Mr. Pam Needs a Grocery Gift Certificate

Do you remember Pat on Saturday Night Live? Is it a man or a woman? Does he/she have a life?

In my childhood neighborhood, we had this girl who was that androgynous type. Maybe asexual is a better word. We knew she was female because her name was Pam. She lived with her parents through childhood and adulthood. At some point, my father started referring to her as "Mr. Pam" and unfortunately it caught on.

Once again, I am trying to watch Jeopardy and there is an interruption. My father is speaking to the dogs as if I were not in the room:

"Mr. Pam is eating again -- Stay out of her way."

"Married -- Divorced; Married -- Divorced -- Mr. Pam can't make up her mind."

"No Christmas presents for the doggies -- Mr. Pam is eating us out of house and home."

As if I needed another nickname, I have now become the neighborhood's new Mr. Pam. We have laughed ourselves stupid over it.

A Note from the Dog

Unfortunately for Houseboy, the nickname has stuck.

But lucky for me, I don't even have to call him. I know when he's in the neighborhood. The maniac dog starts moaning and groaning. She destroys window sills trying to find him and wishing for him to come over.

Today is Houseboy's birthday. Gabby is wishing him happy 29th! Or whatever.

Big Butt Judy

My parents frequent the same restaurants and are familiar with many waitresses. The other day, I was killing time before a lunch meeting so I hung out with them while they ate. My mother filled me in on their waitress and some of her many life trials. Then she said, "Your dad calls her Big Butt Judy.'" (Not to her face -- or her butt.)

They have a communication style that I envy. They speak in code and they get each other. I'm a little piece of it because I do get their humor. I also get the logic. If he refers to Big Butt Judy, my mother immediately knows to whom he is referring, instead of maybe her sister or anyone else they know named Judy.

They call me names too but they do it with great humor and a lot of love.

I have met Big Butt Judy and the nickname is appropriate.

Houseboy to the Rescue

Houseboy has come to my rescue more than once. Actually, more than I care to count.

When the oldies were with us, he dealt with many body function disasters. He never complained, even when Hangdog referred to him as "That man." He picked them up, took them places, ran errands for them and hauled many things up and down the stairs. After a major shopping trip, they would leave things in their trunk for him to unload. He installed lots of "must have" gizmos.

There's an Amish market near his home and he regularly brought them treats. Hangdog could not remember his name but he gobbled up the pastries.

I get teased for it but I admit, he does tons of things for me, like getting on ladders or toting things I cannot lift. He (and his crew) fight the weekly battle with the lawn. Or snow. Or storms.

This week, Houseboy and his wife are headed to a sunny destination to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I have witnessed them together and they are still madly in love. They have two children and their individual schedules are crazy. Yet, they stay connected. I don't think he's ever been in my home without talking to her and/or one of the children.

I tease him with the nickname "Houseboy." He's not a boy; He's a man. He's a man that I would be thrilled to see the baby emulate.

Work ethic. Kindness. Laughter. Loyalty. Family love. He's the poster child for all of these things. That's probably why I trust him with my dog and he has keys to my house.

McNicknames

This writer's strike has really messed with my schedule. I only have a couple of favorite primetime network shows and I'm missing them.

Grey's Anatomy is my favorite. I miss McDreamy and McSteamy. They're both cads but they're fun to watch. I like shows that can make me laugh, cry and swoon. (Oprah makes me laugh and cry but she also gets on my nerves so I can only handle it in small doses.)

I used to watch Grey's Anatomy with the Belle. She could never keep the characters straight so I spent a lot of time answering questions. Hmmm... maybe the writer's strike is a ploy. Instead, maybe they're just grieving for the Belle.

Their creative nicknames make me smile. I thought about asking the husband to give me a McNickname. Then I decided against it. This week he would call me "McMeany."

The Captain

You're used to me referring to the father-in-law as Hangdog or the Unabomber. With respect to his military training, our physician (and saint-in-training) always calls him "Captain."

Today, the husband and his brother picked up the Captain at the Home. They explained the situation and headed to the hospice facility. The baby came home from college and we met them there. Our doctor was there because no one knew what to expect. Would he faint? Would he have a heart attack? Would he have medical questions about her condition?

He handled it like a trooper. (I swear I should've had some military training.) He kept the stiff upper lip and tried to talk to her. Then he decided she wasn't answering him so he accosted the doctor with all of his various ailments. That's the Hangdog I know and love!

This was probably the Captain's last visit with his wife. He's handling the transition much better than expected. He wants to know what's going to happen to him. That's normal and expected.

This was a tough day for the baby. And, I do remember my turn when my own grandparents were dropping like flies. I threw my arms around the baby so many times today that I'm sure he wanted to say, "Get off of me, Fungus!"

Captain is back in the Home. The phone call circle has begun.

And Then They Are Grown

The daughter is grown. I'm happy for her but I hate it. She lives in another city and I miss her. She's very smart but I am certain that she could use my advice more often than she asks.

The baby is off at college. Sort of grown. I'm proud of both of them but I hate it.

Most of my friends' children are grown or on the cusp. Yes, I hate it. I want their little giggles and snugly bodies. I would even take back the teenage years when some things got dicey. I keep telling my friend Debbie (who still has young children,) "Don't Blink!"

One of my favorite people in the world is celebrating a birthday. I was honored to be invited to join him and his parents on Saturday. We sat outside on a beautiful evening and enjoyed a great Italian meal. He lives in Chicago now. He's all grown up. (I hate it.) But, in my mind, he's that little boy I met many years ago. He's the teenager who got in occasional trouble. He's the one who confided in me about various escapades.

I walked into the restaurant on Saturday and was immediately embraced. I said, "Benny Bear, the Birthday Boy!" He said, "You are the only person I would allow to get away with that."

He's all grown up. I hate it.

Mome

You never know who's going to influence your life. Or, who's going to give you a nickname.

I got to be the first grandchild on my mother's side of the family. I nicknamed my grandmother "Bobbye." No one knows why. My friend Carol's grandchildren call her "Grandma Chi Chi." Big S's grandchildren call her "Da." Her husband is "Boo." My friend Cynthia's mother is "Mome." I used to call her Mrs. Summers but after a few years of nudging us to call her Mome, it stuck.

It's been almost 20 years since I first met Mome. She has a full family, tons of friends and she certainly doesn't need me in her circle. Occasionally, I stick myself in there anyway. She has always welcomed me with open arms.

At her 90th birthday party, I was honored to sit beside her. She allowed me to cut her meat. She allowed me to dig through her handbag for something she needed. She trusts me and I feel blessed.

In the early days, we used to go to the lake cottage with our friends, little kids, dogs, etc. -- and Mome. We've spent many years sharing stories, sharing a bathroom, sharing books and gossip. She is always a sport. We might not eat until 9:00 or later. She just hung out like a trooper.

Yesterday, my girlfriend (Mome's daughter,) took her to the lake to see the improvements they've made to the cottage. A wheelchair and a walker were involved. Her vision is extremely limited. Her range of movement is skewed. Yet, a trip to the lake was thrilling, I imagine. I've spent some time moving oldies in wheelchairs and dealing with walkers. I've coordinated it with airlines and hospitals. I need to buy this girl a drink!

During their visit yesterday, Mome told her daughter that it was her last visit to the lake. That's probably true. When someplace has been a part of your heart and history for 90 years, I can't imagine making this declaration.

Here are some of the things I've learned from Mome:

Milk cartons do not belong on the table
BenGay cures it all
Good manners will carry you a long way
A little gossip is ok, as long as you're not malicious

Calling someone Grandma seems to be passe. I'm not anxious for grandchildren but when they come ... if I get a vote ... I want them to call me Mome.

Phonics -- It has to end in an E sound

Once, I was at the lake and we got into this weird discussion about names and nicknames. It was Patsy, Sheri, Betsy, Kathy, Mickey, etc. The men use formal names for business but when we're together, it's Danny, Ronnie, Dickie, Jimmy, Phillie, etc. We pondered -- is this a generational thing?

I have a girlfriend who insists on Deb or Deborah. She's always Debbie to me.

The only person who's allowed to call my girlfriend Cynthia, "Cindy" is her husband. Big Daddy pushes this rule a bit. When the Baby is feeling wild and crazy, he calls her "Thia" (Pronounced Thee-ah.)

Even the word "oldies" ends with an E sound.

Big Fat (Fill in the Blank)

The husband and I discovered long ago that all insults are more impactful with the words, "Big fat" in front on them. Another example of our demented humor.

When we do the crossword and I win, he calls me, "Big fat cheater."

When we are in bed, he elbows and calls me, ""Big fat snorer."

If a story gets twisted, we both call each other, "Big fat stupid."

I told the mother-in-law a story the other day. She called me, "Big fat liar." Apparently, she's eavesdropping again.

My heart warms a bit when the husband calls me "Big Fat (whatever)" I feel the love.

Endearments

The oldies call each other "Love" and "Honey." Every sentence begins or ends with an endearment. My parents bought them a pillow that says, "Home is where your Honey is."

The husband and I can occasionally be sweet to each other. In that nanosecond, we tend toward "Darling" or "Baby."

It's a lot more fun when our true personalities are exposed.

Last night, we could not get comfortable. The oldies mess with the thermostat. I have menopause issues and he has thyroid issues. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is his statement, "I'm hot. Get off of me, Maggot." About an hour later, his leg ventured over and I poked him. "Get off of my side of the bed, Fungus!"

Ah, love!

Baby

It's been brought to my attention that the 18-year old probably doesn't enjoy being referred to as "the baby." This comes from the person who still considers me her baby.

I was reading about the 20-year anniversary of the movie, Dirty Dancing. The main character was named Frances, but everyone called her "Baby." As nicknames go, this one seems flattering and endearing.

The baby says that all old people read the obituaries, check the weather continuously and do the crossword. I'm officially an oldie! Have you ever noticed how many obituaries include a ridiculous nickname? How is there any dignity in listing someone as John "Buzz Saw" Doe? Ok, I made that one up but I have seen many more that were equally stupid.

The husband sometimes calls me "Babydoll." (When I'm annoying him he has other names that are not quite as flattering.)

I think it's an honor to be someone's "baby."