Every now and then, I'm reminded that I married someone with the same last name. Most recently, it's been with all the forms I've been filling out which have asked for my maiden name. Last week, the hospital called because they didn't think I had filled the form out correctly and had accidentally put my last name twice. As feather-brained as pregnancy and new baby have made me, I still don't think I would have made that mistake. (I was laughing pretty hard when that phone call ended.)
But there are other, more subtle ways in which my lack of name change provides amusement. The other day, Kevin called me Mrs. Moon, which he does every now and then. The first time I heard that it was weird weird weird. Mrs. Moon was my mom! And it was my mom in exactly one capacity: volunteering in my class in 5th grade class or doing PTA stuff, always wearing a denim skirt and dark red toenail polish.
Fast forward to a few days ago. My mom decided to buy me some new clothes to celebrate not being pregnant any more (thanks Mom!). She got me some new skirts, some capris, and a cute top that looked like one she would wear herself. It was while I was wearing this top, my new denim skirt, and uncharacteristically dark red toenail polish that Kevin called me Mrs. Moon. And I just felt so . . . Mrs. Moon-ish.
To add to the Mrs. Moon-ish-ness, the next day my mom stopped by to see Joseph. And she was wearing the exact same top, a denim skirt, and dark red toenail polish.
It's official. I've turned into my mom.
I have a good friend, Tammy Williams, and her grandmother married a man with the same last name as her. Then her mother married a Williams as well. AND THEN Tammy got married and instead of Tammy taking his last name, he took hers. Technically only two generations married someone with their same last name, but when it comes to family history ... there will be three generations of females without a name change. Crazy!
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