Copacabana

Some days I want to change my name. Some days I don't want to be Mint or Mom or Honey. This morning my ears hurt every time I heard someone call me. Perhaps it wasn't the name itself but rather the way it was used. "Mooooooom, I need a recent picture of the entire family to bring to school" (Why are you telling me this 3 minutes before you have to go?) "Mint, did you take the dry cleaning in?" (No. Did YOU take the dry cleaning in?) "Honey, the baby just dumped oatmeal on her head." (And? Did you need directions on how to wash her off?)

All the whining. The questions. The tantrums. The dog. Add to the mix the Girl, whose communication style can only be described as a screecher monkey on crack and it's a wonder my ears aren't bleeding.

Lola. Yes, I shall change my name to Lola. I will merengue and do the cha-cha. Lola doesn't wear flip-flops nor does she concern herself with how to get milk stains off the sofa. Lola has feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there. Yes. Until further notice I am Lola.