Auggie said “please” today.

Let’s just note that one for the calendar, because, I hate to say it, but I’m totally afraid that we are going to raise an ill-mannered child. My reasoning for this seemingly unfounded worry is this: I’m a name-caller.

It’s not always a mean thing, either. Most of the time, I call people endearing names because they’re special to me. Sure, Auggie is referred to as “Stinky” multiple times a day, but I kid because I love! Note to future Auggie: Print this out and take it to your therapist. It will explain everything, I’m sure.

Of course, sometimes I do call people derogatory names. You see, I’m what people call an emotional driver. I’m much better than I used to be (thanks to age, having a child and a general mellowing-out about such things), but I still have my moments. At least the names aren’t as profanity-based as they used to be.

That’s a plus.

Tim and I call the dogs names all the time. (I won’t bore/frighten you with some examples.) Auggie probably has no idea what their actual names are.

This name calling got especially out of control on New Year’s Eve 1999/2000. We were in New Orleans with our friends Jennie and Chris (Hi, Jennie! Thanks for the great Christmas gift!) and, while it sounded like great fun in the planning stages, actually being in the French Quarter on New Year’s Eve at the end of the millennium was a little more complicated than we anticipated.

First of all, there were just thousands and thousands of people there, as you can imagine. This made getting a drink especially hard. (In New Orleans?! Is there no god??) Believe it or not, I think I had one daiquiri all night. Ahhh, N’Orleans, home of the drive-thru daiquiri…

But I digress. Anyway, midnight comes and goes, and we’re stone-cold sober in the French Quarter as the madness begins to die down. We end up on a bench in Jackson Square, blowing bubbles and people-watching. Eventually, we start yelling “Happy New Year!” to all the drunk people as they pass by, and this quickly degrades to us saying, “Happy New Year, [insert mildly insulting name here]!” Example: “Happy New Year, 80’s hair woman!” and “Happy New Year, Shiny Pants Man!”

We must’ve sat there for over an hour doing this. It is one of my fondest memories. That and the guy who threw up orange right on Saint Louis Cathedral.

So I guess I’m trying to say that if my son ever calls your child a name, please accept my apologies. It’s all my fault.