I try very hard to make fun of people’s names. After all, it’s not their fault. I don’t laugh. I don’t say “whhhhyyy would yo momma name you that?”. I don’t say “your parent’s must not love you”. I don’t cringe. I don’t do anything negative. Inwardly I thank God for my name, which is not ‘normal’ per se but it is pronounceable. And I thank God that both my love muffins have nice, pronounceable, spell-able names, and that their race cannot immediately be determined when reading it on a resume. Since we seem to still live in such a racist place. But I do not react to those with less fortunate names.
BUT! (I digress) On today I met someone who’s name is Courvoisier. I saw it in print and I asked how do you pronounce your name, in hopes that he would say “Adam” or something like that. But no, friends. He said Courvoisier. As in pass the Courvoisier. As in cognac. As in yac.
Now. Most people, when they pronounce their embarrassing name, they immediately apologize: “I don’t know what my momma was thinking” or “my parents are special”. To which, per protocol, you respond something like “Oh haha that’s a nice name” or “you pull that off well”.
BUT! He did not apologize. He didn’t wither. He poked his chest out. He smiled proudly. And he said “Courvoisier”
I ear hustled the following conversation from my love muffins about God last night as we prepared for bed:
Youngest: Does God ever sleep?
Youngest: Well what would happen if He did?
Oldest: Dude. The world would fall apart. He doesn’t sleep. (Pause while he ponders) Which means, God doesn’t know the joys of staying up late on Friday night and sleeping in on Saturday morning…
Youngest: That IS a joy (pause) Mommy God knows everything, right?
Me: Yep, He knows everything, sees everything and He’s everywhere.
Youngest: So He’s like Santa Clause, only better!
Oldest: Way better than Santa. Because Santa is fake and God is real. And also, Santa is a stalker?
Youngest: I know. Stalker much?!
Oldest: Yeah! He’s a creep! How does he get in people’s houses that don’t have chimney’s?!
Are there exercises to get rid of a double chin?
Asking for a friend….
On the first day of school:
Me: Wake up honey. Gotta get ready for school
Youngest love muffin: stirred but stayed silent
Me: Get up! Now!
I walk away after I see him sit up. 2 minutes later, he’s in my bed
Me: You have to get ready! It’s the first day of school!
Him: Eh….I think I’ll let this one slide today. Try it again tomorrow…
I told ya’ll how I lost my glasses (if not, I lost my glasses. Last night my contacts became too scratchy but I was on a heysis.org role so I just kept my nose pressed to the computer screen). That were broken anyway. Well, they are clear. And genius me, only remembers to look for them AFTER I take my contacts out. So they very well could be staring me in the face.
OR…I could’ve left them in the hotel in out of town. But how do I call and say “has anyone found a pair of clear, prescription glasses (you can see into the future with those things-my coworker), with an arm missing?” Who would admit to wanting them back? I have to hold my head a certain way to keep them from slipping off my whole face…
So as I’m sitting here pondering the vicissitudes of my glasses debacle, an email pops up…a reminder for an eye appointment I made a year ago. I stay winning with Jesus!
Continue to keep me in your prayers…
My oldest love muffin, who is 12 years old, attended his first bat mitvah over the weekend. His friend’s mom dropped he and his friend off and I had pick-duty (shoutout to trustworthy parents and car pool, otherwise my whole Saturday would have been dedicated to being a taxi). Anyway, I listened as they re-hashed the event, the dances, the food, the religious ceremony (<—- I made sure to have a conversation about respecting their house of worship, just as they would our own, etc..it went something like “You represent me and Jesus”).
So anyway, by the time we pulled up to the house, I noticed his conversation had waned. I got out of the car after he did, and noticed that he was slumped over the car. I immediately rushed to him. “Babe? You hurt? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”. 1000 different thoughts ran through my head. He lifts his head slowly, sighs, looks at me and says “You know how it is…when you party all night long?”.
It was 11:30…
Older co-worker to me: Vee you have been looking absolutely beautiful lately
I ignored the lately part and blushed: Thanks
Him: What are you doing differently?
Him: Have you lost weight?
Me, blushing harder:…..sure….. *thinking no
Him: New make-up?
Me: Nope….*thinking yea….My sis taught a class and I paid me some attention!
Him: a face lift?
Him: I’m just playing bwahahahahaha
Sometimes the encourager needs encouraging…
In the car singin “Where do Broken Hearts Go” along with Nippy and the oldest love muffin offers “To a dating website”…
I’ve had this super goofy grin on my face all day!
People that consistently speak in incomplete sentences should cease speaking to me. It’s as if they start a sentence out loud, but finish it in their head. I’m not in their head, to hear the conclusion of the sentence. And half the time I am not interested enough to try and figure out the conclusion. It’s too frustrating to me.
“And then he ……..and I was, cuz you know it’s like…..tomorrow is another…..bacon! HAHAHA!”
Stop! Please stop talking to me…