The war that is raging in my house at the moment is one involving nicknames.
It’s a silly war, really.
I am apparently no longer allowed to call my two older boys by their cute, adorable nicknames.
Names that I have called them by since before they were crawling. Names that make my heart ache. Names that only I can truly call them by. Names that transport me back in time to a day when they were so little and innocent and sweet. Names that make me smile. Names that are … well, just … them.
How on earth can I not call them by their nicknames?
It all started when I did the unthinkable.
I apparently called my tween by his nickname. At the playground. In front of his friends. And, I didn’t even know I had done it.
Yeah … it didn’t go over too well. There were scowls and tantrums, huffs and a few choice nicknames to me that were muttered under breath.
And, so ended the days of cute, adorable nicknames for I have strict instructions to only call my sons by their given names.
No more ****** Bear or *****.
Truth be told, it’s a battle.
Between my mouth and them.
I mean, I’ve called them these nicknames forever so it’s hard. I forget. Until they give me the look and then I know I must have slipped up and so the war begins.
This post was inspired by this week’s writing workshop prompt #3 over at Josie’s fabulous blog Sleep is for the Weak.