With a name like Jennifer Elizabeth, I’ve had my share of nicknames. Nicknames based on my first name, based on my middle name, based on my last name. Nicknames only my mom may call me, nicknames from high school, nicknames from college, nicknames from grownup life. If someone calls out my name in an airport, chances are I’ll know what part of my past they represent simply by what they yell out. My husband is one of very, very few people who calls my Jennifer. I don’t know why, he just does. I kinda like it.
Is it any wonder I have issues? Don’t know my own name!
And then there was teaching. I was Mrs. <redacted> in public school, Jen to private students, Mama Jen to my college marching band flute line, Miss Jen to my Music Together classes.
Add in the boys’ teachers and doctors and random service people and dang, I answer to a lot of names.
Just please not “ma’am.” I’m not a “ma’am.” I don’t wear hats and gloves and hose.
Then there are the boys.
For whatever reason, I’ve never been “mommy.” I try not to think about it, ’cause then I’d sniff and be sad that my little boys never really called me mommy. Not mama either. Or mum. Mummy only on Halloween. I’m Mom. Or Moooooooooooommmmmmmmmm!!!!!!
Lately J has found it hysterical to call me “Jen.” Or “woman.” Or “missy.” A, not so much. He’ll play along a little bit, but doesn’t seem to get the same delicious glee from twisting that particular knife as his brother. Dude, I can handle a lot from these two, but calling me by my first name, or WOMAN, just ain’t gonna fly. So we’ve found an acceptable compromise.
If they ain’t gonna call me Moooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!, then Momifer is an appropriate substitute. Kinda sorta not really but I can deal with it. A little bit Mooooooooommmmmmm!!!!!!!, a little bit Jennifer, a whole lotta thinking they’re getting away with something.
Surely I’m not the only Mooooooooommmmmmmm!!!!!!! in this situation, right?
Momifer. At least in the future I’ll know it’s my offspring searching for me in an airport.