Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Never Speak Too Soon...

So Eenie and I were driving to a doctors appointment in Arlington this afternoon. We live in Fort Worth, but we still go to our PCP in Arlington because we've been with him for years and the hassle of finding a new one out weighs the hassle of going to Arlington. Or it used to.

Ennie and Miney are needing further testing at various and sundry places, and the only places they are being referred to are in Arlington, so we are going there more frequently. It's quickly wearing on my nerves.

At any rate, Eenie and I were on the way to Arlington and during a brief interlude in our conversation I thought to myself, "Self, we're doing pretty well!! This van is in good shape. We haven't had any breaks downs or mechanical issues..." I should have stopped thinking right then.

We were approximately three exits from our destination when the low tire pressure light flickered on...because the tire went flat. The thing about those lights, though, is they are supposed to turn on when the tire pressure is low. Like BEFORE the tire goes flat, but I guess it was kind of an all at once thing.

Anyway, I saw the light after I felt a distinct shift in balance. So I pulled the van as far over to the side as I could, because I really couldn't let my child's last memories of me include being smeared cross the highway by a semi, and set to work changing the tire. Well, in the twelve years we've owned the van this is the second time the tire has ever been changed. The first time I was pregnant with Moe.

Eleven years ago.

So I had to figure out where the damn spare was hidden. Then, I had to figure out how to get the damn thing out. I never did either one. This drunk dude pulled over and figured it out for me. He also figured out that my spare was dried out and cracking, that we were missing one of the five nuts, (and had been for some time as evidenced by the rust), and then broke the remaining nut with the post completely off while removing the flat tire.

It was awesome.

After the donut was in place, we were rolling at 30 mph down the highway, cursing and praying the tires wouldn't fail us before we made it to Discount Tire. Eenie chose a Discount Tire that was .5 miles away, but would require that we get back onto the highway and head west. From I-20 we took the round turn to Cooper that put us Northbound and then got on a second round turn that sent us West. Half way through the turn West, Eenie decided we shouldn't get back on the highway so we ended up taking the West turn back around to the South, then East and North again. It was like a freakin carousel.

However, Cooper is a Halloween horror show every day, all day. So when we were got back on to Cooper the second time I was pulling out in front of traffic that was determined to go faster than me while completely ignoring my hazards. I was the right lane, the Discount Tire was on the left and I had to be assertive with no power to back it up. And there was no turn lane.

I had to go up the street and flip a u-y, on a dried out, partially deflated spare tire. We rolled into the Discount Tire and explained the situation to the man at the desk. While waiting for the van to be re-tired, I reflected on the betrayal I felt. How could my van just leave us stranded on the side of the road like that? I wondered if I could ever trust my ride again.

Happily, we were back on the road half an hour later and my confidence in my van has mostly been restored.

By the way, Ennie missed her appointment. What's one more trip to Arlington?

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Oh, I'm So Sorry...

Be warned. There is a lot of pain driven anger in this post.

I've been cramping for four weeks. Cramping, nauseous, bowel issues, etc. It's been a very painful couple of weeks. I called my OBGYN for an appointment but because I haven't been in for three years I am now considered a new patient and they can't get me in until February. I AM DYING so I called a second place because if I gonna be a new patient Imma try to be a new patient sooner.

Acetaminophen and Ibuprofen don't even touch the pain and I'm closer to kidney failure than relief from the cramps. I came to the end of my tolerance Sunday night and had Mr. D. take me to the ER. I was actually truly hopeful I would find relief, but I have found myself in a new circle of Hell.

It's the "saccharin-y sweet and condescending I'm so sorry you're in pain, but I'm completely useless even though I'm a medical professional" circle of Hell and it grows wider every moment. In the hospital they gave me an I.V. and some morphine, which I did not enjoy, did some blood work, took a sonogram and a CT scan. Doctor Clearly a Man said he found, "only a small cyst."

"Have you thought about seeing a gynocologist?" he asked because he's stupid. I told him I had an appointment for Thursday, but I'd come to the end of my ability to cope. "You should see your gyno about having a laparoscopy to look for endometriosis." Bitch! I am at the hospital right now! Why don't you do it?!

Instead he sent me home with a referral for the OBGYN that I already have an appointment with (in February) and some Tylenol with codeine. He seemed to think that because I'd been in the ER the night before, the GYNO would give two figs and see me this week instead of making me wait until February.

Nope. I called the office Monday afternoon, after the drug haze had burned off, and in spite of the fact that I'd just been in the ER...I am a new patient, and being a new patient means regardless of what is happening in my gut, I can't be seen until February. "I'm sorry you're in so much pain. I hope you feel better." I wish I had a toilet to shove her head into.

The Tylenol with codeine is barely making a dent in the cramps, so I called the ER to ask if it was supposed to, you know, work at all. The receptionist said, "nothing really takes all the pain away, but I'm sorry you're in so much pain. I hope you feel better." What I wouldn't give for a freaking toilet!

So I started calling around the freaking Metroplex because, dammit, I'm not playing anymore. I have an appointment for tomorrow morning in Arlington. I will chain myself to the bed if there isn't a resolution I can live with. Or I'm taking my uterus out myself. I have an x-acto knife. I'll use it.


Tuesday, November 20, 2018

The Day We Did Everything and Accomplished Nothing...

My dad-in-law has been in a nursing home for almost a year, leaving my mom-in-law to run the house alone. She used to think he didn't do much, but since he's been gone she's realized how much he actually did. Taking care of the house is hard for her. She's not as young as she used to be (who is, amIright), she isn't as strong, and she's kinda short.

Why is that relevant, you ask?

Because her ceilings are maybe seven feet high, and she can't reach high enough to change a light bulb even on her tip-toes. And somehow I can't even fathom, she goes through a ton of light bulbs. Every other week she's asking Mr. D. (who is her son and more than happy to help out his mom) to come take care of this or that and "change a couple of light bulbs, too." It's amusing to me, but probably a little frustrating for her.

She asked him to come by because one of the toilets needed plunging and the bathroom sink was leaking, and she needed some light bulbs changed. Unfortunately, she had to wait until we had a free weekend, so it took a couple of weeks. Thankfully she has a second bathroom so she wasn't in dire straits, but it was still an inconvenience for her. At any rate, Mr. D finally had a free weekend and I decided to go with him because I figured we could divide and conquer and get things done faster.

But you know me. .Nothing ever that easy.

We brought all of our tools and planned to buy her a new toilet plunger at Home Depot because we figured she'd probably need a new one. We we're half way there when we realized we'd forgotten the toilet snake. Sigh.

We got to the house and changed a few light bulbs. One or two were found to be socket issues so it wouldn't matter how many bulbs you put in those bad boys, they weren't ever gonna illuminate (problem solved). Another was controlled by a light switch that was in the "off" position (another problem solved). Also, she keeps a large white file box full of light bulbs, some in their packaging, some not, and I don't know if she noticed, but she put one or two of those dead light bulbs back in the file box so I went behind her and tossed them in the trash.

With the bulb issue resolved, we headed to the bathroom with the leaky faucet and problematic toilet, which while technically not clogged wasn't exactly free flowing either. Now, I've been a part of this family for almost twenty years and the water level, upon flushing said toilet, has steadily risen over the years so whatever is clogging that toilet has been settling there for a long, long time. So when one uses the toilet one will experience one of two things depending on how one conducts oneself after toilet use. If one is a "sit and flusher" the flusher will experience an unexpected washing of the tushie as a swirling tide of cold water rushes up and grazes the bum before finally descending down the hole.

On the other had, if one is a "stand and flusher" the flusher will watch with abject terror as the swirling vortex rises higher and higher leaving one on the edge of ones seat, so to speak, wondering if the toilet will over flow this time until, just as the flusher is sure all is lost, the waters will recede. It's fun for the whole family.

We found someone had drilled the holes for the faucet under the bathroom sink far too large, and had fixed the issue by shoving some random round of metal between the hole and the screw that tightens the faucet to the sink, to keep the screw from going through the hole. Otherwise the screw would go through the hole, thereby keeping the faucet from attaching to the sink, instead securing the faucet to air. This would be a problem, in case you're wondering.

Anywho, Mr. D and I took turns shoving ourselves into the impossibly small underside of the sink, I went ahead and liberally applied my four letter sentence enhancers as I struggled, while Mr. D settled for pained grunts. Eventually, we managed to remove the old faucet.

As I said, we'd forgotten the snake and after a quick inspection of the toilet plunger, which had to be forty years old and as hard as an athletic cup, we headed to Home Depot for a more malleable plunger. We also purchased a new faucet, and hoses because, would you believe it, they were still the original copper.

I would like to say we managed to keep it to one trip, but that would be a lie because after we got back to the house, and replaced the faucet, we found that we'd gotten hoses with the wrong connectors. So we went back. No project can ever be completed in one trip to Home Depot no matter how well prepared we are.

After returning from the Depot for the second time with the correct hoses, we reconnected all the things and turned the water back on. I was under the sink, tightening the screwy parts thinking about how amazing it was that I'd managed to make it through the whole process without taking a bath when I got a face full of water because in that moment of distraction, I started to loosen the water hose. I realized my error before the hose was completely detached, but I was still drenched by the time I had re-tightened the hose.

While I replaced the faucet, Mr. D plunged the toilet, but no amount of strong arming that plunger would move whatever was clogging the toilet, and once we turned the water back on the faucet still dripped.

We eventually ran out of time and had to leave things as they were. We felt a lack of accomplishment in spite of all we had accomplished because we left the house in the same shape we had found it. The toilet was still clogged and the sink still had a drip.

One day it will all work out.

Thursday, September 27, 2018

I Just Can't...

Here's a gem! Last night, Miney took Moe's half size Barbie to the bathroom to color her hair (the Barbie's hair and it gets so much better). After coloring Barbie's hair (with a purple marker, no less) she was left on a shelf over the toilet because, why not?

Sometime later, Eenie decided to use the bathroom for it's intended purpose and placed her cell on the shelf over the toilet right next to half-Barbie. After completing her task, she flushed the toilet and reached for her phone, accidentally knocking half-Barbie off the shelf. She tumbled into the swirly yellow depths and disappeared before Eenie truly understood the events she had set in motion, not that she would have tried to rescue half-Barbie from her fate had she been able.

Now half-Barbie is resting in a kink in our toilet, just waiting to return in a poo covered vengeance. My better sense says to get ahead of it and call a plumber, but my Luna vision says wait and see. When Eenie told me about the incident last night, I couldn't even laugh, which is seriously awful because things like this are hilarious. Luna has killed my sense of humor. Or maybe just tempered it a little as I found the humor this morning. Dang Luna and her dang need to eat all the dang hair all the dang time.

Does anyone have a snake I can borrow?



Have you seen me?

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Oh My Dog...

This is Luna. She is six. She is a Chihuahua mix of some sort that we adopted from the shelter when she was just a wee babe.


Luna

She is one half of a pair I like to call the Idiot Twins. The other half of the moronic duo is her brother Apollo. 


Idiot Twins
They take turns wearing the Crown of Annoyance with my guy, Gus.

Cutest face EVER.
Gus is only annoying because he slobbers A LOT and tends to fling it around when he shakes his head, and cries to go outside, then wants to come immediately back inside, and then wants to immediately go back outside again.

Anyway, Luna has had this habit, since she was very little, to over drink to the point where she vomits so we have to give her ice cubes. She also licks the floor, the couch, Mr. D's legs (which I BEG HIM not to let her do because GROSS!!!) - she licks all the things. If you have a keen eye, you can see what looks like a bald patch on her under carriage above her hind leg. Would you like to know why?

Two weeks ago she threw up per her usual habit, except it wasn't congealed water. It was green. Now it's been raining pretty consistently for three weeks. Around here metric tons of rain = copious crops of mushrooms, and not the safe kind. No matter how we try to keep up with the removal of these fungi, we are never diligent enough, and as sure as the sun rises (eventually) one of the idiot twins will find and consume them and Pootastrophe commences. What follows is about two days of sleepless nights and runny days. It never fails. How did dogs survive in the wild? That's what I want to know.

So Luna voms green gunk and I'm puzzled because usually the green comes from the other end, but things change, so we keep an eye on her. Let me back up. The week before she looked pregnant. Knowing what we know now, we understand what was afoot and would have acted more quickly, but we didn't then what we know now so we did exactly what one would do with the information we had. (Heh!) It was baffling to us that she could be pregnant because she has been fixed as have the other two. I know what you're thinking, "if she's been fixed, she can't get pregnant, idiot." To you who have those thoughts I say, shut your mouth. We have friends who were told their dog was "fixed" and had every reason to believe so until the night she started birthing puppies on the couch.

We got the twins from the shelter and we were told they had been spayed and neutered, but I didn't ask to see evidence, so I kinda have to take their word for it, don't I? At any rate, we were worried we might have been duped or Luna was some kind of miracle, when pregnant belly went away. Then the vomiting began. The, she stopped eating and drinking so I took her to the vet.

At the vet they gave her an antibiotic, an anti-nausea and an injection to help with the dehydration she was experiencing. She had a large lump of liquid on her neck and looked just miserable, but they seemed to think she'd just had a reaction to mushrooms, which I said she "may have eaten, but usually manifest out the back door," so I think they stopped looking for a reason and just went with what I said, except I'm not a vet so maybe we shouldn't just listen to what I said unless we listen to the whole comment which included the part where she has diarrhea not vomiting. Just saying and possibly passing judgement.

At any rate, they sent her home with the caveat that if she vomited again we were to take her to the ER. No less than two hours later, she went ahead and did just that.

To the ER we went and once there, they referred us to a twenty four hour hospital. We had already spent $500 towards treatment by that point. At the second ER they told me they wanted to do some blood work, which had already been done earlier in the day at the other vet, but now it was past six and the other place was closed so we couldn't get those records. $150...They decided to keep her over night for observation because she was severely dehydrated..$1500...

The vet called me later that night and told me she thought Luna had a bowel obstruction. She felt Luna needed surgery to remove the obstruction, but nothing showed up on the x-ray, meaning she hadn't eaten anything metal. The surgery would be "exploratory" meaning they would open her up to dig around and "they might find something, they might not."

Now the price tag on that was $2500, which hurt, but the bigger issue was the fact that they wanted to "open her up and poke around just to see if they find something". That seemed kind of invasive to me, so I asked her to wait.

The next morning she called and said that whatever it was that was clogging Luna's pipes had moved to her lower intestine, but she was concerned it might not move from there. We decided to move forward with the surgery.

The vet called two hours later and said she had removed a mass of hair and bits of sharp plastic from her lower intestine. The hair wouldn't have made it through the colon and the plastic would have torn everything to shreds. When we went to pick her up two days later they showed us the wad of hair they pulled from her gut.

It was just...ungodly. Words can't express....if I had taken a picture...I just can't describe...it was like...I mean....it was just...it had to have been collecting for years. You guys, I have never seen anything like it. It was literally the stuff of my nightmares. I get the heebie jeebies just thinking about it. Bloody, freaking, what the fresh, tenth circle of Hell. Ew. Gah. I'm sorry. I'm done.

One more.

Deep shudder.

So we brought her home, stapled up like Frankenstein's monster, and $4,000 poorer. People, that is above and beyond ridiculous! I haven't spent that much in healthcare for my children in all of their years put together, but what were we supposed to do? Also, I'm over being the one who takes the pets to the vet when they are in crisis! The last two times I took a dog to the vet he/she had to be put down. Who is the common denominator in these cases? I is! 

At any rate, when the children ask why there is no money for college we're going to have to tell them Luna ate it. 

Also, once these three head to the Big Farm, we are never getting another dog. EVER.

Thursday, August 23, 2018

The Wind That Almost Broke Me

For anyone who has returned to my blog, you know my two greatest aggravations are the above ground pool we purchased last year (so a recent, but substantial aggravation) and my garden (a long festering continual aggravation). As I wrote in a previous post, I had decided on a different approach to my yearly garden activity with the help of Meenie, and Mr. D's suggestion of choosing one plant to focus on. This year we ended up with green beans enough to choke a small army.

I had to replace one of my two apple saplings when, half way through April, it just stopped growing.  The sapling was unable to sustain itself, but still managed to sprout four other shoots that I was able to salvage. The rest of my trees and bushes were surviving and I felt like I was gonna make it through this season without melting down (again) and then the winds started up. Here in Texas from about March to June is tornado season which means gusty winds almost daily. So every day I was watching with clenched teeth from the window as the the wind whipped my saplings around like rag dolls, the same wind that knocked over the two remaining butt trees (butt trees grow stinky little white flowers in spring) in our yard, at the root. I almost hoped the wind would rip those saplings and bushes out of the ground because then I would'nt have to try anymore.

See, gardening had started as a hobby, something I wanted to do because it was something my Grandma does. Then, it became it a matter of determination. I was going to have a garden. It isn't rocket science for Pete's sake! More recently it is a matter of principle. I've put too much time and money into it to walk away from it. Thus, the hope of watching it blow away. Alas, everything stayed firmly rooted, which is so sad. The part where I was disappointed that it survived was sad.

But that came back around and slapped me across the face because I thought if the saplings and potted plants managed to stay upright, everything was copacetic, right?

Not remotely.

Mr. D was in the back yard one Saturday when a slight (and I am not over stating when I say slight) breeze came through. He came inside and hesitantly informed me that one of my grapevines had just been blown over..................................................................................................................................

Have you ever felt betrayed?

I walked outside to take a look and there, on it's side, was one of my two potted grapevines. I. Lost. My. Crap. It wasn't because the grapevine that had fallen over was the one that established roots from the pot into the ground and was thus the stronger vine, even though it was. It wasn't because I had placed a fence around it to protect the vine from my dogs and the wind had taken the fence with it and crushed my vine inside it, which it did. No, it was the path the wind had to take in order to knock my grapevine over.

Fence, garden box, plants and junk
 This "slight wind" had to travel through the backyard fence and past this garden box I built for giggles and kicks.





The greenhouse
The grapevine


And then pass through this greenhouse which currently holds dead flowers because it is August in Texas. The little garden bed in front also has dead flowers because it's still August in Texas. One of the apple saplings is in the wooden box.



And this is the grapevine. Notice the fence surrounding the pot. Furthermore notice the size of the gaps in the holes of the fences that surrounds the pot. Somebody explain to me how on God's green earth a slight wind, or even a blustery one, could have traveled across the yard and knocked over that vine, fence and all. I am not kidding when I say I came unglued.

I was angry for a couple of weeks and here's why. I have strong faith in God and Jesus Christ. I know He answers our prayers and is aware of each of us and our struggles. I know He loves us and cares about things that are important to us. However, I have prayed over this garden non-stop and it has been an uphill battle. This was just the last straw. Mr. D doesn't understand. He kept telling me that sometimes things just happen. I get that, but there were some extreme machinations for this to have occurred. If God can split the Dead sea so the children of Israel could cross on dry ground or create water from a rock or perform any of a hundred little miracles, surely he could deflect a little wind.

This felt like a purposeful thing and it almost broke me. I began to wonder, how can I pray for help when not only will the Lord not help me, but seems to go out of His way to thwart my efforts. I don't need help killing my garden, I could do that on my own so what was the point of praying?

Except, Heavenly Father doesn't do things to be mean. I was talking to a friend, telling her how angry I felt and how pointless it felt praying for help when I could accomplish the same level of killing my garden on my own when she kind of chuckled and said, "if you don't want to pray, then you really need to." So I started praying to understand the reason or the lesson I needed to learn from this experience. Mr. D still feels it is a case of "sometimes things just happen." Maybe it is because I still don't have an answer, but I'm not angry anymore. Maybe that was the point.

I'm open to suggestions.

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

Larry, Darryl and Darryl...

I watched this show when I was a kid called "Newhart" starring Bob Newhart. He owned a hotel and there was a trio of brothers who were in every episode. Only one brother ever spoke and he always said the same thing- "Hello, my name is Larry. This is my brother Darryl and my other brother, Darryl."

I always found that amusing...

Image result for larry darryl and darryl
Just like I remember them.


Until I got married. See what had happened was, I married a man who had the same name as one of my brothers. I also happened to have a very similar name to his mother, but we have common names so I guess I can't complain. However, I still plan to. Anecdote inserted here: my brother who has the same name as my husband went on one date with a girl whose name is the same as mine. He said she was nice enough, but he just couldn't be responsible for adding another couple with the same name to the family. Technically, they would be Pricketts and we would be Davidsons, but would we want to have to make those distinctions at family gatherings? Or be referred to as senior and junior or first and second. My mother already struggles with which man we are speaking of when using the common name of my husband and brother. She's really the only one who can't manage, but throw two of my name in the mix and she'd go into a tailspin from which she'd never recover. 

However, just to make things simple for myself, I started calling my brother by his first and middle name once Mr. D and I were married because there are certain situations where one needs to be able to call to ones husband from another room and have ones husband respond and not ones brother. For example, if one has found oneself in the "meditation chamber" sans toilet paper because the last time one looked there was plenty, but there are two very young little girls in the home who are still learning moderation in their toilet paper usage.

Whew! Tangent. Back to the point.

One more minute. I referred to my brother by his full name for ten years until one day we got into a discussion that led to a warm argument. At one point I used his name and he snapped that he hated that I called him by his full name and why did I start doing that? I was kind of stunned for a minute. I guess it didn't occur to him that the change started when I got married and it didn't occur to me to tell him why I started using it. So now I use his initials. It's worked out for our nieces and nephews, who have two uncles with the same name.

I never really liked my given name so my pen name suits me just fine. In fact, I prefer it. I have no problem answering to my given name if that is how one knew me originally, but the fewer people who know my legal name, the better. I wouldn't be sad if it was lost to the sands of time, but I digress.

Since Mr. D and I were, er, bestowed with common names, I was desirous to give my own children monikers with more distinction. Nothing crazy or impossible to spell (I thought) but something that would keep them from ending up being one of several in their class. They already had Davidson working against them (sorry babe, it's true) they needed something to help distinguish them from every one else. 

Oh boy.

When we named Eenie, I didn't realize there were so many different ways people could imagine her name was spelled. I thought I chose a simple direct spelling. It is almost never anyone's first choice. Or even third. Also, her name tends to sound like initials which leads to various and sundry letter combinations beginning with her first Thanksgiving when my cousin asked if she could hold "PJ". Well, shoot. It was too late to change her name by then. 

Then there was the time when my brood of two and I went to a McRestaurant where I let Eenie and Meenie play for a spell. When it was time to go, Meenie was at my side cheeking a bite of McBurger she'd been chewing for almost fifteen minutes, but still refused to swallow, when I called across the McPlayground, "Eenie! Come hither!"

I heard her sweet little voice echo from inside the McTube that she was on her way when this woman behind me asked if I'd just called for an Eenie. I told her I had just as Eenie popped out of the end of the tube. The woman looked relieved and mentioned she had a daughter named Eenie, too. She mentioned her Eenie's middle name was (insert middle name) and I was kinda irritated. Eenie's middle name is the same! Thankfully she has a different last name. For now.

I thought I was really mixing it up with Miney until we found another little girl with the same name living on our street.

Honestly, there aren't an abundance of people running around with the same names as my children. So it's not as bad, as say, having the same name as your brothers or sisters.

I promise I will never complain about names again.

Let me take you back about a hundred years to a place called Mexico. The population is mostly Catholic and it is tradition to name your children after Saints and family...but mostly saints. And the favorite Saints are Jesus and Mary (or Maria). My Gramma and I went to Humble to visit my cousin D for a couple of days at the beginning of this month. It was the first time in all my years I've really had the opportunity to talk to her (my Gramma).

My cousin is more Mexican than me. Her mother and father were both from Mexico. My grandfather was white so my mother is half white. My father is white so I am even more more diluted. My cousin is immersed in her Mexican side. She speaks fluent Spanish, listens to Spanish music and watches Telanovela. I have never been with my Gramma in this kind of an environment. She spoke Spanish almost exclusively herself and even though I don't speak much, I understood more and more of what they were saying. I loved every minute of it. 

Anyway, I managed to finally get my Gramma's mother's maiden name out of her, a task I have failed at for over ten years. It is crazy what one can find with accurate information. For example:
Gramma's mothers name was Maria... as was her sister's name. And her other sister's name, and her fourth sisters name.

All four sisters' first names were Maria. I kid you not. They did have different middle names. However, the brothers were a little more tricky. There were two Jesus and two Carlos. They also had clarifying middle names, but their last name was Gutierrez.

That's like the United Stated equivalent of Jones. Mary Jones and her sisters, Mary, Mary and Mary. And her brothers John and John and Carl and Carl.

I was recently working on my sister-in-laws family tree. Her family is just as name crazy as mine except their name of choice (one her paternal side) is Willie. Directly down her line is Willie, Willie, Carl, Willie and for variety, Willie. At one point, one of her ancestors, Willie, married a woman name...Willie. Do you know what her father's name was? Floyd.

Haha! 

Wait...Do you hear that? It's the bus I'm about to throw my sister-in-law under! It's not really her fault. We're all victims of what our parents named us. However, my sweet Doly, her mother loved her own name so much she gave it to all three of her daughters, in different variations. There's the root name and a unique ending; enette, eneth, and olynette. One of those endings belong to her mother. The third daughter was gifted with a mashup of her mother and fathers name. It's pretty creative.

They all have some version of Maria as their middle name. Maria, Marie...I feel like 90% of the female population sports Marie in some variation as their middle name. My mother in law does. Last night I was thinking about all the variations of Mary that I am currently aware of; Mary, Maria, Marie...Did you know Martha is also a variation of Mary/Maria? If I thought my name was common before, realizing my middle name is a variation of one of the most common names ever was a poke in the eye. 

Hello, I'm Mary, this is my great Grandmother Mary and my great Aunt Mary and my other great Aunt Mary and my other, other great Aunt Mary.