When
I was growing up I remember my mother was always drawing, browsing, collecting,
and dreaming up house plans. It was a
big theme. She was going to build her
dream house, which evolved over the years.
For years, whenever I was cleaning and came upon one or more of her (usually)
hand-drawn house plans, I would sit down and study it. It was the topic of many a conversation. Not only was this something that was easy to
talk about with my mother, but it often delayed my chores for a while.
For
several years I did the same thing, starting sometime in high school and ending
a few years into my marriage. It was a
fun thing to talk about with my husband, and we had grand plans. While in the military though, that kind of
dream is a very-far-away kind of dream.
The
thing of mine most often found while cleaning my house is actually lists. (My mother also had lists for everything, and
various kinds of planners, which I loved to read through, occasionally stumbling
across gift lists I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to see.) Specifically, baby name lists. No, this is not an announcement. I am simply in love with baby names. I have lists dating back to about the time I
was 14 I think. We had baby name books that
I would read like novels, occasionally suggesting names to my mother for the
next one. I very carefully named my stuffed animals, and many of them were
named from my list of future children. (I also addressed journal entries to my
unborn children for a time, haha.) It
never crossed my mind that my husband would probably want to have a say in
naming his children. I still make lists of baby names. I made one today. Some are mistreated and lost, and then I’m
upset I can’t remember the name I loved a few months ago. Some find themselves tucked away in my filing
cabinet for later reference. Some float
around the bookshelves in my room for a few years. My husband thinks I’m balmy. Illogical and obsessed at best.
I
still remember when my parents would announce they were having another baby,
which happened, um, several times. My
greatest concern was what names they were considering. I loved to look through my Mom’s baby name
lists. Ashley could have been Melody or
Melanie. Matthew was always in the top 5
for a boy. I was also rather
jealous. At least two of my sisters had
names that were ever so much more interesting than mine. I changed my name to have an “e” at the end
in middle school, and signed it that way—yes like in Anne of Green Gables,
which was my favorite movie. I changed
it to have an “ie” in high school. Notice,
all of my children have at least 3 syllables in their names. I think when I’m done having babies, I’m
going to have to start adopting animals so I can keep using the names I love. Hmm, or maybe I’ll just have to find another
hobby before then!
