends named Sergio (as in Valente) and Boozer (as in his father's favorite hobby).

But my favorite odd name of all time is a girl I knew in college called Valency.  Her name may well have been a combination of grandparents' names or heaven knows what else but I always liked to think her mom was intensely devoted to chemistry and she had sisters named Argon and Molybdenum.

*might be autobiographical

it's the most wonderful time of the year... and my kids went to bed weeping

It was not an auspicious day for trimming the ol' Christmas tree. Had I consulted the I Ching or the Farmer's Almanac or even taken the time for a gut check I would have known to stop before we all say things we will regret in the morning.   Super Q was on day 3 (possibly 4) of strep throat--not quite 24 hours on the antibiotics but feeling well enough to require my undivided attention all day.  I obliged--we ran a few errands and worked on some Christmas projects (including a tree skirt that turned out way more Cat-in-the-Hat than planned).  Everything was humming along until Flash came home and the bickering and tattling commenced.  It waned long enough to put ornaments on the tree and then, yep, picked right back up in time for milk and cookies in the kitchen.  Somebody left right in the middle of the treats and stomped upstairs like a 4 year old.  That same somebody also said "freaking" upward of 3 times before the night was over.  Boys were in bed at 8:30 amid a torrent of tears.  Half of me feels completely justified (the bickering!  it's killing me!).  Half of me wants to go patch things up.  Guess I'm headed upstairs for hugs and kisses.