What’s in a Name? Ask Buzz-Buzz.

Our house has a three-season back porch where, when it begins to get warm (like, I don’t know, July…) the kids like to play. It feels like it’s almost outside. We’ve been out there today, before the next 4-8 inch April snowstorm comes rolling in.

A fly has found comfort in the extra warmth of our porch–we leave the back window cracked sometimes for our tomcat Van Gogh to get in and out and apparently this fly found its way in. At first, Judah was a bit anxious about this fly; I don’t know if he mixed up a basic fear of bees with their cousin the house fly, but he wasn’t interested in the backporch with the “buzz” flying around back there. This is what he called the fly: “Dadda, there’s a buzz on the back porch.”

I tried to tell him it was fine, it wouldn’t bother him, to which he responded with the mantra: “It’s fine, the buzz won’t bother me.” But he still wasn’t interested in the porch.

That’s when Big Sister came to the rescue. She said, in her wise beyond almost-four ways: “We should give him a name.”

I said, “Okay. How about Buzz?”–real original, I know–“Or maybe Mr. Buzz?”

And she said, “I think Buzz-Buzz.”

Judah was suddenly on board. Now he wanted to invite Buzz-Buzz to lunch (we are out of yogurt, but Judah is sure that Buzz-Buzz has some at his house–no matter Buzz-Buzz probably loves fresh banana bread). He still seemed to have some anxiety about the whole thing–he was like hyper-aware of Buzz-Buzz’s location–but at least now he was rolling his trucks around the porch, talking to Buzz-Buzz about the different kinds of cars he owns.

I have a tendency to make everything didactic, so I’ll exercise that tendency now. Aren’t things less scary when they have names?

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