Watching the Olympics with Fluffy

So, first of all, let me make it clear that my sister did NOT name her youngest daughter Fluffy. I already had a policy of not really naming people in this blog, because there are people like JOYCE MCKINNEY out there, but my little niece came up with this nickname all on her own. Her name is actually sorta like Fluffy, but not really.

But when you are two, and just learning the language, sometimes things don’t come out just right. Sorta like when you’ve had three Frodkas too many. “What’s your name?” “Navablagh! Nagableh. Na?”

Anyway, Fluffy came out when she was telling me her name, and FLUFFY she became. She says her REAL name more clearly now, but Fluffy kinda stuck, like gum on a shoe. At least it was like that if you ask my sister, since she says Fluffy is a DOG’S name. I think it is more appropriate for a bunny, but hey. It fits Fluffy.

Even my MOM will sometimes casually say, “Oh, we were babysitting Fluffy.” I’m telling you, it brings joy to my heart. “You called her FLUFFY,” I will crow triumphantly.

“Only to you,” Mom assures me. Uh huh. Let’s face it, I have WON. What have I won? Some sort of sister domination. After all, even when sisters get done trying to kill each other growing up, the job description STILL says “Terrorize the siblings,” doesn’t it?

That and hold them steady when life grabs a hold of you and smacks you so hard your head spins. We had to play that recently, when my nephew was so seriously injured. I spent a long night, holding his hand as he fought tubes, and vents, and all other manner of bodily intrusions and I didn’t sleep once. Because I PROMISED my sister I would hold his hand, and not leave him alone, so she could sleep. Remember THAT when you are pissed off about the nicknames. Unfortunately, this is a different sister, so I don’t know that I got many brownie points. But I tried.

Now that Fluffy can actually SAY her name, I have new fun with her. I try to get her to tell me which name she prefers? She won’t answer. Finally, I say, “Who are you? Fluffy or (insert real name. Use your imagination. Don’t pull a Joyce on me)?” She is a quick-witted one that, Fluffy. She immediately gave her name as her older sister’s. I see this becoming an issue when they are running from the law, but let’s hope that doesn’t happen right away.

So, the other night Fluffy and I were watching “simming.” She likes “simming.” She’s not so tolerant of commercials, or sound bytes, or interviews, but she likes to watch the “simming.”

We alternated between joyful screeches of “Lady simming!” to “Daddy simming!” Now Fluffy is a Daddy’s Girl, but I promise her father is NOT in the Olympics. Unless it’s the 50-yard power nap. I’m not sure why the men got to be daddies, and the women were ladies.

My sister better get her into some counseling.

But we sat through quite a few laps. Our conversation went something like this.

“Lady simming?”

“Yes, she’s swimming.”

“Why?”

“To win a gold medal.”

“Medal?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To represent America.”

“Mer-ka?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Somewhere, a toddler’s mother is gouging her eyes out with a dull spoon, because this conversation is just bringing back too many painful memories, but I have a memory like swiss cheese these days and thus think it’s cute, and don’t remember when I would walk around the grocery store and beg any adult–even the guy loading up the beer cooler–to just talk to me in ADULT TALK. And I don’t mean porn, horndogs.

I mean, “Hi, how are you today?”

“I’m fine.”

Instead of, “Hi, how are you today?”

“Why?”

I don’t remember ANY of that, although my nearly-sixteen-year-old daughter and I were talking just today about the days I had to stuff her in my neighbor’s car and literally peel her off of me, my neighbor holding a leg or an arm, or whatever she could get hold of to pull her in far enough that I could SHUT the door without taking off any appendages so she could be taken to school. Kindergarten. Good times.

I really don’t think Fluffy is looking for an answer when she asks “Why?” Because she certainly never seems to have that “aha” moment of truth when I explain exactly why. Instead, she leans over to find out what I’m eating, and if I’m not eating something, she wants to know why? And she wants to share it.

She really did like the “simming” though. “Why?” I don’t know.