When it comes to nicknames, I’ve really gotten the short end of the stick in our family. During the Tarzan phase, for example, the kids dubbed themselves Tarzan and Baby Tarzan. When asked, they promptly named their momma Jane, and I was dubbed the Mean Monkey.

Ever since, I’ve worked pretty hard to lose the Mean Monkey moniker, stressing that I should be the Daddy Gorilla. As you probably know, however, it’s very difficult to give yourself a nickname.

The other night I might have had a breakthrough. I was reading N his bedtime book (Goodnight Moon), when he looked up at me and said “I’m two.”

“That’s right.” I said. “How old is your brother?”

He gave a big smile, “Three!”

“Yep. And how old am I?” I have to admit this was a bit of a trick question. Everytime the issue has come up, I’ve told the kids that I’m as old as the hills. They’ve never really been satisfied with this answer, but they’ve grown to accept it.

He got it right, though: “old as hills”

I went back to reading to him. He kept muttering to himself, most of which was too low for me to hear. I tried to work it out, but between the mumbling, and his own fractured 2 year old English, I couldn’t catch it. So I kept reading. Finally, as I was finishing the book, he looked at me and said “Mountain!” 

“Mountain?”

“Yeah. Daddy Mountain!”

Now there’s a nickname I could live with. I just hope it sticks.