These obviously changed over the years. If they hadn't, Rosey would have been London Magdalena Chardonnay - a pretty name, but perhaps more suited for poodles, and Cass would have been...well, something unintelligible.
I've only had a few planned out rules. Nothing too freaky-deaky, (although I'm guessing I blew that with Chardonnay) and no obtuse spellings. Nothing that my child would have to keep explaining year after year.
Naming Cass was (in hindsight) easy. After some pondering and the sad realization that my father's name was very close to the sound of my husband's last name (put together, it sounded like a stutter) the rest of his name was cemented quickly.
Rosey was different. I'd long wanted to name any girl-child I had after my grandmother (who is still one of the best people I know) but the derivative 'Rosie' or 'Rose' just didn't sit right. Rose was too grown up, and choppy. 'Rosie' was just wrong. But (and I refer back to my obscure child naming-rules here) no odd spellings, right? Rosemary seemed too heavy a mantle for a small girl to wear - when she grew older, it would be beautiful - but until she grew up? Rosey would be fine.
Help came from the oddest source. I was at one of my
Ta-da! We had a winner!
I was reminded of this tonight when Rosey and I were reading her book before bed. Her latest choices from the library include a Franklin book, a book about cats, and a book about a small girl teaching her dog tricks called 'Roll Over, Rosie.'
Rosey stirred next to me in the bed and pointed at the letter R. 'R is for Rosey!' she exclaimed. 'And here's O, and S....her voice trailed off.
'This name sounds like yours, doesn't it?' I said, rallying myself to talk about words that wounded the same but were spelled differently, and how this didn't mean she was a dog, and...
Rosey cut me off. 'Her name is spelled WRONG, Mama. It's WRONG. That's NOT MY NAME.'
Right on, baby girl.
*As does my grandmother Rosemary, as she lives in Kentucky.