I know this isn’t just a “mom of many” thing, but what the heck, man, my children are going to develop complexes if I can’t get their names straight, like, ever.
“No stop oldest I mean youngest-middle-second-to-youngest-uhh-BillyBobJohnRex whateveryournameis!!!!”
*hangs head in shame*
Of course, by that time, the action has long been over by the time I’ve actually gotten to their name. Ah well.
The irony of it all? Is how we agonized over naming our children and picking out the perfect name. Eyeballing every T.V. show’s credits, hearing and reading names everywhere, in print, on signs (yes, my 8-year-old’s name came from an election billboard!). Concocting middle names out of a combination of letters from grandparent’s names. All of that work to find the perfect name for our sweet children, only to forget it, practically.
My husband does it, too. I should be happy I’m not alone in this, but it only adds to how ridiculous we must look in public, trying to call out to our own children, only to appear to be foaming at the mouth trying to recall what their name is. He thought that numbering our children might solve our problem, complete with big digits on their shirts.
Uhh, I don’t think that would work.
“Hey number one uhh, I mean TWO! THREE! I mean YOU! YEAH YOU! RIGHT THERE!”
Nope, wouldn’t work. That would require having to remember their numbers.
You know what might work? Brain cells. Or sleep. Sleep would be a help.