Molly was not feeling well tonight. If her glassy, half open four year old eyes and slightly elevated temperature weren’t a clue of this, then her words surely were.
She came to me in the living room and pathetically (and tearfully) cried out, “Why did you not name me a Bible name?”
She then continued in her woe.
“You named Noah a Bible name. Why did you not name me and Jack Bible names?” (insert more tears) “Why did you name me Molly? Why didn’t you name me Mary?” (insert woe and tears and a sad, sad face)
I assured her that Molly was sweet and lovely, just like her.
Okay, so perhaps she wasn’t so sweet and lovely at that moment. But, I knew that she was saying this because: (1) She was not feeling well, and (2) She loves Our Heavenly Mother. It was hard to begrudge her either of these points. So, I did humor her a bit. It didn’t really help.
I tried to reassure her again, and this time pointing out that not only did the name Molly come from Mary, but also that we gave her a saint name for a middle name. In fact, I call her by both her first and middle name together about half the time, so we often use her saintly middle name. When we looked up pictures of some of the saints with the same name, it did seem to make her feel a little bit better.
Still — I think she went to bed pretty sure that life would look a lot more rosy tomorrow if her name was Mary.
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