People that are familiar with my blog are privy to the odd, misplaced usage of the words “Potatoes”, “Spud”, and “Tater”. But for those of you that may be clueless and think I’m insane…here is the lowdown.
The Potatoes are my kids.
Their birthdays are ONE day apart.
Spud is the oldest. He was nicknamed Spud when he was just a newborn because my sister said he looked like a potato. The name stuck. He is 10 years old now, and everybody still calls him Spud. He hates it. And I don’t care. Sometimes I like to call him by variations of Spud, such as: Spudman or, when he was a bit younger, Spudmonkey.
8 years after having Spud, when I was only 6 weeks pregnant with baby number 2, I had one of those fine eureka moments and deemed the next baby as “Tater”. Even at this very early stage of my pregnancy, I knew I was having another boy, so I didn’t have to worry about the nickname not being suitable for a girl. (Each time I was pregnant, I KNEW beyond a shadow of a doubt that both of my children would be boys. Female intuition. Or whatever.)
Now, the problem with Tater being nicknamed “Tater” is that my entire family has been referring to him as this since he was just a wee embryo. Once he was born, we might as well have put “Tater” on his birth certificate for we never call him by his real name. (Spud is lucky, he is occasionally called by his real name, and he is also thankful he wasn’t landed with the nickname “Tater”). At 2 years old, Tater has no clue what his real name is. He only answers to Tater. I don’t particularly like this, but saying his real name sounds completely foreign on my tongue. So I just go with it. Other family members like to use variations of his nickname such as: Taterbug or Sweettater. My husband sometimes calls him PoTater.
So there you have it. Independently they are Spud and Tater. Collectively, they are “The Potatoes”.
So are my kids.
We embrace it.Tweet