A Rose by Any Other Name

I can't tell you how many times I've been asked the story behind my daughter's name.  Many times I'd sit down to write a post on it and then it would somehow end up in permanent draft status.  One of my favorite things about Show Us Your Life is that it gives me the opportunity to write about things that I usually put off for a rainy blogger day.  This week's topic is about how you chose your child's name and/or future names.

I was one of those people that began thinking about my baby names as soon as I could name my dolls.  When I was a little girl I was sure that my future daughter was going to be Natasha!  As I got older I went through phases, but a few things have always stayed the same- the most important being that I didn't want to name my kids any names that were trendy or very popular.  Also, I like unisex names for girls, but not for boys and I think a middle name should be what it is- a middle name, and not what you call your child. (just my personal preference)  In middle and high school my favorite names were Jocelyn, Kayla, Grace, Savannah, and Vivien (yes, that's now my dog's name).  But then I outgrew some of them and the others become too nom de jour.

During my government/politico days, I was unequivocally naming my two daughters (I was only ever going to have daughters, ha!) Reagan and Madison after my two favorite presidents.  This was before Madison became the most popular name in the world.  When I realized how many people had started naming their kids that, I reluctantly decided I couldn't use the name.  I never put too much thought into boys names because, like I said, I was only going to have girls- and even if I did, I figured I'd let my husband do that naming since I'd done all the rest. haha. 

And then I found myself to be pregnant.

When I realized that I would actually be the one responsible for naming my child- it was no longer just "in theory," I was kind of overwhelmed.  I mean, this would be one of the only things that would stay with them for their entire life.  The wrong name and you end bearing the brunt of many a playground taunt.  One of my best friends growing up hated her middle name.  And when I say hate, I mean loathe and despise to the point that her mom even thought about having it legally changed.  She wouldn't tell me what is was for years and when she finally did, after being sworn to secrecy, I couldn't believe that was the name she hated so much.  To me, it was lovely, but to my friend, it was the worst name her mother ever could have bestowed upon her.  I'm sure her mom never thought that when she gave her daughter the-worst-middle-name-that-ever-was, that one day she'd dislike it so vehemently.  This was the story that kept replaying through my mind as I thought about the life long responsibility of naming my child.

I had never been particularly inspired to use family names when I used to think about the monikers for my future kids.  I think it was probably because my name is Katherine Elizabeth, which comes directly from my both of my grandmothers. From the very beginning they decided to call me Katie, which was the name of my great-grandmother.  When I was younger it used to bug me that there was nothing original about my name- it was just a copy.  But when I found out I was going to have a baby, that I was going to be a mother- all of a sudden it seemed monumentally important to me- I wanted the name to have a connection to our family history. Unfortunately, I wasn't all that fond of any of the female names in my immediate family. 

And then I found out that baby wasn't an "it" it was a "she!"  I did a lot of reading and family history research and I came up with two names:  Mayson Elizabeth and Spencer Kathryn.  I didn't tell anyone what my choices were except for my mom and my bestie, Sara.  It's always been my experience that when you tell someone the name of your unborn child that they're more willing to criticize the name.  When I was still in the narrowing down process, I made the mistake of telling some people close to me what my top choices were.  I didn't think that they'd tell me if they didn't like the names... but they did.  And then I could never think of them again without remembering their criticism; effectively ruining any chance that they would become my daughter's name.  Hence why I chose to keep my final two choices to myself.  A lot people didn't like this and I was constantly being asked about her name, but I stuck my guns and I'm glad that I did.

When my daughter was born I still hadn't made up my mind and I thought that I needed to see which name suited her best.  Since we had an extra long stay in the hospital, I had a few more days than normal to make my decision.  I had a really hard time finally deciding because I wanted to give her name that was both unique to her, but also connected to our family.

After three days of being "Baby Girl White," she was now Spencer Elizabeth White.  Spencer was my maternal-maternal great-great-grandmother's name and Elizabeth was my Mema's middle name as well my middle name.  Her initials SEW, obviously spell out sew, and my Mema was the one who taught me to sew, knit, and crochet.  When I was laying there trying to figure out what to do, I kept thinking that this might be the only child I ever have and I want her to share the name Elizabeth with us.  But I'd started thinking that "Mayson" might be too trendy, which was why I switched the names around. To me, her name was the perfect way to give my daughter a link to my beloved Mema who had just recently passed away. 

These days I don't think too much about baby names too often.  Mostly because every time I fall in love with a name it becomes super popular.  But I do have a few that I know I'll use if I ever get married and have another child. WARNING:  Don't Steal My Names or Else! (just kidding.. but...)  If I have a boy his name will be Anderson and call him Andy.  I know Anderson is a little trendy, but I don't care- Anderson is my mom's maiden name and everyone called my Papa "Andy" for short.  Other names I currently like are Finley, Pryce, Marlowe, Ellery, Beckett, and Bennett.

Everything I've learned about naming  a baby has led me to one conclusion:  a name is important, but it's not everything.  Like Juliet once said: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

** Please pray for my best friend's brother and his wife tonight.  He is the son of my pastor and more like a member of my family.  His wife was admitted to the hospital on Saturday with pre-eclampsia and is currently 25 weeks pregnant.  They were hoping that they'd be able to keep from delivering their son for at least another month, but the way things are looking, they're hoping for just another week now..  You can visit their CaringBridge site

My Mom

 Me, my Mom, and my Mema- the last picture ever taken of us all together.

My Mom has lived in the same town for her entire life;  all of her homes have been within a 10 mile radius of each other and within a 5 mile radius of her parent’s old house.  My grandparents were very strict with her; strict even by the standards of other devout Baptists circa the 1950's.  She was not allowed to go to any school dances, concerts, wear makeup or skirts that were more than one inch above her knee (my Papa often brought out his measuring tape if there was any doubt in his mind). My Mema made almost all of her clothes for her until she was a teenager- then my mom was old enough to get a job and she decided that she'd use her money to buy the clothes she wanted.  Although they weren't really the outfits she wanted since they had to conform to the above mentioned rules.

My mom would tell me these stories over and over again as I was growing up, as if she were willing me to understand how different her life had been from mine. I couldn't believe she was talking about the same people who were my Mema and Papa. I never understood why she always followed every single one of their rules- didn't she ever just want to be herself?  But she never did; my mom was the quintessential good daughter who truly loved and respected her parents.  If they said no, she wouldn't do it. 

Her parents were both larger than life types, with dominant personalities, whereas my mother was more submissive and eager to please.  She never rebelled against them or disobeyed,  always showing them the proper respect.  But she dreamed of one day becoming a mother and doing all the things with her daughter that she did not get to do.

My mom thought she would love her daughter in all the ways she had felt unloved by her mother, and in return, her daughter would love her in the way she had unfailingly and loyally loved her mom.  I think she saw the first crack in this dream when her only daughter, me, informed her at the tender age of two that she didn't want to be rocked to sleep anymore.  She tried for the next week to keep rocking me, hoping it was a one time thing, but I kept telling her no until she eventually gave up trying. A few years later she signed me up for dance lessons and after the first class I begged her to not make me go back.  As a child she'd always wanted to take ballet lessons, something she never got to do.  Naturally, she assumed I would feel the same and be excited about it.  These types of occurrences would happen again, many times over, as I grew up.

As I got older I became very close to my Mema and I could tell that our close bond sometimes upset my mom.  Being the wonderful daughter that I was, I would often flaunt this in front of her. In my mom’s eyes, the relationship she had longed to have with her mother was the one I had with her and the relationship she had longed to have with her daughter, her mother had with me.  I was nothing like the girl she had imagined having; I was more like her mom, minus the uber strict moral code.  My Mema and I, we just had a different relationship- I think granddaughters and grandmothers do, it's just how it is. But to my mom, she didn't have the mother who appreciated her or the daughter.

It was always an issue, especially after my Mema died.  I remember the day that the funeral home gave my mom my Mema's possessions that she'd been wearing when she passed-  one of which was her engagement ring and wedding band.  My mom clutched it in her hand, looking down at the ring she had stared out for a lifetime on her mother's finger. With tears rolling down her face she took a deep breath and handed it to me, saying that my Mema had told her she wanted me to have her ring.  She could have kept it for herself- she loved that ring- but she didn't.  That's not the kind of daughter she was.  My mother always did what her mom wanted and asked her to do and death certainly wasn't going to change my mom from being the daughter she had always been.  

Memory Lane, Penny Lane

Today would have been my Mema's 80th birthday. My mom, Spencer, and I are going to the cemetery to put the pink and blue hydrangeas that she loved so much on her grave. Well, actually in the vase on her grave - such strict rules these places have now!

While I still am shaky on my faith (but I'm working on it) I have always believed that when I'm talking to her she is listening. I miss her every day. I don't think it's just a coincidence that her dog we inherited is Spencer's best non-human friend. But then again, I'm always on the look out for "signs" from her, something that shows me she's watching over us.

I'm the brat in my family- everyone else is mild-mannered and obedient. Even though she got on me for my smart mouth, she was also my ally. She loved me and she was proud of me. She's been gone for three years now, but there are still so many times that I say to myself "I need to call Mema, she'll know the answer," only to remember that I can't.

She taught me how to sew, how to knit, how to crochet and even how to properly iron pockets inside of the pants. I never had a store bought Halloween costume because each year she always made mine and they were AWESOME! I always won best costume at every party.

She was a proud breast cancer survivor, a generous donor, an unfailingly loyal wife. She was June Carter Cash's BFF in high school, she was my BFF for always. When my Papa first moved to Richmond he saw her walking down the street as he drove by. He stopped, rolled down the window, and said "I'm gonna marry you one day." She thought he was crazy, but by the time she got to her house, he was already there, asking her father if he could court his daughter.

She was beautiful. She was also smart. Even though she never went to college, she was excellent with numbers. While working a full time job she also did taxes for many people. She saved her money and was an excellent investor. She firmly believed the only safe way to invest money was long term and low yield. All of her stocks were blue chip, because she preferred earning only a penny rather than losing a dollar.

She took care of my Papa for four years while he became a shell of his former self due to Alzheimer's Disease. When she finally had no other choice but to put him in a nursing home, they told her they had never seen another patient as far along as he was being admitted for the first time. She hated having to leave him there, even though she spent every day, hours upon hours visiting him. She did his laundry, ironed all of his clothes (even his handkerchiefs) and cut his hair. When I asked her why she spent so much time making sure there were no wrinkles in his pants, making the crease perfectly even, and the handkerchiefs in four perfect squares, she said "Your Papa would be mortified if he knew he was walking around in wrinkled pants! And it's just good taste to have neat handkerchief!"

 

She was a Godly woman, a virtuous woman. She read the Bible everyday and never missed, or was late to, any church service. I sat beside her in church every Sunday, from the time when she gave me Werther's Originals and let me draw on her bulletins, to the time when she let me takes naps on her shoulder, shielding me so my mom wouldn't see me asleep, to the time when she would ask me what chapter of the Bible we were on because she couldn't hear what the Preacher said.

I'll never forget the time she gave me Ruth Graham's autobiography as a random gift one day. She was so nervous because she didn't want me to think she was giving me the book because I was doing something wrong in my life. She had read it and thought it was a great example of a Godly woman who was also strong and independent. I still have the book, it's always in my nightstand drawer.

I don't think it's humanly possible for me to convey how much she influenced my life, how much I love her, or how much I miss her. Her death was so sudden and so shocking, and for some terrible reason that day is one that I can't forget. I'm pretty good at blocking out bad memories, mostly because I'm not good at dealing with them, but everything about August 28th is etched into my brain. It's the day I lost my ally, my friend, my problem solver, and in some ways, my faith.

Every year I go to her grave on her birthday and sing to her. I tell her how I miss her snarkiness even though she would have no clue what snarky meant. I ask her to try and make sure I don't forget her stories and her life- because I want to share them with Spencer. Every year I cry a bucket of tears and wish I could hear her say "Get a hold of yourself! A lady doesn't weep in public!" Then I laugh and think about how lucky I was to have her for 23 years, how grateful I am for all she taught me.


Not a day goes by that I don't think about my her. Spencer has her middle name and when she's old enough, I can't wait to tell her all the stories about her Great-MeMa. So Happy Birthday, I'm sorry I shared with the world your real age! I Love You Always.

Life Categories

It always intrigues me as to how people categorize their lives. It seems that most people use one or two ways to define a certain period of time- my aunt does it with her cars. If you ask her about a certain period of time, she will say something like "well, I was driving the white Honda then, so that was May of '95."

I am entirely different. Depending on my mood, or when you ask me, or what your asking me about, I use all different categories and phases. There's the obvious, before and after Spencer, but that's so recent to me, there are still 25 years before that, that need some sort of organization.

After Spencer, there is before and after my MeMa died. She passed away during my first week of law school, completely unexpectedly. It's a day I would love to forget, but every second of it is etched into my brain. We were waiting for her at church on Sunday and she was late; my Mema was never late. My mom was worried and we sat outside of church waiting for her to drive up. My Dad drove over to her house and when she didn't answer the door, he broke in and found her in her bedroom. She had died the night before of a massive heart attack, all alone, except for her dog Gus.

Gus, the dog we inherited.

My Mema was a huge part of my life, she had lived in the house behind us for my entire childhood. When she died, I felt like my world had shifted. She had the personality most like me and I was the only person who she let tell her what to do. I would have to say that her death had the biggest impact on my life, except for Spencer, and I tend to automatically put things in the "before or after" she died.

Next on the list is what perfume I was wearing. Weird, huh? I'm one of those people who wears a scent for a certain period of time and then retires it. I wore CK One for all of the 8th and 9th grade, after that it was Curve, then Glow, l'eau par kenzo, Light Blue, and finally Coco Mademoiselle. Whenever I smell one of these fragrances, I immediately go back to that period of my life. Right off the top of my head, I know that I wore Light Blue during Italy and for my Junior year of College.

After the perfume category, it's on to coats. I tend to do the same thing with coats that I do with perfume, I wear one for a certain period of time and then I retire it to the salvation army. The red faux fur coat, I wore for three years in a row in college- it was like my signature item. These are all the coats I've worn (there are more, I just couldn't find any pictures of them).

There are few other, like before and after my first dog Dusty died. I got her for my 5th birthday and she died the day after I got back from my mission trip to Peru. She was sick when I left and I was so scared that she was going to die while I was gone, but she waited for me! Dusty was the sweetest dog, and I had for 13 years, so I sometimes use my sweet puppy as a defining category.

Sometimes I think about things in terms of when I had faith that "could move mountains," and then when it became smaller than the requisite "mustard seed." When I was a "good girl" and then when I wasn't. I use this mostly when I'm trying to make a decision or answer a life question, like what would "the good Katie" have done? Why don't I want to do that? Was that version of me the real one or is this the real me? Was she wrong or am I right?

But for the most part, I tend to stick with lighter fare of coats and perfume to help sort out and define periods of my life. I don't know why, I didn't plan on making such a method, but it happened.

So how do you sort out and categorize your life? Is there just one way, or do you use many, like me? Are any of them as ridiculous as coats or perfume? Yes, I know they are ridiculous!