I remember growing up and having my mom rattle off mine and my siblings names until she got to the one she was trying to fuss at. There were only three of us. And one was a boy. You would think she would have been able to keep us straight.
And just for the record, I was rarely the one mom was fussing at because I rarely got into into trouble. Just ask my sister…on second thought, scratch that. Don’t ask her anything!
Anyway, my brother and sister and I would snicker behind mom’s back at her apparent inability to know the names of her own children. I mean, how do you mix up the names of three kids? I might have been able to sympathize if we had been a family like The Gosselin’s. They have 8 kids, for crying out loud. Their mom probably doesn’t remember her own name anymore, let alone the names of her kids.
Then, I became a mother and I stopped laughing. Because now I do it. I am constantly calling my boys by the wrong name. Usually while I am looking right at them. I know my children. I gave birth to them. I’ve known them since conception. I probably know them each better than anyone else. Yet, day after day I stumble through all three names before I settle on the name of the one kid I am actually fussing at talking to.
So, now my kids laugh at me when I rattle off each of their names in an effort to find the right one. They laugh even harder at my lame attempts to convince them that I do it on purpose just to annoy them. They’re not buying it, and neither am I. It’s just another part of motherhood that no one warned me about.
And as for my mother, she still gets us mixed up from time to time, but somehow I think she’s the one who’s having the last laugh!