Mars Bar,
Let me start by saying that I received a very passionate letter today on behalf of the name Bear. Just need like a thousand more like it and we might get your mom's attention.
We opened presents today (your mom worked on Christmas). For a dude who's got two weeks left in utero you cleaned up. Frankly it got a little excessive around here. I think we're going to have to put the brakes on things before next year. Nixie has suddenly gone from one little stuffed cat that she hauled everywhere to a whole army of fuzzy and crying creatures that must be at her side at all times. She won't eat breakfast until they're all arranged where they can see. She ferries them between rooms like an army. And because they're all very important Ripples enjoys kidnapping and hiding them. It's kind of a recipe for disaster.
Last night I was thinking about things like your middle name, what kind of cell phone I'd really like to have, and other important trivialities when a friend sent me this trip report from some guys out of Salt Lake who'd spent three months hiking across two Alaskan mountain ranges and three glaciers, two of which had never been crossed, and then paddling out to sea before working construction to earn gas money to drive home. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if someone were following me around with a tape recorder and they forced me to listen to half the crap I end up talking about. Forget waterboarding, I'd probably tell you anything just to keep from having to hear myself. The drawbacks of stainless steel refrigerators with black sides, the merits of LCD vs. Plasma, the weird bulge in the realtor's slacks on House Hunters, how do these things even merit the energy it takes to fire my neurons?
You're about to complete the journey from a little bundle of cells to screaming crap machine in just thirty nine weeks. That's a pretty breakneck pace when you think about it. My best advice is to keep it up. If anything, go faster. It's a whole lifetime you've lived in these last nine months. These guys stuffed one into just three.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Pace Yourself
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2 comments:
Dear Mars,
This is your Grandpa, the one on your Dad’s side¬— and I need to weigh in on this name thing.
Your Dad’s name is Kyle. At the time that Grandma and I chose Kyle30 plus years ago, we were pushing the naming envelope. There were some Kyle’s around— we read about them but never met any, and the same with your Uncle Bryce. That name—Bryce— was around too, mostly in the Deep South, but again we never met anyone really named Bryce. We just thought that it was cool to have kids with names that would stand out. You see in those days folks named their kids Bill, Bob, Larry, John, Mary, Teresa, Gertrude, names linked to Saints. When our parents heard about Kyle and Bryce it raised some eyebrows and ‘harrumph harrumphing’ (people just cuss now— we’ll explain that to you at the same time we explain puberty)) because there was no family name linkage. As an example, I am your Grandpa Bob and named after my Uncle Bob. Namesakes and Saints were hot stuff back then.
Therefore, to keep the in-laws and outlaws happy we named your Dad, L. Kyle Killen, and the L is for Lawrence, his grandfather’s name on my side of the family. And Bryce became W. Bryce Killen and the W was for William, his grandfather on Grandma’s side. By the way having your first name as an initial was hot stuff then too, like L. Ron Hubbard (Tom Cruise can tell you about him) J. Edgar Hoover, and W. Somerset Maugham just to name a few of the famous that inspired us. Again, this first initial thing was a Deep South tradition too.
Well your Dad is lucky that he is Kyle, because I really wanted to name him Pilot or if it was a girl, I liked Melba (back then we had no way of knowing until the kidlet arrived). But Grandma had better sense, and your Mom has better sense too, so I think your middle name will come out just fine.
So, we had two boys with names that stood out who in turn grew into outstanding men. I’m sure the same will happen for you and your sisters Nixon and Ripley (by the way, there are no Saint Nixon’s or Ripley’s).
See you in a couple of weeks and I wonder what about… Mars Pilot?
Wait, I could have been PILOT! I feel robbed.
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