After some reflection a while ago, I decided it was way too impersonal to refer to my kids by their first initials. I realise they're entitled to their privacy, but in the end, it looks more like a robotic rendition of item specifications than musings about my family. Although various incarnations of my full name are quite readily available on the intarweb if you're Sherlock Holmes-inspired (along with some of my past lives as a game coder, LAN-aholic and writer), I'll endeavour not to disclose my childrens' surnames. Suffice to say, if you were insane enough to play detective and discover the three labels my parents chose for my birth certificate, you're still unlikely to find the three I hoisted onto each of my offspring. (Admittedly, I would wonder at your train of thought if you went fishing for my alter-egos. It's not that interesting a kaleidoscope of an existence.)
This brings me to my reason for the reasoning. A snippet about my 12-year-old son Jay, which occurred some time ago during the school holidays. Being way too hot for anything remotely human during the day, I'd shifted my sleeping pattern somewhat, which allowed me to paint while it was dark and cool. He has always been a real morning person, rising at 6am regardless of how late he has stayed up the night before, and this particular morning he sauntered into the living room at about 5.30am, immediately booting the laptop for some dawn City of Heroes goodness. (Yes, I'm raising them as geeks. Yes, I'm proud.)
He noticed that the living room air conditioner was already churning, and that the door to my bedroom was wide open, which is generally an Offense Punishable By Death™. It had been this way because I was painting the ceiling - something I hate, but was necessary. The entire house reeked of paint, and I was waiting for it to dry so I could finish the task.
He asked why it was open? "Because I need to keep the room cool so I can work in there." And then Jay points out a white mark on my foot. "Oh yeah, it's paint."
..."Have you been painting?"
I probably pulled a really dumb face at that. I'm sure I responded with pure maternal love, aka, "Can't you smell the paint, idiot? What the hell is wrong with you? How could you not notice that?!"
Jay's a funny kid.