ToT: Alias

One of the fun parts of this Together on Tuesday gig is we write about things we wouldn't think of on our own, and we get to know some other ladies while we do. Really, if you're thinking it looks fun, you're right, it is. Plenty of bloggers jump in and out as they can, so there's no pressure. For me it provides a good reason to take the time to write, which is something I love to do that keeps me sane. So there's another plug. If you're interested, join us! Contact one of the bloggers on the list to the right and we can pull you in.

This week: nicknames. I've seen that these terms of endearment can speak to the intimacy and affection in a relationship. Interesting . . . because I've never had too many. (And it's definitely not cute when strangers offer Sweetie Pie and Honey and whatever, so that theory doesn't always hold, I guess.) (And now I am wondering . . . what if I actually do have lots of nicknames, but the kind that no one tells you about? Hmmm . . .)

With a classic and popular name like Sarah, you would think there would be more, but Sarah Barah never really stuck. I've had a few, though. My mom used to call me Punkin, and I might hear Little Bit now and again when I'm sick (which I was a good part of last year, so I heard it a lot!). Sarahbeth is the usual, though. My grandpa calls me Sally--he's old school. Every once in awhile Ben has a few cutesy names for me, like Sarie Strawberry or something. (Ha, I've outed you!) And I have a whole string of nicknames for him, some old and some new . . . Butch, Binj, Vernon, Lewis, and a few others I'll protect. Genna used to be a big one . . . our Russian friends named Ben Gennadiy, Genna for short, because Venyamin was "too old-fashioned."

I was just reminded of Fred. For some reason, Nancy and I went through a phase where we called everyone Fred. Each other, our parents, our siblings, strangers, everyone. I don't know why--and I expect I started it. To this day, her parents and some of their friends still call me Fred.

Our baby boy has a slew of nicknames, too. Sweet Baby James has been popular, as has J (and many variations), Baby J, Big Boy, Baby Boy, Little Guy, Jamesie, James A, Stinks McGillicutty, just about anything that comes out of my mouth. He has his Butch moments, too. But his main nickname: Peanut. Peanut Butter, Peanut Sauce, Peanut Head, or just Peanut. Because he's Our Peanut.

My sweet, thoughtful Peanut. Thanks, Purple Peaches!

Who knows if it will stick. He's quickly outgrowing his Peanut stature, but he held onto it for a good run there at the beginning. I'll never forget when one of my music teachers told me I was no bigger than a peanut . . . even though I was 20 . . .and it sure seemed true for him at the beginning. But now, he's a big lug. Something tells me he will still be my Peanut when he's long passed my peanut-sized self. Lucky me.