Owen & Boo

Somehow, we convinced my mom to move to Charleston about six months after we moved here. I say somehow, but really I know how: his name starts with an 'O' and rhymes with "goin'," as in "Wherever that baby boy goes, I'm goin'." Our plan was to lure her with us wherever we went, but Mom is a cool-weather-loving mountain creature and Charleston is...well...kind of hot sometimes (like, for instance, now). We were worried there for a minute, but Owen worked his magic and fast.

Mom had a hard time picking what Owen would call her. She did not want to be Grama, since that's what I called my Grama Ann, and we tossed around dozens of other names, none of which seemed to be just right. So she decided to let Owen pick what he would call her when he was ready. About a year and a half later, he finally did.

One of Owen's favorite things to do is to hide. (He really tests the boundaries of what counts as hiding: sometimes, he will just plug his ears and then expect you to go looking for him.) When he and mom would do this, at some point, mom would find him or be found and exclaim, "Boo!" When Owen would see her, he would think of their game and say, "Boo!" And her name was born.

Whenever I ask Owen any question in an upbeat voice (Guess who we're going to see today? Do you know who's coming over? Who's outside?), his first guess is always Boo. He thinks she's the bee's knees, and she thinks he's the cat's meow. Exhibits A, B, and C below (taken on Mother's Day):