Domain Names

I like to own things, especially anything that has my name attached to it. I own my domain name for my personal name and my company name. Frankly, I think everyone should. A couple of years ago I considered buying domain names for my parents and immediate family as a Christmas gift. It proved impractical but now I wish I had done it. Many that I investigated are no longer available.

Occasionally, you'll read a story about some person who buys up domain names that have the potential to be very lucrative. It's like an Internet hedge fund. They're betting that someone will want that domain enough to buy them out -- for big bucks. I wonder how many people tried to buy Obama.com (or .net or .org) a couple of years ago.

I've shared a couple of logos and email boxes which makes me incredibly nervous. I used to say I'm not good at sharing. The startling revelation to me is that I am excellent at it. If you ask it of me and it's within my power, I will give it.

"We're Your Oldies Now."

My father had surgery this morning. He is fine...resting uncomfortably and probably trying to figure out how he let his daughter get him into this situation.

For a surgery day, we had lots of laughs. My mother and I teased my father about his cute gown and hair bonnet. When he was registering for surgery, he went up alone. Oh no -- not going to happen. I tagged along. (Secretly, I think he likes it when I do that.)

During his surgery, my mother and I tried to distract ourselves. We both did the crossword puzzle.

I listened for our name. If someone came in and said, "Riley," I jumped to my feet and said, "Here!" (I would've been great in the military.)

After surgery, the doctor met with us. "Do you have any questions?" is the standard question. My mother had none. I had several.

My parents are not old and they are extremely self-sufficient. But I like to tease them. I told my mother that they'd still be waiting around for someone to call them. She laughed and said, "We're your oldies now."

Not true. But, they have been very accommodating of my quirks. They let me lurk and listen. They let me say, "No, we're going to do it another way."

We did have a little battle in the surgery prep room. Sinus surgery involves several days of breathing only through the mouth. No bending, no stress on the face, no blood rushing to your head. My mother and I decided to exchange words about whether or not the dogs could sleep with them for the next three days. Guess what? "No!" This provided a lot of amusement for my father and if I find out she let those dogs in bed, I will kidnap him and bring him here.

Wife of ...

I am a product of the women's movement. I like it that we have a vote. I tend to believe that women rule the world, albeit behind the scenes. It's an old saying and I'm paraphrasing but none of these men would've gotten where they are without a strong woman behind him. If I start to count them, I get dizzy.

I haven't marched on Washington. But I would.

We're all labeled with terms like daughter of ..., sister of ..., mother of .... etc. My personal favorite is "wife of." I wish I had a dollar for every time someone has said, "Oh, you're Dan's wife."

I enjoy being his wife. But, I like it a whole lot better when they call me by name.

Do You Google Yourself?

Another confession. Every few months I google myself to see what shows up. (I also google lots of you.) Try as I might, technology is always way ahead of me. But I made the conscious decision to put myself out there with a blog and a website. It's funny to see the key words that pop up.

When I did it this morning, the first thing to pop up was my fierce attachment to the "Riley" name.

It made me smile.

Call Me Sir

My girlfriend told me a funny story about her husband. He was making fun of their neighbor because the grandkids call him Papaw. It's a fine name but we Baby Boomers get a little weird about names like Grandpa, Papaw, etc. It might make us seem old and we're not ready to be old.

Her husband decided that his (yet-to-be) grandchildren will call him, "Mr. England."

Another one of my friends expected her grandmother name to be Millie. Before her daughter had children, the son-in-law referred to her as Millie, (Mother-In-Law=MIL) but then the grandchildren started coming and now she's Dah. Go figure. She didn't get a vote.

Another friend used her initials -- CC. It went from CC to Chi Chi to Grandma Chi Chi.

I will probably be thrilled if anyone calls me Grandma. But just in case I need a back up plan, I'm going to use my initials SRR. If you blur it out and let it roll off your tongue, there could be children running around who call me "Sir."

Puppy Becomes Dog

Today is the puppy's birthday. No one cares but me. When I woke her up, I was singing, "They say it's your birthday. We're going to have a good time." Yes, I was cracking myself up.

She will no longer be referred to as "the puppy." She's graduated. From this day forward, she will just be Gabby.

As you might recall, the husband did not want another dog. As usual, I tried to abide by his wishes but ultimately, I did it anyway. She is a maniac and I don't care. I fell in love with her immediately and she makes me smile (or grimace) every day.

Our old dog was Holly -- her formal name was Roman Holiday. When the baby was little, I took him with me to pick her up from being spayed. The vet's office called back to the surgery center and said, "Would you please bring Holly Roman to the front?" The baby got a little attitude and said, "Her name is Roman Holiday!" He was 4.

When I first met our puppy, she was quite chatty with her litter mates. I had been toying with dog names in my mind. Then I met her and said, "She's quite gabby."

Big Daddy made it more formal and named her "Roman Gabrielle." (Not after the football player.) He pretends not to like her but he spends an inordinate amount of time with her. I get annoyed that she listens and obeys him. If he plays the piano, she gets a squeaky toy and plays along. He fakes nonchalance but I can see that he enjoys it. He thinks I let her walk all over me -- literally and figuratively. He's right.

There's a dog bakery near my house. It's slightly ridiculous and wildly expensive. I don't care. Big Daddy's out of town and the puppy became a dog today. I'm going there and get her a treat. If I get really crazy, I might put a candle in the puppy cupcake and sing Happy Birthday.

Names

I've never loved my name. It's a weird spelling and with only 5 letters, it doesn't lend itself to a lot of options. I wanted to be a Katherine, an Elizabeth or something else that was equally regal. Or, something historic and biblical. Mary would have been nice.

My parents were pretty young when I was born. Throw that in with some southern roots ... well, enough said. Good thing I wasn't a boy. I probably would have been named "Tommy Bob."

My grandfather (Yep, he was crazy too) used to always call me by the middle name I was given at birth. I've always wondered if he preferred that name or just couldn't remember my first name. I loved him anyway. He always ate those disgusting cakes out of my EZ Bake Oven. You know, the ones with sludge and water that were baked by a light bulb. (He also used to show up at the same parties in high school but that's a different story.)

One of the few perks of multi-marriages is getting to choose your name. I legally changed my middle name to my maiden name many years ago. I love my maiden name and I find it ironic that it's now a popular name for both little girls and boys. It doesn't matter. People who know you know your weak spots. The husband often yells through the house for me. "Sheri Lynn! Where are you?" I have an aunt who never addresses me without both names. At this late stage, it's starting to grow on me.

I've had the honor to know many nurses in my life. I have two mother-in-laws who are retired nurses. I know a lot of people in the healthcare industry. They can tell the funniest stories about names. Women actually name their babies after words they hear in the delivery room. Hello, Placenta! My favorite is a woman in Detroit who named her twin boys after her favorite desserts: Lemonjello and Oranjello.

I'll keep my convaluted, 5-letter, mispelled name. At least they didn't name me Placenta.

Girls

With due respect to Martina McBride, this one's for the girls.

A lot of men wish for sons to carry on the family name. I say to the girls, "Keep your own name." (You got married, not adopted.) Or, take his name but keep your own. We have options.

When the chips are down and the next disaster strikes, it's the women who pull it together. Sons gravitate to the wife's family. This may change at some point but I'm convinced it won't be in my lifetime.

Many of my friends are dealing with their own version of the oldies. The men send checks, mow the lawn, paint the fence. The women hold their hand, help them dress, clean up bodily messes, buy cards, make phone calls, schedule appointments, listen to stories, go to the grocery, pick up prescriptions ... I could go on and on.

If you're lucky, you've got a son for about 20 years and then you become an afterthought. If you're really lucky, you have a daughter, a stepdaughter, a goddaughter ... they're with you for life.

Girls rule!