The name game

In retrospect, we probably should have done a bit more homework on the kid's names before signing off on the birth certificates.

During the first few months of the twin’s life, we didn’t venture out too far or too often. When we did, there was always lots of interest in them and questions about them…Are they identical? What did we name them? How old were they? Are they good sleepers? Glad it is you and not me! (People would seriously – and more often than not – actually say that. What the hell people?) 

This one particular day – we had the twins out for a grocery run at the local Safeway. They were probably only about a month old, and let me tell you, if you think one newborn gets a lot of attention, picture the frenzy around two newborns.  

When we finally got to the checkout, a woman ahead of us in line started asking about the babies. When I mentioned that we named them Max and Molly - she shrieked, “Oh my God! Growing up I had a dog and cat named Max and Molly! Molly was the cat! Isn’t that funny?”

The woman behind me piped in with, “That is super cute – I am totally going to tell my daughter to name the hamsters she just got Max and Molly.”

Yeah – isn’t that just super cute. Hope your hamsters enjoy my children’s names!

This was sort of just the cherry on top of our name troubles – which started way back when we first found out we were having twins. When we thought we were only having one baby it was hard enough - we couldn’t agree on one name, let alone two.  The only thing we could agree on is that we weren’t going to do the whole matchy-matchy cutesy twin name thing. Nope, there would be no Michael and Michaela, or Patrick and Patricia’s here.

I was convinced we were having twin girls (in BC, there is an actual law that the ultrasound techs can’t tell you what you are having, so it was left to maternal hunch – which I clearly suck at) and I had decided they were going to be called Ava Louise and Grace Elizabeth.

Anders wasn’t a fan of either name and was pulling for Linnea or Molly. I used to know a Linnea in school (and to be honest – I wasn’t a super fan as, just for an example, she would get into fist fights at parties - JUST FOR FUN) so that name was clearly out, and I wasn’t sure about Molly.

Then, at about seven months pregnant, I had some complications and was airlifted to a larger hospital in Vancouver. During one of my dozen or so ultrasounds over the few weeks I was there, a doctor who happened to be attending the ultrasound, casually dropped that I was having a BOY and a girl. That fucked everything up! I was seven and a half months pregnant and we hadn’t picked any boy names (due to my previously mentioned super awesome maternal hunch skills). We hadn’t been able to agree on even one girl name in 30 or so weeks, so there was a very real chance this poor little boy would be going home with a name like “Baby A” Jonsson.

We started to brainstorm names, and I was getting pretty nervous as all the boy names Anders was suggesting were total crap. I was not going to be the mother calling across a playground for a Bjorn, or a Maximus or a Steele. Really? Steele?  Do you want him to grow up to be a gigolo or male dancer? Because that is what you are condemning him to with a name like that!

I was pulling for boy names like Finn, Oskar (which in hindsight – good call on the veto Anders!) and Erik. I was still pretty solid on the girl name – it was going to be Ava Elizabeth Grace (just combine them into one) or a new name I had heard and really liked - Mette.

Anders vetoed them all and was insistent on the name Molly for a girl, and a shortened version of Maximus – just Max – for a boy.  

Then the day finally came and Baby A and Baby B entered the world. And that made it even harder. They were now little people, with little faces and the start of little personalities. How could I give this little seven and half pound ball of easy-going chub a huge name like Oskar? And how can you name this watchful and alert little baby girl a name like Mette when she already seemed too old and wise for it on her first day of life?

To be honest - the day they were born was a blur. I was higher than a kite (jacked up on some really good meds) and crazy with hormones. Long story short (and to be honest I am not really sure of the details or how it happened so I couldn’t expand even if I wanted to!) the babies were officially named Max and Molly.

So much for our first and only rule of not having matchey matching cutesy twin names!

I wanted to do the middle names though and Anders agreed. I was looking for some family names, and I wanted them to have three names like me, so I started working on names that flowed together.

First up was Molly and that was easy as I had been thinking of girl names for nine months. We picked Anne (my grandma was Anna, my sister’s middle name is Ann) and Catherine (both Anders mom’s and sister’s middle name is Katrina – Hungarian for Catherine). So Molly Anne Catherine was officially named.   

But for Max’s middle names, I was totally stumped. Nothing really rolls with Max. I wanted something from my family, and my dad’s middle name – Wilfred (which was also his father’s middle name) seemed like a good pick and Anders middle name, Mikael, kind of works with that, so we had ourselves a Max Wilfred Mikael.

We filled in the paperwork and handed it in. We had finally picked some names and I was more relieved than anything that we had finished this huge job. Who knew that naming your babies was such a stressful thing?

Then a nurse pointed out that my doctor’s name was Anne and the doctor who assisted the delivery was Catherine and wasn’t that sweet of us to name Molly after them. Uummm – yeah – wasn’t that super nice and not at all like a weird homage to them from us….super nice and not creepy at all!   

First weird name thing.

Then, my friend had these wonderful keepsake blankets (with their names embroderied on them)made for the twins. Shortly after the blankets arrived - my parents came over for a visit. As I was showing them the new soft and cuddly blankets, my Dad did a double take and was like “Who is Wilfred? My middle name, and my dad’s middle, name is WilFORD.”

Son of a BITCH! Second problem with the names.

In the last (almost) four years of their life, I have had a shockingly high number of people tell me they have had pets named Max and Molly. Everything from goldfish to cats and dogs.

And then I had a friend send me an email letting me know that when she searches for this blog, she gets all kinds of blogs about animals. I was not surprised after the Safeway line-up incident, but I was curious, so I Googled “Max and Molly”.

Apparently there are thousands of cat/dog combos out there named Max and Molly. And dozens of owners who love these pets enough to write blogs about them.

There is a Max and Molly animal photography, there are Max and Molly films (scared to click that link. I have no idea what kind of movies they are but you can’t un-see porn made in your children’s names) and there is also apparently a Max and Molly app for the iPhone which turns your words into meows and barks. It has also been rated as one of the most annoying apps.

Come on! Really?

Well, I guess thousands of golden retriever/tabby cat combos can’t be wrong. The two names do sound cute together, and eventually they will start their own lives and not be known as “MaxandMolly.” Molly can even start to use Anne as her first name if she wants.

And, when the kids get older and ask me why they are named after a popular dog/cat name combo - I will let them know to ask their father since I was pretty high when that happened and don’t recall all the details. 

Evil Geniuses

So – Saturday was cruising along pretty good. Anders made pancakes for breakfast, Nina had been to the groomers and back and we had gone for a walk in the sunshine. We had just finished lunch, Anders was on the laptop, I was reading and the kids were upstairs playing. Christmas was really busy so we were enjoying a lazy day of no real plans and nothing which had to be done.

When the kids are upstairs playing and neither of us is up there with them, we can always count on Max to give us a running commentary on what Molly is doing.

“Hey mom - Molly put her pajamas on!”
“Hey mom - Molly just spilled her toys out!”
“Hey mom – is this your blue sparkly nail-polish and can Molly open it?”

Without looking up – or realizing how bad this situation could get – I absent mindedly replied back that no it was Molly’s nail-polish, and that no, she couldn’t use it unless I was there to help.

It took a good 10 minutes for me to fully digest that sentence and clue in that shit had probably taken a hard left upstairs. It was too quiet – no running updates from my favourite little narc – and there was the trace of paint fumes in the air.

Anders must have clued in at about the same time as we met at the bottom of the stairs and ran up together.

The two of them were sitting square in the middle of the tan carpet in the bonus room – surrounded by about 15 open nail-polish bottles – having a great time painting each other, their clothes, the carpet, their hair and Molly’s backpack. 

I remained calm enough to tell them to both go into the bathroom and not to touch anything until I came in. Anders herded them onto the safety of an old towel in the bathroom while I surveyed the damage. Apparently the favourite colours had been a hot pink, and sparkly teal, and a glittery navy. All of which looked really awesome on the tan carpet.



At this point I didn't know whether to cry or go totally bat-shit crazy. 

Those little buggers couldn’t have picked a worse spot for their little mani-pedi party. The main damage is in an area which is pretty much in the middle of the room, with a trail into the hallway. So it isn’t like we can put furniture over it or hide it in anyway.

Anders was handling the situation a lot better than I was. He was calmly explaining to the kids why putting nail-polish on each other and the carpet isn’t a good idea. I was still in the crazy-angry zone, and as I made trips by the bathroom door in my desperate search for cleaning products which could remove paint from fabric, I shouted various helpful pearls of wisdom at them. “You know – I was really hoping that you guys would be smarter than me, but I guess we can confirm that dumb-ass-ness does not skip a generation!” “Why didn’t you guys use the nude nail polish or the clear stuff…glittery teal? REALLY?”

Anders came out to see how the cleaning was going. It was not going well. I had basically created a big blob of swirled colour. I was calming down a bit, and Anders reminded me that we had been talking about replacing the carpet with hardwood anyway, so really, this was just the final deciding vote. We will be getting new hardwood. What is done - is done right?

We figured we mind’s well try and see the humour.

I followed Anders into the bathroom – camera in hand – and Anders started explaining that we couldn’t clean the nail-polish out of the carpet. That didn’t seem to faze them much – they just kind of stared back like “and your point on why we should give a shit is….”

Max is doing a pretty good Mick Jagger, and Molly is the picture of innocence.
Note the legs, face and clothing. Yup - that is nail-polish.

And then Anders - in a moment of sheer genius - dropped the hammer. He stated that maybe we wouldn't be able to go the Disney Land like we had planned, as we now had to buy new hardwood or carpet. Their reaction was awesome - and probably secured Anders’ and my seat in hell.

I love the fact you can actually see the news sinking in...

After we calmed them down, we threw them in the tub to try and soak the polish off. Anders went to the local drug store to get some stuff to take it off their skin, while I went back out to try and cut the nail polish stained tops of the carpet strands off with manicure scissors (this didnt work too well, and just sort of cemented my position as leader of the dumb-asses.)  

During my misguided clipping, I could hear them whispering in the tub so I moved in a bit closer. Max was telling Molly that when I came back in, she should tell me that I am a party pooper (nice Max - already smart enough to make Molly do it). Molly for her part was all for it and eagerly agreed – adding “yeah – and Max, I have a good idea. We should push mom out of the door when she comes in.”

What the hell? They are THREE! If this is any indication of their teen years, it is not going to be pretty.

When I called my mom and dad to tell them, mom quickly replied with “remember when you were like 12 and spilled red nail-polish on the grey Berber rug in the family room and then removed it with bleach thinking we wouldn’t notice a three foot circle of bleached out carpet in the middle of the room?”

So, we can 100 per cent confirm that dumb-ass-ness does not skip a generation. But what is concerning to me is that they have accelerated the dumb-ass stunts, and they have an accomplice. I had to work solo and could only get into as much trouble as I could cook up by myself. These two little criminal geniuses have someone to help them take it to the next level.