Touch Me And You Die

Is there a secret society out there that gives membership to those whose lifework it is to torture and torment one's sibling?? Did I miss the memo about membership fees being overdue, because evidently my kids didn't miss it. I can pretty much tell that they are both members in excellent standing.

It wasn't that long ago that I was a kid too (really) and I remember the relish with which my brother tormented me. Fortunately my years of shock therapy and intensive psychoanalysis have all but wiped away those memories, allowing me to be the somewhat normal adult I am today. Is it a genetic thing or is it a birth order thing? Are some kids just plain rotten, or are they just plain rotten to their siblings? If my kids were bananas, I would have to say that as of late, they are turning black, with more than a few soft spots between them. And I don't mean the good kind of soft. I mean the indication that the fruit is rotten, SPOILED. (now maybe we are getting somewhere)

The oldest, the director, has to answer to the chairman of the board (me), so she knows when to pour on the poly-saccharine sweetener substitute to satisfy my needs. Her direct subordinate, waits to check the daily climate then proceeds with extreme caution. And since his direct superior is a teen aged girl, life certainly is a box of chocolates for him, as he never knows what he's going to get. Neither do we, for that matter.

And when did physical violence become the standard solution to any disagreement? I have never hit my children in anger or otherwise, so where did they learn to slap up side the head with such fervor? Punishments are becoming obsolete, as they only serve to create more tension and anger towards each other. But I continue to try, employing a Geneva Convention for direct problem solving against such war crimes. Torment and no mercy are the only constants.

Today, I am withdrawing my application for consideration of the Nobel Peace Prize, as my efforts to create a harmonious shift in a peaceful household climate have proved to be futile.

I understand that these days, they are awarding those to just anybody, anyway.

Nick That Name

Nick nack paddy whack, I love to nick a name.

I have this thing, at times it can be annoying, where I give everyone a nick name. It's an issue. It's a personal play on words and I do it all the time. Doesn't matter who you are, I will twist up and change up your given birth name to suit me. Can't quite figure out why I do it. It just happens.

Take my dogs for example. Buddy, Jingle and Amos. Three fine dog names who need no elaboration or explanation for most people. Me? Heck no, I gotta twist and turn. All three have "Asian" names. Don't ask me why, for I cannot explain.

Buddy is Mee Soo.

Amos is Mouser

Jingle is Miss Ming.

Then, I always take it a few steps further. Mee Soo just turned into Soo, which then turned into Soonie, which then turned into Soonie Bird which now stands at Bird.

Miss Ming turned into Miss which turned into Miss-a-Ming which turned into Mingy which some how resulted in Ga-ning which now stands at Ga. Weird right? Go figure.

Mouser tuned into A-mouse which turned into Mouse-man which turned into Mouse-sir which now stands at Sir.

These could all change when the mood strikes me. Then there's my babies. Given both strong and beautiful names, I had to go and mix things up and destroy the sanctity of their birth names.

We'll start with Frick. Without telling you her given name, I some how worked that name into Crinkle which ended up being Crink. It stuck. The ENTIRE family calls her Crink which I then variated into Mink, Minken or Miss Minky.

Then Frack, named after his dad, he was given a nick name at birth, so as to differentiate between the two. I turned that into "the (insert name here)-er" which turned into the (insert name here)- mo laker, which turned into laker, then twisted and now stands at just Mo. I call him Mo or Mo Mo regularly.

My Guy? He's just honey, but recently that has evolved into Hunny Bunny which changed to Bunny then Honey B and now stands at Honey Bear.

Bizarre. I know. I never said I was normal. I think it runs in the blood. The kids call me Momma, which somehow became Nummner which now stands at Num.

In this house you never know what you will be called, but you can bet it will stick whether you like it or not.