Something weird is happening at our house. As usual.
I don't remember who started it and why, but it is a growing phenomenon.
Somebody started calling Boychild "Vern." It might have been me in an effort to hurry him along one day. I can hear myself saying, "C'mon, Vern. We're going to be late." I don't know why "Vern" instead of "Ambrose" or "Todd" or "Jimmy," but it has stuck.
Some days we call Boychild "Vern" more than we call him by his real name. In fact, there are probably a bunch of people who have encountered us at stores and such who think we have a boy named "Vern." Not that there's anything wrong with that. At one point Boychild complained, but now he seems to find it funny and has joined in the fun. You see, the Vernification of our household has spread. Girlchild is occasionally called "Vernette." Daddy is "Daddy Vern." I am "Mama Vern." The cats - either one of them at any given time - are "Vern Cat."
This is not really a new thing, but it is the first time it has been applied to people in the house. Years ago, for a reason that escapes both of us, we started calling MacGregor, our enormous tabby cat, "Schooley." I can't tell you why "Schooley" - I haven't the foggiest idea. Sometimes we call him "Pilot," too, but only when we pick him up to carry him and his back legs stick straight out - kind of like an airplane's tail.
I see some identity issues in our future. Therapy, for sure.