So...um. Yeah. I am thinking there is something wonky going on today, and the only thing I can think to blame is the dark and ominous date.
I posted an entry where I openly admit to fighting (and beating) the urge to shake my poor child clear to next Sunday, and we're at 150 comments (and counting) -- all supportive and understanding and wonderful.
And then over here, a fairly innocuous discussion about one child or two disintegrated into a near bloodbath, with hair-pulling and name-calling and people taking their balls and GOING HOME, I HATE YOU. YOU ARE A BUTTHEAD.
(I'm closing comments on that entry, and any mention of it anywhere else will get deleted, because I am Done With It. And because I am the Tyrannical Blog Overlord! Do not anger me!)
Indeed. Something wonky is afoot.
So today, I am just going to tell you a funny story about myself, so if you feel like yelling at someone, you can just yell at me and all the other innocent bloggers out there can be spared.
When I was pregnant and we found out we were having a boy, we were thrown into a bit of a naming quandary. I only liked girls' names. Jason only liked stupid names.
Then I had a great idea. We could name him after my best friend from childhood! My neighbor across the street growing up -- the sweet boy I played He-Man with and carpooled to our high school graduation with. His name was unusual but not weird, and I thought it sounded great with our sort-of gruff, one-syllable last name.
"Amy," Jason said. "We are NOT naming our child Damien."
"Why not?" I whined. "No one remembers that stupid movie anymore."
"No." He told me.
"What if we spell it differently? Like Damian?"
"I cannot believe you are rejecting THE BEST NAME EVER because of some movie that NO ONE REMEMBERS ANYMORE."
"Fine." I threw up my hands and gave in. "But you? Are a total butthead."
Obviously, we did not go with Damian (a name which I still really like, by the way, wah). But I never really let it go -- the fact that Jason would be so superstitious as to let some 30-year-old movie about, okay, a little boy who MAYBE turns out to be the Antichrist, WHATEVER, affect our decision about our son's name.
Until we were watching TV the other night and saw a preview for the remake.
"Shut up." I ordered him. "Just...shut. Up."
"What?" Jason asked innocently. "I was just going to say that it would have been really hard to hide the mark of the beast anyway, what with Noah's blond hair."
"You are," I sniffed, "still the world's biggest butthead."
(This post was totally inspired by Baby Going, but again, there is to be no yelling at her.)
(What am I saying? There is to be no yelling whatsoever. Or Damien will come eat you, or whatever the heck he did to people, because I DON'T REMEMBER THAT MOVIE.)