Nicknames

Poody-do. Doodle. And Snoodle. Everybody is like WTF? According to my PaPa, I was ‘The Poody-Do’. My sister was lovingly declared, Doodle, and my brother was thoughtfully referred to as Snoodle.

My grandfather had a nickname for everyone, even bad ones. He was an ultimate racist. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to climb under a table in a restaurant or stay hidden in a dressing room-I won’t refer to those special names he endeared peeps of different races with. Once I became old enough, his comments totally embarrassed me to say the least.

He was also known to chant, “Where’s the Doll?” That’s what he called my grandmother.

PaPa also went around our house chanting, “Big Barb. Little Barb. And All Barb. The Little Mighty Mo.” That’s how he referred to my mother.

Well, I got the ‘Nickname Gene’-way better than the ‘Racist Gene’. People I love always get one. And so do some of the peeps I don’t care for.

My oldest daughter is Fred or ET Baby. Don’t ask me why I called her the Fred. That one just popped into my head and rolled off my tongue one day, and it stuck. Still does. But when she was first born she resembled the character ET. Her fingers were long and spindly like the alien’s. She even had a long neck and head shaped just like the creature. When I looked at her for the first time and studied her face, she tried to look back. One eye would open, while the other one would close. Her eyes were a dead give away that I’d been impregnated from something that came from outer space. (I think I was. Really.)

My second daughter was dubbed No-No by the time she’d turned two. The child never learned to walk. She ran. If there was a bookcase or anything resembling shelves, she climbed it. She was never one to stay with me in any store. Especially since there were store shelves and displays to climb. The mangers at our local grocery store knew us by name. I repeatedly  said, “No. Noel,” all day, everyday as long as I can remember. Still do. So I decided to make her name and the word “No” all one deal.

My third daughter is lovingly referred to as E-Wee-Pee-Wee. To start she’d only been dubbed E-wee because she was the youngest and looked way different from the other two. Pale, pale skin. Blue eyes. Strawberry blonde hair (Yes. She was alien generated, too). But then I discovered when you snuck up on her she’d pee her pants. Viola! E-Wee-Pee-Wee became her name. She is still known as that today.

My fourth daughter originally had been dubbed ‘Holly Hobby’. She had the fattest little cheeks just like the doll. But the older she got, the more she looked like the little fairy, Tinkerbell. Especially when she piles her hair into a bun. Plus, she stands at four-foot-nine and wears a size zero. My other daughters are Amazons compared to her, the tallest standing at five-ten.

My fifth daughter is Summy-Sum-a-Lum. Don’t ask me why because I couldn’t tell you. It’s like a song really. In fact, I used to sing it to her and still do.  ***shrugs***

As for my grandchildren, Ho-Ho and Glowstick.

Above is Ho-Ho. He’s part Mexican. He’s adorable and I love him. To be honest, I would’ve like to have seen my daughter with a decent Mexican. A Christian or a Jewish one. Or one that had the sense to stay out of jail. Yup. His poppy is in jail. But despite it all, little Ho-Ho is happy and has a deep belly laugh so the name sticks even though I’ve been calling him this before he popped out of E-Wee-Pee-Wee. I can only hope he doesn’t end up on the Mug Shot website one day like his father.

Now for Glowstick. The story goes like this. On the day Tinkerbell had her ultra-sound to determine his gender, the little guy got his nickname. The appendage which determined him a boy, glowed big time. I mean it stuck out like a throbbing thumb. It literally lit up like someone stuffed a light bulb there and plugged it in. Really. But if you held him up close and personal like I get to, the rest of him shines. And when he’s all wrapped in a blanket he does resemble one of those Glow Worm dolls. So yeah, the name sticks.

So there you have it, guys. You wanted to know, so I told you. It’s in my DNA, and I can’t help it.

Well, gotta go. I’m going to meet Mike Saxton and Annika Doe today at the FWA’s mini-conference. I’m so excited!

Later in the ink all,

Shelly