Mommer, Hone and Captain Cheekerbottom

I must have missed the memo, but Thursday's unofficial theme was "nicknames".  I felt as though I was in high school and forgot to dress up for "Spirit Day".  But instead of neglecting to don my red and grey, I woke up ill-prepared to combat the onslaught of aliases I'd be given throughout the day. 

"Hi, Mommer!" 

At least I thought that was what he said.  I was sleeping the sleep of a mother with two tireless boys, and at that point he could have asked for the keys to the van to head to Vegas for the weekend.  I probably would have handed them over with two Monopoly 20s and a pat on the back.

"Hmm.  Did you call me Mommer?"

"Hee, hee.  Mommer!"

So you see, I don't know if he started it or I did, but my kid likes to beat a dead horse, so the nickname stuck throughout the day.

"Mommy-- err, Mommer, what are you making me for breakfast?"

"You are having oatmeal.  Would you like peach or banana?"

"Ooh, I want peach.  Is that what you want, Graham?"

"Uh, hone."

Allow me to explain.  For several months now, I have noticed that Graham would not say Cael's name.  Even when asked point blank to say it out loud, he'd blush and shut his mouth tighter than Cael's death grip on Thomas the Train.  So for the last few weeks, I've been encouraging him to address his brother rather than avoid him like the rest of us do when we can't remember someone's moniker.  After some practice, he has confidently named Cael "Hone".

Is it home?  Is it honey?  Who knows.  I'm just glad it's not "hey you".

By mid-afternoon, I was glancing up in the corners of my house for the "totally hidden video" that I was sure was recording my every move as I went through the motions of my day with my sons, Hone and Graham.  We attempted a craft project-- ironing crayon shavings to leaf shapes to be hung on the window, but I quickly realized that no one had the patience necessary to see the project through to fruition.  What I was left with was four trillion bits of earth-toned crayon embedded in my carpet, one magenta crayon that fell victim to the dog, and one really bizarre conversation with Cael.

"Mommy, why does Graham call me 'Hone'?"

"Honey, he can't say 'Cael' just yet, so it comes out like 'Hone'."

"I can't say 'Graham' either.  I think his name is 'Poopy'."

"That's not very nice, Cael.  Try something else." 

"'Stinky, yucky, dirty pants' boy."

"Cael..."

"'Smelly toots and toenails with broccoli' boy."

"That's not any better."

"Maybe I'll just call him 'Ham'."

"Ham?  Well, I guess it sort of rhymes with Graham."

"Yep, it rhymes.   Graham, Ham, poop and bicycle.  They all rhyme!"

I probably should have corrected him, but I didn't want to discuss poop anymore, so I let it go.  We cut out our colorful leaves and put them up in the window.  As I dished out their dinner, I realized that both Hone and Ham had crayon shavings under their fingernails and in every crevice of their soft skin.

I figured that a bath would not only be a nice way to end the evening and clean up the boys, but also a fun way to wrap up what was a silly and easy day for us.  My boys love to take baths, but as I've shared before, the moment I open the bathroom door, all hell breaks loose.

"Okay, boys, it's time for a bath.  Can you go in the bathroom and take your dirty clothes off?"

"Yea!"  They yelled in unison.

"Mommer, Graham has a cute cheekerbottom!  I think that's a better name than Ham.  I think I will call him 'Cheekerbottom'!"

I did manage to clean the filth off of my sons, but I'm not sure I'll ever scrub away the strangeness of this day.  But maybe that's just how it is in the land of Mommer, Hone and Captain Cheekerbottom.