My daughter's name is Annelise. I named her after an REM song, I'm ashamed to admit, but I loved the dainty spelling of it and the way it sounded-feminine and pretty and soft. I believe my sweet little girl has lived up to the expectations of her moniker-and then some-but we've also hung her with some unflattering nicknames over the years.
It started when her twin brother Mario couldn't pronounce her name correctly. At first she was "Sis-sis". Then it was Sissy-ah. Mario was Issy-ah during this time and I couldn't understand a thing either of them said to each other. It was all twin talk, a gibberish that only the two of them and their four year old brother could understand. Alex would act as interpreter, or I would participate in a toddler version of charades trying to figure out their wants and needs.
Around age 2, Mario began to call her Wheezie, an alias that I took a liking to. I took the ball and ran with it and the nickname evolved into Wheezer and Weasel. Her father calls her Leesie, her friends call her Annie or Anna. Her brothers always refer to her as her given name, Annelise. They never shorten it or use her nicknames, and their formality both amuses and puzzles me.
Steve and I call her Weasel more than anything, Steve drags it out so that it sounds like a train whistle. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezel. She giggles uncontrollably whenever he does this.
Annelise is social and charming and has a great sense of humor. She's 11 going on 21. She’s still incredibly affectionate, and my salvation in a household full of men. She loves getting salon pedicures with her mama, shopping at Nordstrom Rack, and staying up late and having “girls’ night”, where we cuddle under blankets, watch chick flicks and eat a big bowl of popcorn.
She loves to cook- just like her mama- and is famous for her spaghetti sauce. She creates enormous messes in the kitchen when she’s experimenting with her own recipes. As much as I want to throttle her sometimes, I don’t want to stifle that creativity.
One afternoon, we were making a roasted chicken stuffed with fresh herbs for Sunday dinner. Annelise helped me bundle the herbs and insert them into the bird’s cavity. That evening, we proudly announced her contributions when we served the finished product to the men of the house. When Steve began eating his, he commented on how good it tasted and Annelise proudly volunteered that she had “stuffed herbs in the chicken’s ace. “ She said ace of course, because she couldn’t say “ass” which is probably (probably? No, I specifically told her to shove the bouquet garni "in the chicken's ass") what I said when giving her direction-good role model that I am. Steve erupted with laughter. To this day, whenever he has any kind of flavorful chicken dish, he announces that it “tastes just like someone stuffed herbs in it’s ace.”
