Emily!

I'm up to my eyeballs in packing tape, important mortgage-rate-and-insurance phone calls and trying to mother when- out of the foggy blue Chicago sky I have a a thought- I like my name.

I like my name. Emily. Has a nice ring to it.

I haven't ever liked my name since I was a little girl. Unlike other girls whose name means "princess" or "beautiful" or "beloved", my name means hardworking. Not exactly something one likes to own up to.

Additionally, my name has a victorian flair to it. I suspect my well-meaning grandmother noted this when she endowed me with MOUNDS of ruffly shirts with lace trim throughout my childhood. She probably purchased them because my name sounds victorian. I really don't care for the pomp and circumstance of it all. Blah. Victorian.

In truth, I'm name after Emily Dickinson. I like her. A little odd, but it's kind of cool to be named after a poet.

So I've not liked my name because it sounded like a victorian workhorse. Not having too many fuzzy feelings about that.

But today, while driving hither and yon, I thought, "By jove! I like my name! I've finally grown into my name and I like it." Say it with me folks: Emily! Emily! Emily!