Day 170
“How about Wrigley?”
We’re in route to pick up the
rescue puppy but still can’t agree on a name. I lobby hard for my favorite. It’s not in my nature to give up.
The boys aren’t sold.
“Are you sure? It’s a great name…”
I’m really pushing. My oldest’s love of baseball verges on
obsessive and being a Chicago girl growing up watching the Cubs, Wrigley feels
right to me.
Chaz laughs from the driver’s
seat. “You’re not going to win
this one.”
I concede. “OK, OK. What else?”
“Snowflake!” A. holds firm to
his first choice. I don’t disagree
that it’s a good name only that the color of the puppy’s fur is more peed on
snow that freshly fallen.
“Angel!” F. suggests.
“There are NO angels in our
house,” says Chaz.
In the past fourteen days, the boys
have changed the name from Lucky to Tikki to Cinnamon Toast Crunch to Wrigley
to Angel to Snowflake.
“How about Lucky?” I ask. It’s where we started two weeks
ago.
Looking at my life, it’s how I
feel. Great kids. Happy marriage. Healthy family. Loyal friends. I stand corrected. Lucky feels right.
“Lucky it is.” We all agree.
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