Nicknames

At the urging of my much older sister, I have decided to start a blog. Partly because I always do what she tells me to (she will undoubtedly, fall out of her chair laughing when she reads this), and partly because I was so impressed with her postings. While I wouldn't call us overly competitive, there has always been a bit of that to our relationship. So, anything she can do, I can do equally as well.

I've never read a "BLOG" before much less written one. I am totally new to this. Forgive me any errors or mistakes I may make. I'll learn. Not entirely sure how the whole thing works, but hey...I'm full of thoughts. Some funny, some interesting, some probably just plain silly, but this is as good a place as any to share them. Especially since my husband and son usually look at me like I'm insane when I share my ramblings with them.

So who am I? That's a question I seem to ask myself a lot. The answer always changes a bit. There's the me I want to be, the me I'm trying to be, and the me that I end up being. Changing on any given day.

I come from a family full of nicknames. Maybe that's why there are so many "me's". No one is called by there given name unless they are in trouble, or someone is mad at you. And if the word "THAT" appears in front of your name...watch out...THAT means big trouble.

My grandfather has always called me "B Brat". While this may not seem like a loving name, it is. I treasure it. Whether he meant it or not, it's made being 2nd alright. It's his loving way of singling me out. My sister may be "A Brat" but I am "B Brat". Not 2nd, just next. Individual. Together we are "The Girls". Which becomes a bit confusing when the dogs have also always been referred to as the "The Girls", but that's a topic for another time. I'm in my thirties, and he still calls me "B Brat". I hope he never stops. "B Brat" is my grandfathers girl. The one who tells jokes and will do anything to get a laugh from someone she loves. She's the funny part of me.

To my grandmother I am "Peanut". It made sense when I was a skinny 2nd grader who couldn't find pants long enough that would still fit her tiny waist. A bit silly when I was a chubby 12 year old. Downright embarassing as a 17 year old. But as an adult, I'm comfortable with it. I'm glad to have it. "Peanut" is the shy girl, afraid of her own shadow. The one who hides behinds her grandparents legs when a stranger comes around. She is part of me that would rather sit inside and read a book, draw a picture, or watch an old movie instead of face the terrifying world outside.

My mother, at one time (as a chubby 12 year old), tried to nickname me "Butterball". I'm sure you can imagine how that went over. She still tries it every once in a while but I quickly put a stop to it. No matter how old you are, a nickname like "Butterball" just isn't flattering. So she sticks with "Boo Boo Kitty". Not sure how or when it started, but she seems to remember always calling me that. I guess I'll have to accept it. "Boo Boo Kitty" is the smart-aleck. The part of me that mouths off when I should just keep my mouth shut. This is the part of me that gets into trouble. No wonder it comes from my mom.

My Sissy (in itself a nickname since I couldn't say Tammy as a child-to this day I just can't call her that. We'll be old and gray and I'll still be calling her Sissy, like the Baldwin sisters on Waltons Mountain I suppose), calls me a lot of things. Mostly Miche, or Shell. Never Shelley. Never anything embarrassing. Just the names that work. You see, she gave me my name. Michelle . So she has the right to call me anything she wants really. Miche is me. This is the part of me that most of the world sees everyday. This is the girl that loves her family and has a hard time making friends. This the part of me that jumps for joy inside when I'm noticed for something but at the same time is terrified of someone seeing me. This is the part that I'm always trying to improve. The part that's always trying to be better than the Miche today.

Shelley, now that's another story. Family legend says that my father swore no one would ever call me Shelley and that I would be known simply as Michelle. His name was William and he always hated the nickname Billy. I suppose he was trying to save me from the same agony. But, he became the first one to call me Shelley and the name stuck until high school and quickly threw it aside. Only my grandparents, step mother and for some reason, my brother in law still call me that. Woe to anyone else that uses it though. Especially my husband. Shelley is the part of me that is mostly gone. It's the little girl me. The chubby 12 year old. Problem is I've grown into a chubby 32 year old and this shy, awkward girl sometimes creeps back in.

To my husband I am simply Shell, or Honey. Simple. Too the point. Direct. Much like ourselves.

To my beautiful boy, I'm just Mom. When he was very little and spent as much time with my sister as he did with me I was MomTa. He calls my sister Ta so the name became confused. I miss it a bit, but an 11 year old doesn't share much affection that way. Mom is the name I'm most proud of, but also the name that scares me the most. A hard name to figure out, to live up to. This too is a long a difficult topic, one I'm not sure I'm ready to explore in this forum. Mom is my toughest name.

I have the worlds most beautiful niece and nephews. To them I am "Tantie". This is the fun me. I think I'm a pretty good aunt. They love me and I adore them. I'm proud of the aunt I am and that I have earned their love.

To paraphrase from my twittering sisters post, there are many parts of me. I think there are many parts of all of us. Especially women. I think we have so many things that we need to be that we need and use those many different parts. Somedays the parts fit together well. Somedays, we can't seem to hold it all together. But we manage. I do anyway. Days like today when I have a terrible cold and breathing is chore, it's hard. But on those days when my 11 year old boy comes up and hugs me (a very un-cool thing for an 11 year old mind you) I think I'm doing okay.