Anyone who knows my hubby and reads this will recall his predilection for singing the odd bits of songs, at the odd times, making up his own odd lyrics to boot. We must acknowledge, however, his partial hearing loss (too many bullets during his youth, too little ear protection) which causes him, on occasion, to not quite get the words right. A favorite anecdote involves the song "I'm Your Venus, I'm Your Fire" which I realized one afternoon on the drive home from Birch Run High School that my better half was warbling away . . . although his take on the lyrics were "I'm your peanut, I'm you're butter." Sigh.
At any rate, shortly after we'd learned Meggie was expecting, some of Glenn's friends asked him what he'd be called by the pending wee-one. His response "Grandpa." Oh, but not to be.
Glenn has been singing to Miles since nearly day one . . . recently started repeating a little ditty (to the tune of Barbara Ann) changing the lyrics to "Ba, ba, ba, ba-ba Grandpa." Little Miles' language skills improve daily, so now he identifies Glenn verbally as "bop-bop" -- partially recreating Glenn's nonsensical lyrics with his own version.
At least Grandpa has Bop-Bop. In the spirit of babyhood, long ago I nicknamed Miles' feet as "poozers." When I turned 55, Glenn christened me -- in a secular sense! -- "Poozer Grandma Fifty-Five." Too much for poor Miles' tongue, Glenn translated for him into a pseudo-sign language. Now, when asked "What's Poozer Grandma's sign?" Miles obediently puts up one small paw and flashes five fingers - twice in succession. Another sigh. As do many nicknames, in the course of our everyday care of Miles, I have been succinctly renamed, merely, "5-5" (five-five).
With another birthday just around the corner, I can't wait to see where this moniker goes!
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