We have an old cabinet I purchased at an antique shop in Jacksonville. It’s been a snack cabinet, a place to put things we only use once or twice a year like canning jars or Easter Egg trays, and now it’s a small office space with the printer all snuggled up inside it. We call it Kevin.
I don’t know why we named it Kevin, maybe because we didn’t know if it was a hutch or a cabinet, maybe we were bored, or maybe we loved the new-old piece of furniture so much we thought it deserved a name. It stuck, and we say it now without laughing.
“Where’s the jar of colorful pens?”
“It’s in Kevin.”
We humanize everything in this family. We treat things like they have feelings, physical and emotional, all in jest, yet sometimes when we toss something, we say, “Awwwwwww that ____________ is sad because we don’t love it anymore.” It began as a joke then went too far, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t even know if I want to stop it.
We, along with many other people, named our vehicles. (My red truck is Lucy.) Baylee even named his birthmark. (Click HERE to read about that.) I don’t know. It’s just something we do. I joke sometimes that the only reason I have so many kids and so many animals is because I like naming stuff. Although I say that with a smile, there are times I wonder if it’s true.